Why do we generally conceptualize time as moving from left to right?
There are certainly logical explanations for this question, such as the fact that society uses a left-to-right writing system. Calendars move from left to right; time lines also flow in this direction. It seems to make sense on a fundamental level. However, there reaches a certain point where decisions such as these become completely arbitrary. The logical portion of our minds desires to argue for such decisions, insisting that there is sufficient reason behind each and every assumption upon which we have based our worlds.
Unfortunately, this is simply not true. It is not until we are forced by circumstance to think in a different manner that we come to realize just how arbitrary most of the “facts” upon which we base our world truly are. This became most evident to me in my studies of Chinese. It is important to understand that Chinese, as a language, is fundamentally different than English: a character within the Chinese language frequently represents an abstract idea which does not have any direct translation into English. Where a character on its own may mean literally “mouth,” when combined with the character for “opening” the two come to mean “doorway” or “gate.” When considered abstractly, the combination of these concepts make a certain degree of sense; the westerner learning Chinese must move away from the desire to think of a character as a definite thing. This change in the approach to language inevitably leads to changes in expression itself, which has sometimes unforeseen consequences.
Early in my studies, I struggled with the fluent use of the words for “next time” and “last time.” Literally translated into English, they might read as “down order/occurrence” and “up order/occurrence.” Again, these words for time seem to make a certain degree of sense when thought of abstractly, if one is to accept the underlying notion that time moves in an up-to-down manner. Though this idea may not seem particularly at odds with the western way of thinking, it is not uncommon for western learners of Chinese to have difficulty with these expressions of time. For reasons I cannot quite explain, I found the word “down order” coming out of my mouth when I meant “last time.” My brain was, quite simply, not practiced at thinking of time in these terms.
Thankfully I was able to overcome the “down” and “up” time problem with relative ease, but it ultimately epitomized the rest of the difficulties with learning a different language. What is strange to think, though, is that to a native Chinese speaker, there could not be anything more natural than referring to time in this manner, using directions to indicate passage of time. Fundamentally, at such a basic level that it is almost inescapable, the brain of a native speaker is hard-wired to think of time in a certain way. Considering how random and insignificant of a decision the "direction" of time is in the grand scheme of our consciousness, one cannot help but wonder what other basic assumptions have been made. So much of our minds are out of our control, relegated to our subconscious by the patterns which have been established through conditioning.
In her fascinating look into the pre and post lingual phases of a man who acquires the very concept of language late in life, Susan Schaller offers fascinating insight into the nature of the these assumptions. With regards to time, she says “all children have trouble learning to measure time; it is not a natural idea.” Her experience with prelingual adults provides further support for her insinuation that the measurement of time is a contrived action. In teaching her primary languageless student, she describes the difficulty of establishing the very concept of days, weeks, months, and years. With respect to the fact that dark times (night) are conducive to sleep whereas light times (day) are indicative of work, certainly she is able to point out that there is some sort of distinction in the world which occurs cyclically. However, to this day, she has found that students who do not learn to think of time as a measurable quantity early in life have significant difficulty ever doing so with any degree of fluency. We must be quite literally trained from an early age in order to think of time as a quantity, or as a thing which passes with each moment. Certainly this suggests that time itself is not a natural concept; certainly it must mean that it is cultural laws rather than natural laws which dictate that we must think of any one moment as being notably different than the next.
In January of 1800, a “wild boy” wandered into a village in France. He was a topic of great fascination, because he provided a way to study the human condition as it might independently exist, without the influence of society or language. Out of all his peculiarities, the significance of one might be easily missed: he seemed to lack sensitivity to extreme heat or cold. He would eschew clothing and basic precautions to prevent himself from experiencing what any “normal” human being would consider to be excruciating pain. He seemed to have no concept of the pain he was incurring from walking barefoot in the snow or eating scalding hot items. One cannot help but wonder, then, if these very concepts are tied to society and language.
