Language is fascinating. It’s organic, living, breathing, tangled, misinterpreted, overused, misrepresented, joyous and troublesome. Looking back into history, it seems that most languages have sprawled out from their epicentres, and, wherever people have gone, they have followed, like ivy left to grow of its own accord, assimilating and overtaking everything in their wake. Languages are powerful tools. They make humans what they are, and they enhance our experience on this planet more than is clearly understood. We have developed them and shaped them into huge, over-facing, yet intelligent and succinct devices, and we wield them everyday, almost without thought.

But is there something more to language than all that? Is it possible? Could it be, that as well as a tool through which we communicate, convey, incite, pray, enthuse, empathise, debate, argue and control, that there is more to them than meets the eye? Well, actually, I believe there is: language is not just a tool, it is a piece of art.

For Asian languages, this seems ever more apparent. Without an alphabet, these languages rely on ideographs and syllabaries (more on these later) and to the layman, seem to be a huge row of pictures all lined up neatly together. To the scholar however, they are more than just that.

Japanese ideographs (a pictorial representation of an idea that conveys meaning but not the way in which it should be said) started life in China. In fact, although Japanese existed as a language in its own right, when Chinese influence began to make its way into Japan, Chinese was spoken by scholars and the higher end of society because it was seen to evoke intelligence. This influence led to Japanese finally having its own writing system, and the idea of linguistic beauty did not take long to follow.

Chinese ideographs from which the Japanese kanji were derived

Ever since ideographs were introduced to Japan, scholars have wanted to show off their artistic talent by producing beautiful scrolls full of them, not just written to be read, but to be viewed. Unlike Western calligraphy, which contains much copperplate techniques, calligraphy was seen to hold more beauty if the flow of each ideograph was 草書・sósho, or cursive. In this example, you can see what they meant:

This almost floral way of writing the language was seen as a breakthrough, and many people were seen to woo their potential partners by presenting them with love letters filled in calligraphic prose. In fact, it was seen as a heightened sense of beauty if you could write calligraphy in the most delectable styles of the time.

Ideographs, however, are only one piece of the pie. Japanese combines three (not equal) thirds when written: ideographs and two separate, but similar, syllabaries. In Japanese these are referred to as 漢字・kanji (ideographs) and 仮名・kana (syllabaries). A syllabary is a set of symbols that represent, or equate to, the syllables of a language. In Japanese therefore, each syllable that can be made, has one symbol that represents it (in some cases, for more obscure sounds, symbols are combined to form further, different representations of the sounds). The first syllabary is called 平仮名/ひらがな・hiragana, and is used mainly for the inflections in verbs and the second, 片仮名/カタカナ・katakana, is used for loanwords that have been absorbed into Japanese from other languages.

Left: the first five rows of the hiragana syllabary | Right: the first five rows of the katakana syllabary

It is this combination of writing systems that has created such a diverse and visually appealing language. In fact, there can be absolutely no denying that the same piece of writing seems to have so much more life when written in the distinctly unique Japanese script, compared with a language like English, which is just a constant repetition of 26 letters.

Taking this further, there are many different styles of writing Japanese, and, especially with the dawn of computers, this variance seems to deepen everyday. A distinct trend towards simplification has meant that kanji are becoming easier and easier to read, the by-product of which is that Japanese is becoming a sexier language, one that feels like a feast to the eyes when viewed. The aesthetics of new font families and serifs can be seen in everything from type in textbooks, to shop signage, to magazines, to the typography used on the side of drinks cans. Designers take pride in creating more and more diverse ways of writing the language, and Japanese really seems to be at the forefront of this creation.

Click to see how modern Japanese typography is being used in hi-end websites

So far however, the discussion has been about the way that language looks, its building blocks of beauty, if you will. However, Japanese does not stop there. In the early 1600s, Japan saw a speedy development of artistic creativity, and one particular creator in this time, was Bashó. Bashó, in the eyes of many Japanese people, even now, was a genius, and was most famously renowned for the use of 俳句・haiku, a type of poetry made of three lines, split respectively into 5, 7 and 5 syllables of meaning. Each ‘poem’, when written well, is usually loaded with meaning, and, though short in its makeup, provokes much thought about the subject matter, and the way in which the actual poet must have felt when it was being written.

