“Shall we in deference to these great authorities allow wert to be the same with wast… or rather abide by the practice of our best antient writers?” — Robert Lowth
I went on a walk the other day with a Persian friend of mine, Steve. Having already discussed various topics of importance, our discourse turned upon its own very nature: “It is hard to be precise in English,” forwarded Steve; “It takes too many words to express anything but simple ideas.”
My mind immediately jumped to the obvious response and I thus spoke, saying, “Might it be that you find it hard to describe more complex and abstract ideas because English is not your first language?” Steve took some time to ponder before replaying, saying, “Josh, that may be part of it but it’s not all of it. In Persian, there are words to describe exactly what I want to express.”
In the English language, I firmly believe that there exist adequate verbal facilities to represent any idea expressible in another. When Steve relayed to me his frustration with the English language, however, it provoked me to pause in my thinking. The context of this conversation between me and Steve was after a long back-and-forth concerning theological truths. So, if the English language, which is my only language, limits my ability to elucidate, in objective fashion, ideas pertinent to what amounts to be the most important topic, what am I to make of my own understanding? His trilingual status gave me reason enough to embark upon an inquiry into the field of Language.
As good a place as any to start with such an inquiry is to consider how a language develops. In this way, it can be known if these means permit that gaps in expressivity might arise in any particular tongue.
The process by which the first language (or languages) developed is debated and not entirely relevant to the present discussion. For now, we can assume that, at some point beyond five thousand years ago, people began speaking in ways resembling modern languages. Language was at this time used as it is today: to coordinate work between workers, to pass ideas between thinkers, and to teach youth the ways of adulthood. None of these languages, though, is still being spoken today: the modern languages have merely descended from these ancient languages (Yule 1). In this way, while both Aristotle and a modern Greek might be considered fluent Greek speakers, with over two millennia between the languages spoken by either, the two would not be able to understand each other.
A language once unified shifts and sunders because the people who speak it change. While one generation may find itself beset on all sides by enemies, necessitating an expansive and accurate vocabulary for describing garrison maneuvers and differentiating between people groups, another generation might be defined by resourcefulness and economic prosperity, permitting a varied taxonomy for exotic foods and a rich nomenclature for the arts. A gifted intellectual in the time of Aristotle, for instance, would have held the title philosopher, despite the fact that he would have known something of strategy, science, and the nature of Being; one in modern-day Greece, however, would be a doctor, writer, aerospace engineer, or zoologist, among many other nuanced titles existent because the modern times facilitate more specialization than that which was possible in Classical Athens. This is an example where language has expanded. It can also contract through similar changes in culture. Consider how many words the average twenty-first-century American possesses with which he can distinguish one weed from another; now consider how a sixteenth-century European peasant, having lived day-to-day in an agricultural society, would fare at the same naming game. In this way, language is very utilitarian: a word remains in a language until its use has run its course and, when a new concept becomes the subject of common discourse, a new word gets the concept’s meaning, expediting dialogue.
For this reason, that each language is in a constant state of flux, more recent linguists, such as Noam Chomsky, conclude that there is not even such a thing as a language: “there are just lots of different ways of speaking that different people have which are more or less similar to one another” (UWTV 8:37-8:45). Just as an entire society can add or drop words to or from common vernacular, communities which are part of the greater society can specialize their dialects to fit their particular needs. A coach can call out “Red 22” and his football team will know exactly how to position itself. To anyone outside the team, this phrase is meaningless. Where I live, in San Diego, California, a reference to “the boardwalk” would occur without confusion. I was recently shocked, then, when I needed to explain to someone from Middle America that “the boardwalk” is a long concrete strip—on which people walk, skate, and bike—that runs along the beach. Could “Red 22” or “the boardwalk” be considered English? And again to consider farming, while the average American might not be able to distinguish one weed from the next, one from a community of farmers or who is a botanist would have specialized vocabulary for distinguishment. When considering that English is spoken around the planet (Australia, Ireland, Jamaica, &c), it can be seen that the cultural divides and dialectical differences make setting objective criteria for what makes a word an English word impossible.