Neurologically speaking, the frontal lobes are the areas which are considered to be largely responsible for conscious thought. When a scientist attempts to identify a what makes the human brain different from other animals, he invariably will point to the frontal lobes. Speaking in terms of evolution, the frontal lobes might be considered to be the third phase, which are stacked upon (or rather built around) the reptilian and mammalian portions of the brain. Of course, pain itself exists on lower levels than the frontal lobes, but only insofar as a survival mechanism. In other words, an animal responds to pain fundamentally differently than a human: it simply reacts to it for the sole purpose of removing the creature from harm. Is it not strange, then, that humans have such distinct and contrived reactions to pain? Is it not even stranger that in a documented case of a human raised in the wild, without language, he seemed to not have this same concept of pain? Surely it cannot be a coincidence that one primary trait which the frontal lobes are associated with is that of language. The frontal lobes are further associated with the concept of self and individuality, which hints at its uses within the mind.
It seems that there can be no doubt that there is a connection between language, society, and underlying feelings. Time and pain are structureless ideas, only given form by being associated with the surrounding society by means of the frontal lobes. In other words, both time and pain are felt by lower portions of the brain, but the frontal lobes draw upon these feelings and integrate them using the tool of language to fit into the society which it perceives. It is my belief that the frontal lobes, influenced by the external society and driven by the need to establish a sense of individuality, integrate with the internal feelings using the tool of language.
The reason the frontal lobes have such a need for individuality is because they need to be able to recognize how feelings relate to the external world (society). When the lower level brain feels pain, the frontal lobe is informed of this fact, but it needs to understand that the present pain is not a universal state shared by the world at large. If it is to interact consciously with the world around it, the brain must recognize the difference between self and other for the purpose of separating personal feelings from external situations. Indeed, the frontal lobes accomplish just this task, by integrating external information with an internal sense of individuality.
When meditators speak of the removal of self, they are often met with a certain degree of reluctance and misunderstanding. However, reason for this goal can be found in the hyperactive attention of the frontal lobes to the use of language. Where the reason that the frontal lobes use language has been established (in order to communicate the feelings of the self with the surrounding society), the frontal lobes can take this endeavor too far. In Susan Schaller's account of teaching her languageless student, she discovers a very important fact: certain words come to have meaning for a certain person far greater than what they are intended to mean in the abstract sense of language. In the case of her student, as an illegal resident of the United States of America, he feared the very word green because he associated it with green cards and the green border patrol – which meant deportation to him. In another case, a languageless man associated the word cold with his entire autobiography, in a manner of speaking, simply because his home was cold and it was the first word he learned by which he could describe his homeland (which he had been long separated from). In this manner, words accrue meaning far beyond what is intended of them for individuals, and language takes on an unintended purpose.
Pain, instead of being a word to represent a feeling, is also something to be feared. Why is there inherently a sense of fear when we think of pain? Why do we cringe when we consider something which may be painful? Notice that the most characteristic trait of meditation is the fact that the practitioner seeks to calm his mind, or frequently “thinks of nothing.” In other words, the internal dialog is quieted – language is removed. By removing language, we remove the tool of the frontal lobes to establish a sense of identity and differentiate between self and other. Pain is no longer a consideration, because without language to express it, it does not exist abstractly. It is no surprise then that the goal of meditators is sometimes described as the “removal of self.” The meditation allows the practitioner to remove himself from the added meanings which language carries with it. Pain is no longer an abstract idea which needs to be feared or considered; indeed, it is no longer a possibility at all. Without words to describe the idea of pain or time, the two concepts do not exist independently. Should a meditating student experience pain, he will act appropriately – but he will never anticipate the pain. It is the anticipation which is worse than the pain, much in the same manner that it has been said that “there is nothing to fear but fear itself.” If pain (or fear) is simply experienced as a passing state (which it truly is) and subsequently let go of, in the same manner an animal does, the other negative connotations which are associated with the state drop away – such as anticipation, stress, and suffering.
In this way, the meditator truly does free himself from suffering.
Labels: culture, language, travel