The most famous of all haiku is more than likely to be ‘Old Pond’, by Bashó himself:
古池や蛙飛び込む水の音 (fu-ru-i-ke-ya/ka-wa-zu-to-bi-ko-mu/mi-zu-no-o-to) which roughly translates as: Old pond…/A frog leaps in/Water’s sound. Here, even in the fragmented translation, automatically thoughts are conjured up of a dappled pond and a frog about to make a jump into it. You can almost here the parting of the water as it makes contact with the surface of the pond. It’s undoubtedly summer time, and the sun is beaming down on the scene.

A version of Bashó's 'Old Pond'. Again see the cursive, calligraphic style

Another by Bashó reads:
富士の風や扇にのせて江戸土産 (fu-ji-no-ka-ze/ya-oo-gi-ni-no-se-te/e-do-mi-ya-ge) which roughly translates as: The wind of Mt Fuji/I’ve brought on my fan/A gift from Edo (latter day Tokyo). Again, it’s easy to conjure up images, however you get the feeling that the meaning of this particular haiku runs a lot deeper than the first.

Though they feel lopsided in translation, these small nuggets of language were considered meteoric in beauty and demonstrated both the aesthetic talent of the poet, and the aesthetic potential of the language. They were simple but evocative, short but endless, and proved that Japanese could be a most beautiful language in which you could express yourself.

Of course, beauty is not just in the written form. It can also be found when spoken. Many people find Japanese sounds easy to learn as they are much more limited than most Western languages, and the combination in which they are presented can make for some very interesting and beautiful sounds. Furthermore, each sound is pure in its creation; there are no dropped sounds, or sounds that fizzle out, or sounds jarred when pronounced. Also, the amount of guttural sounds in Japanese are limited, meaning the harshness of many languages is simply not present. Also, the pauses, and the way a sentence is broken up in Japanese creates a pattern of repeated slow and fast speech, much like the to-ing and fro-ing of a wave, which seduces you, almost, into listening more and more attentively to the speaker.

If you have spent any time learning Japanese, you will know that there are many mediums of politeness through which Japanese can be expressed. Known broadly as 敬語・keigo, honorific language has been an integral part of Japanese probably since its conception. Keigo is a vast subject in itself, however it governs the words that are chosen and the way in which things are conveyed by the speaker when speaking to others of ‘higher social standing’, or people whose authority or education is greater than your own. In explanation, keigo can sound pompous or belittling, however to the Japanese, it is an essential social tool. One could argue though that the addition of ornamental particles to words, and the changing of verbs from plain to polite, are another reflection of the language’s integral beauty, and the way in which its people have created something that consistently and constantly honours others, and humbles oneself.

So you can see, over history, the beauty of Japanese has never waned. The very fact that it is a juxtaposition of writing systems makes it perfect for the wabisabi ethic of simple imperfection (* for the wabisabi version of ‘imperfection’, please see Episode 1). Many styles have been developed through Japanese, from its earliest forms, such as haiku and calligraphy, through now to more modern elements. The very fact that Apple, a San Franciscan company devoted to aesthetic functionality, includes Japanese language features as standard in all its products, shows how deep the feeling of beauty within Japanese really goes.

Although this article can only scratch the surface on the linguistic beauty of Japanese, already you can see what it has. It can be expressed both verbally and manually and be presented with aesthetics in mind. Its basis in pictorial representation loads it with suggestion and intrigue and emotion. Its ability to draw one in, with its beautiful written forms and its seductive spoken elements mean that it is truly an irresistible language. At the same time however, it has intelligence and integrity and to the learner, becomes a true labour of love.

Put simply: Japanese is beautiful.