Linguistic Barriers to a Warless World

Essay first appeared in Microcosm, the only newsletter exploring how to unlock inherent human potential worldwide.

Despite her prestigious sci-fi accolades, I initially dismissed Ursula Le Guin's work in favor of non-fiction. It wasn't until I was asked to host a book club on The Lathe of Heaven that I discovered how her 1971 book shed light on our 2024 struggles to envision and achieve ideal realities, such as a world without war, discrimination, or misaligned AI.

The Lathe of Heaven follows George Orr, a man whose dreams can alter reality. If Orr, a terrible writer, dreamed of being a published author, he would awaken to a reality fully supporting that identity. Fearing his dreams, Orr seeks help from Dr. William Haber, a psychiatrist who becomes obsessed with using Orr's dreams to create a better world.

One session exemplifies the novel's exploration of our limitations in envisioning desired future realities. Haber prompts Orr to dream of a world without war. Orr's subconscious complies, but the result is a world at war with aliens near the moon. Le Guin writes, "You said, no killing of humans by other humans. So I dreamed up the Aliens." This event highlights how ingrained the concept of war is in our collective psyche. Pulitzer-winning historians Will and Ariel Durant note that "in the last 3,421 years of recorded history, only 268 have seen no war."

This essay explores the challenges posed by linguistic and cultural limitations in imagining a different future. Like Haber, I ponder how we might end wars like the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, the civil war in Sudan, and the war in Ukraine. Yet, I am concerned with our persistent inability to achieve any ideal reality humanity has long aspired to.

Language limits the realities we can imagine.

Each language evolves to describe its specific reality. For instance, Russian has more nuanced terms for fear, such as strakh (general fear), uzhas (horror), and boyazn' (fear of something specific), compared to English. These distinctions arise from unique historical and cultural experiences.

Because language shapes our perception of reality, the words we use can limit the realities we can envision. Consider a hypothetical scenario in which I imagine a warless world.

1. Current Reality (1): Our present world, characterized by ongoing conflicts and wars, is ingrained in our societal structures and collective consciousness.
2. Desired Reality (10): A hypothetical future world where war has been eradicated.
3. Transitional Realities (2-9): The steps needed to achieve our desired reality.

Neither you nor I can imagine a Reality 10 distinct from Realities 1-9, where war vanishes entirely. Reality 10 is so distant from ours that we lack the language to describe it without referencing concepts from our current reality.

Let's illustrate this by contrasting the past to our present. No matter how intelligent Plato was, he could never have imagined a world with blockchain technology. IBM defines blockchain as "a shared, immutable ledger that facilitates the process of recording transactions and tracking assets in a business network." Even as an economist familiar with ledgers and business networks, I find this definition not straightforward. Because of our shared language, though, we can understand blockchain via related terms like the internet, decentralization, and digital currencies. Plato, however, lackedthese concepts. His Reality 1 was so distant from our Reality 10 that he would have needed transitional realities to bridge the gap. He couldn't connect the dots because there were no dots to connect.

There's a similar challenge when imagining a warless world. I can envision transitional events like:

• The military vanishes
• Ethnic divisions disappear
• Peace is promoted through art
• Nations accept disarmament treaties
• A governing body removes every conflict on Earth

You might agree these steps could bring us closer to our desired warless world. However, the fact that I can imagine these realities suggests they are too close to our current reality. While I wish I could say I've imagined half of what is needed to end war, I'm likely only describing the steps from Reality 1 to Reality 2.

This challenge of describing the path toward desired realities is not limited to war; it applies to any ideal future we wish to imagine. It might seem we are almost there, but this feeling might signal how far we truly are.

Cultural influences shape the meanings of words, affecting our ability to realize desired realities. 

The existence of a word alone might not be enough. Take 'peace,' for example. The Oxford Dictionary defines it as "freedom from or the cessation of war or violence." Yet, this definition varies widely in interpretation. For me, a born middle-class Colombian, peace has often meant being able to write, take calls, or hang out outdoors without fearing a mugging. This doesn't mean violence doesn't exist, but that my immediate surroundings feel safe.

The subjectiveness of words matters because we can't move from an undesired reality to a desired one without a shared understanding of our current reality. Some of my Northern European friends don't perceive the world as violent. They acknowledge violence exists but don't experience it directly, making it an abstract concept for them. Similarly, I couldn't fully grasp non-violence until I lived in Northern Europe.

