Language in Botany and Math.
Our take
In a delightful twist of fate, language finds itself at the intriguing crossroads of botany and mathematics—a space where the roots of words intertwine with the branches of ideas and equations. Recently, I was drawn in by the enchanting storytelling of Hungarian director Ildikó Enyedi, whose filmography has always danced on the fringes of the surreal, as seen in her acclaimed work, My 20th Century. In her latest, Silent Friend, Enyedi continues to push the boundaries of narrative and language, weaving complex themes that resonate deeply with the human experience. This exploration of communication, whether through the lens of a cinematic masterpiece or the intricate patterns of botanical naming, reminds us that language is not merely a tool for exchange; it is the very fabric of our understanding.
Consider the way scientific nomenclature functions. It’s a beautiful linguistic dance that encapsulates the essence of a species in a name—a genus and species that speak volumes about lineage, habitat, and even behavior. This blends seamlessly with the broader themes of communication explored in works like Su filindeu, Cagliari, which delves into the cultural significance of a rare pasta. Much like the rarefied language of botany, culinary terms can evoke deep cultural ties and convey complex narratives of history and identity. At the heart of this intersection lies the realization that every term we use carries with it a backstory—a whisper of etymological roots that can lead us down unexpected paths of discovery.
Now, pivoting from botany to mathematics, we witness another layer of linguistic richness. The language of math is arguably one of the oldest languages known to humankind, yet it is often relegated to the realm of the technical and the abstract. However, there is poetry in equations and beauty in theorems that, much like Enyedi's films, challenge us to perceive the world through a different lens. This brings to mind the conversations we have as language learners, as reflected in pieces like What was your 'eureka!' moment of learning/speaking a language firsthand?. Here, the act of grappling with a new language mirrors the struggle of understanding complex mathematical concepts—both are exercises in communication and comprehension, in which one must navigate the unfamiliar to find meaning.
So, why does this matter? As we traverse the intricate web of language, we uncover connections that might otherwise remain hidden. The dialogue between disciplines—be it through cinema, botany, or mathematics—invites us to recognize the shared human experience beneath the surface. It prompts us to think critically about the ways we communicate and how we can bridge gaps in understanding. In a world increasingly defined by specialization, these intersections serve as a reminder that knowledge is not siloed; it is interconnected, dynamic, and ripe for exploration.
Looking ahead, one must ponder how these multifaceted conversations will evolve. Will we see a greater appreciation for the poetic elements within scientific discourse? Can the artistry of language in film inspire more nuanced dialogues in education and beyond? As we embrace the spooty nature of language—its quirks, its tangents, its layers—we might just unlock new pathways for understanding that reflect the vibrant tapestry of our shared existence. Stay curious, stay spooty, and let the exploration continue.
Two unrelated things I’ve enjoyed recently that can be shoehorned in here via their relation to language and/or communication:
1) Ildikó Enyedi has been one of my favorite directors ever since I saw her weird, brilliant My 20th Century (Az én XX. századom); the other day my wife and I made a rare excursion to an actual movie theater to see her new one, Silent Friend (Stiller Freund). It too is weird and brilliant, not to mention mind-bogglingly beautiful, and its main focus is on communication with plants in three periods, 2020, 1972, and 1908. You can read a synopsis here, and I’ll quote the Director’s Statement:
It is a film made by humans (by an amazingly open minded, dedicated team) for fellow humans — the spectators. We humbly acknowledge and embrace our specific perceptual limits. This film speaks, with the help of light and sound waves available for the human eyes and ear, of world perceptions outside these limits. We acknowledge that we are not the default — our is one of the many, equally valid worlds. What is it like to be a tree? We don’t know. So, we won’t show it. Instead, we show human curiosity, touchingly imperfect attempts of connecting, of acknowledging the “other” and accepting that for them we are the mysterious “other”. We show glimpses through more than 100 years of the botanical garden of a university. A place that was always (“universitas”) the hub of free and limitless human curiosity, of science. In times when it is so dangerously questioned and attacked, we would also like to draw attention not only to the importance, but also the beauty and the naive, daring force of scientific research. It can help us walk down from the frighteningly dizzy spot on top of the pyramid to a place better deserved and more homey — to be part of this world.
Also, it stars the great Tony Leung. Highly recommended.
2) Konstantin Kakaes writes for Quanta about Peter Scholze and Dustin Clausen, who “are taking the first step in a far bigger program to understand why numbers behave the way they do”; it’s one of the rare general-interest articles on math that a nonspecialist can understand, and it makes me nostalgic for the long-gone days when I myself wanted to be a mathematician (I was interested in number theory, topology, that kind of thing, none of your applied math). This is the bit that made me want to bring it here:
For two people who are reinventing a big chunk of 20th-century mathematics, Clausen and Scholze are unassuming. “To a large extent, what I am doing is rephrasing what others have done in my own words,” Scholze told the mathematician Maria Yakerson in a 2021 interview. “I’m not that much interested in theorems or proofs.” What he wanted to do, he said, was to come up with new definitions: “They must make it easy to state interesting theorems, and they must make it easy to prove them.” Scholze doesn’t see himself as creative. He is, he said, just “trying to give names to what is there.”
Clausen, for his part — as he told Yakerson in a separate interview around the same time — avoids publishing papers, because he believes that the scientific publishing industry is fundamentally flawed. He also largely avoids even informally writing up results, leaving that to collaborators. He just wants to focus on the math; like Scholze, he’s constantly looking for the right names, the right language. (At one point, in fact, he considered pursuing a career in literary translation.)
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