Even if the specific words or idioms used in a particular area cannot be predicted with a common language, could not a language grammar be used to define a language? After all, the rules that state not to split an infinitive, not to say “Me and him went” but “He and I went,” and not to use a double negative seem to be universals to which any variant of English must abide. However, these rules are not universally applicable. Most modern English speakers are not even aware that traditional English grammar dictates that “to again fail the test” is improper because it splits an infinitive; many speakers use “He ate more than me” when, by traditional standards, they really mean “He ate more than I”; and many dialects permit phrases to the effect of “I don’t know nobody.” Again to quote Noam Chomsky, “when you’re taught rules of your own language in grade school, the chances are very strong that what you're being taught is false, otherwise you wouldn’t have to be taught it” (UWTV 9:40-9:50). Here, Chomsky was explaining that grammar rules do not actually describe a real, spoken language. This means that the rules, instead of describing a real language, are describing a synthetic (i.e. man-engineered) language—the English Literary Standard. Hence, even grammar is not consistent from one speaker to another speaker.
A Language such as English, in this light, cannot be rigidly defined either by vocabulary or grammar. For the purpose of identifying gaps in expressivity, this might appear to make this job more difficult: every single person grows up in a different environment, learning a slightly different variant of English. Nonetheless, I forward that this fact actually makes the job easier. Since English, as any language, is unique to each person, containing words and grammatical constructions necessary for his conversations and ponderments, it cannot be a hindrance to contemplation and dialogue upon any class of subject: jargon develops to fill any gaps in expressivity. Most English speakers do not often discuss whether the nature of Holy Communion, the consumption of bread and wine, is literally consumption of Christ’s body and blood or only metaphorical thereof so there is no common word for this concept; but for theologians debating this topic, it would be long-winded and inefficient to use so many words to describe the issue every time someone references it. Hence, theologians debate “transubstantiation.” While the fluidity of a language makes it impossible to absolutely define, it also means that a language can infinitely change to accommodate needs of expression. Therefore, English cannot be lacking in its ability to express complex ideas any more than another language because each tongue constantly develops to meet the needs of its speakers.
What, then, is there to be said of Steve’s point that English is insufficient? Was he simply incorrect? Was my initial conjecture just, that it is only Steve’s command of English that is the culprit? I do not think the matter to be this simple. Instead, I forward that it is an incorrect conclusion based on language’s fluidity that contributes to English’s problem.
As discussed above, a language is constantly adapting to the needs of its society. Modern linguists have rightly concluded that there is no objective dialect of a language to which “correctness” can be unilaterally assigned, with grammar and vocabulary scarcely consistent even between two people from the same time and geographic location. From this, many linguists have grown weary of those who promote a standardized grammar because, after all, who can rightfully declare one way of speaking to be superior to another? Two effects of this are a dismissal of earlier grammarians who prescribed (wrote the rules to) grammars and a general aversion to prescribing rules in the present. In fact, such prescriptions are often labeled as inequitable and perhaps unrightfully discriminatory. Herein lies the problem to which I alluded in the former paragraph.
English is a worldwide language, being spoken in every continent by various people of different backgrounds. With this alongside the in-flux nature of language, it is a wonder that I, someone from Southern California, can understand someone from Singapore or Australia. This mutual intelligibility is entirely due to the existence of Standard English. While each region has its own dialect, some more similar than others, Standard English may be invoked in scenarios where dialect differences might spawn miscommunications. Moreover, this ubiquitous dialect allows for scholarly discussion through unambiguous meanings for words and grammar.