Effective Altruism (EA) aims to bridge this empathy gap by persuading people, mainly from the Global North, to help those in need, predominantly people from the Global South. EA has succeeded more than other altruistic movements by using data to justify donations. Since people who have never faced certain problems can't grasp them, EA shows the return on investment of donations to make the cause more relatable.

While EA and similar movements are crucial for alleviating undesired realities, they don't fundamentally change the collective human experience. These movements might convince a peaceful country to intervene in a war but won't eliminate the root causes of conflict.

I don't want anyone to suffer to empathize with those who do. Still, I can't deny that my empathy often stems from personal experience. I didn't truly understand the impact of racism, classism, or xenophobia until I experienced them myself. Before that, these concepts were part of the human experience but not part of my reality.

Future technologies like advanced virtual reality might help augment our empathy for other realities. Imagine a machine that could simulate the physical, mental, and emotional experiences of suffering. This could unify our global understanding of undesired realities such as war, famine, and poverty.

Polyglots might struggle more to imagine or support distinct realities. 

As a native Spanish speaker and a C2 English speaker, I can communicate fluently in both languages. Yet, there are ways of seeing the world that I experienced in one language that I only access when thinking or speaking in that language.

Until I was 22, I mostly spoke Spanish. During this time, I lived in a culture that promoted cynicism and did not encourage emotional openness. Consequently, I am more judgmental, cold-hearted, and close-minded in Spanish. After 22, I began speaking English more frequently than Spanish. I started a spiritual practice, learned to communicate my emotions, and wrote extensively in English. These ways of being exist in Spanish, but I discovered them while living in English-speaking countries. I'm more optimistic, loving, and forgiving in English than Spanish. However, I'm also more naive and delusional in English due to the improved quality of life I experienced when speaking it.

I am the same person in both languages, with the same vocabulary. Yet, my experiences in each language shape the realities I perceive.

Linguistic communities might share some perceptions of reality, but not all. This worries me because it suggests some communities might imagine realities others cannot. It also implies that every linguistic community might have a distorted sense of reality. For instance, if a culture views war as inevitable, imagining a future without war is challenging. Similarly, it is difficult for people who have never experienced war to grasp its consequences.

The impact of bilingualism on reality perception highlights how language and culture shape our understanding of the world. Even with the right words, the cultural context in which we learn and use those words influences their meaning and our ability to envision and support fundamentally different futures.

Orr ended the war in space by dreaming of a reality where humans and aliens coexisted. This coexistence mirrored the challenges humans face in perceiving shared realities. On Morrison Mall, an alien jostles Orr and apologizes, highlighting how even cultural gestures can differ. One alien calls Orr' Jor Jor,' using a Barsoomian bisyllable—an equally valid way to describe the same individual.

To reach our desired realities, we might need to embrace what Le Guin's book suggests: dreaming long enough until the undreamable becomes reality. 

As in the past, we need writers, poets, artists, and makers to design the futures we yearn for.

This need feels more urgent today. There's a growing loss of shared symbols, identities, and religions. Like millions, I've become a religious hybrid, practicing Zen meditation, wearing an Egyptian ankh, and embracing Catholic symbols from my upbringing. When even family members stand on opposite sides of a belief spectrum, it's hard to believe in collective action toward a shared future.

Yet, this diversity might be our strength. Diverse beliefs and a divergence from traditional religions can foster change. Diversity in thought, culture, and socio-economic status allows a fuller understanding of reality. It turns me from a cynic to an optimist and helps optimists become less naive. Divergence from religion allows new belief systems from books, films, and art to shape our desired realities. Harry Potter fans often favor progressive politics, while "Star Trek" inspired many to pursue careers in technology, envisioning a utopian future. 

The Durants, in The Lessons of History, argue that our present world is less predictable than ever. History repeats because we respond predictably to recurring situations. Nowadays, however, "situations contain novel circumstances requiring modifications of instinctive response." With people lacking a shared narrative, our dreams for the future might flourish, guiding us toward desired realities. Whether these realities benefit humanity broadly, like Orr's, or serve only a few, like Haber's, depends on us. There's no certainty the future won't repeat the past, but we can strive to make it different through collective dreaming and action.