Finland: No Need for Words
Finnish people are defined by silence. Is that healthy?
Merete Mazzarella, a professor of Nordic literature at the University of Helsinki, tells a joke: How do you know if the Finn on the elevator with you is outgoing? When he's looking at your shoes instead of at his own.
The key to the Finnish character is quietude. Finns rarely enter into conversation with strangers; words are chosen carefully; small talk is considered suspect. Instead Finns revere "sacred silence" and hold that keeping quiet is healthy and promotes thoughtfulness. In his book Cultures in Conversation, author Donal Carbaugh quotes a young Finn who admits, "I never realized that people in other cultures might regard the word 'shy' as a negative word... 'Ujo' or 'shy' in Finnish has a neutral or positive meaning."
Sisu, meaning "guts, grit, determination," is another valued hallmark of the Finnish character. Finland is no place for complainers, and long, dark Arctic winters have shaped some of the hardiest-and most stoic-human beings on Earth.
Yet Finns are reserved even by Nordic standards. From the Middle Ages until the 20th century, the country was occupied by Sweden and Russia, and the native Finns had great incentive to avoid trouble. Living next door to the Soviet Union during the Cold War provided further impetus to keep their mouths shut. But Finns have steadfastly maintained their identity, evidenced by the phrase, "Swedes no more; never Russians; let us be Finns."
"In Swedish they say 'great' all the time," says Liisa Keltikangas-Järvinen, a psychologist at the University of Helsinki. "In Finnish we don't say that things are great. We just don't. Things are OK or maybe good."
By: Maria Carling
My dad always tells the story of me as a young child. I learned the words "mama" and "daddy" and many others very early on -- but only spoke them once. I would then recede back into silence, saying nothing to either of my parents.
He knew that I COULD say the words, but chose not to.
When finally going to the doctors to get immunization shots and blood tests, my dad was asked to stand outside, behind the glass door of the operating room where he could watch. It was only then as they JABBED the wide needles into my little arms did I raise my hands up to him, crying out "DAADDYY!" pleading for him to save me.
He said he wanted to tear his heart out of his chest and hand it to the doctor. Anything to save me from that pain.
I COULD say his name, all along. It was as if I knew the word was powerful, but knew that that power grew the longer the word was held inside. When not wasted meaninglessly, words seem to grow stronger - as if slowly fermenting in the chest, intoxicating, refined, potent.
Merete Mazzarella, a professor of Nordic literature at the University of Helsinki, tells a joke: How do you know if the Finn on the elevator with you is outgoing? When he's looking at your shoes instead of at his own.
The key to the Finnish character is quietude. Finns rarely enter into conversation with strangers; words are chosen carefully; small talk is considered suspect. Instead Finns revere "sacred silence" and hold that keeping quiet is healthy and promotes thoughtfulness. In his book Cultures in Conversation, author Donal Carbaugh quotes a young Finn who admits, "I never realized that people in other cultures might regard the word 'shy' as a negative word... 'Ujo' or 'shy' in Finnish has a neutral or positive meaning."
Sisu, meaning "guts, grit, determination," is another valued hallmark of the Finnish character. Finland is no place for complainers, and long, dark Arctic winters have shaped some of the hardiest-and most stoic-human beings on Earth.
Yet Finns are reserved even by Nordic standards. From the Middle Ages until the 20th century, the country was occupied by Sweden and Russia, and the native Finns had great incentive to avoid trouble. Living next door to the Soviet Union during the Cold War provided further impetus to keep their mouths shut. But Finns have steadfastly maintained their identity, evidenced by the phrase, "Swedes no more; never Russians; let us be Finns."
"In Swedish they say 'great' all the time," says Liisa Keltikangas-Järvinen, a psychologist at the University of Helsinki. "In Finnish we don't say that things are great. We just don't. Things are OK or maybe good."
By: Maria Carling
My dad always tells the story of me as a young child. I learned the words "mama" and "daddy" and many others very early on -- but only spoke them once. I would then recede back into silence, saying nothing to either of my parents.
He knew that I COULD say the words, but chose not to.
When finally going to the doctors to get immunization shots and blood tests, my dad was asked to stand outside, behind the glass door of the operating room where he could watch. It was only then as they JABBED the wide needles into my little arms did I raise my hands up to him, crying out "DAADDYY!" pleading for him to save me.
He said he wanted to tear his heart out of his chest and hand it to the doctor. Anything to save me from that pain.
I COULD say his name, all along. It was as if I knew the word was powerful, but knew that that power grew the longer the word was held inside. When not wasted meaninglessly, words seem to grow stronger - as if slowly fermenting in the chest, intoxicating, refined, potent.