Standard English, however, has not existed as long as the version of English with which the contemporary speaker is familiar. In the 15th century, which is the start of what is considered to be Modern English, “there was a pressing problem of 'mutual intelligibility'” (qtd. in Al-Rushaidi 310). Pronunciation, vocabulary, and grammar changed from one location to another to such a great extent that mere miles of separation created language barriers. Over the centuries, this problem was resolved with the aid of authoritative works of literature—such as Shakespeare’s corpus alongside the Authorized Version of the Bible—and, most pertinent to the present discussion, prescriptive grammar books. As the English language began to spread profoundly throughout the world, the 18th century saw the advent of English grammar books—books which prescribed rules to be followed for achieving clear speech and eloquent prose for both native and foreign speakers. These grammars which defined Standard English did so by consulting seminal and profound works of English literature. David Mulroy, in his 2006 The War Against Grammar, wrote that grammarians who composed such works “[b]y dint of honest efforts… contributed significantly to the creation of modern Standard English, with all of its benefits'' (qtd. in Al-Rushaidi 311). In this way, to combat the profuse differences in English dialects, prescriptive grammars helped to synthesize, while taking much influence from great authors, Standard English.
One would be correct to say that nothing inherent to the structure of Standard English makes it more viable than many other dialects’. Where one becomes misled is when he then concludes, on grounds of equity, that injustice abounds where one dialect, Standard English, is preferred above others and considered to be generally more worthy of study. Such a conclusion beccons that perhaps Standard English ought to be replaced by some new dialect, changed to represent more dialects than those of the wealthy and academic, or done away with in public education. The problem with this can be seen through Standard English’s construction: grammarians modeled it on great works of literature and most literature thence onward has adhered to this dialect; therefore, abandonment of Standard English would be to abandon the greatest pool of English Literature in existence. If children were no longer taught in schools the same strain of English taught to Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, and Martin Luther King Junior, the profound statements uttered by each would become incomprehensible as regional dialects shift further and further from what was the standard English. Moreover, any changes to Standard English compound over time, leading to the existential worry that, in five-hundred years, English speakers would only with difficulty comprehend what we speak and write today—just as we today find Shakespeare’s works puzzling, with many of his words no longer in use and many more having changed meanings in sometimes subtle, yet impactful, ways.
Ironically, deviation from Standard English in public education would only worsen issues of equity because people who grow up in communities where their dialects are farther from Standard English, who are typically already at a disadvantage in society, would have greater barriers to a rich education than those whose dialects are more similar.
Despite Standard English’s benefits and the fact that most institutions expect statements and corporate documents to abide close thereby, Standard English has changed because of laxness in enforcing its consistency and in some cases dropping thereof. Resultantly, English speakers from one location or culture to another could be speaking languages that are fundamentally different because the parties are either unfamiliar with Standard English or learned a bastardized version of it. Hence, when a person from one community speaks with one from another, even if the two are from the same geographic location, key words may have differences in meaning which, although sometimes small, create miscommunication. These miscommunications can range from interpreting a statement meant to be nice as passive-aggressive to interpreting mercy to be synonymous with grace.
Steve’s native tongue, Persian, is among one of the world languages renowned for having changed so little over the course of the last thousand years that elementary-school-aged children can read poetry that is about one thousand years old and understand it. Moreover, the differences between dialects are small and have been small; this is the reason it has changed so little over the years. This static language follows from Persian speakers being much more of a monoculture than English speakers. Thus, when Steve speaks with another Persian speaker, there is little question about what one word means because the two will have a shared experience and background from which to define words. Alternatively, when he or another speaks English, there are a plethora of cultural divides which might impact how he and his conversation mate interpret each other’s words.
In summary, Steve’s frustration with English’s lack of vocabulary necessary for expressing his ideas is incorrect in one light and correct in another. If he were to spend time in an English speaking sub-culture where people often discussed issues about which he cared, the English he hears and speaks would mold into both his and the culture’s need. But given that the English-speaking world is very culturally-diverse, and because Standard English is not fully learned by many speakers, he as well as any other speaker will never be able to communicate with all English speakers at a level possible in a language driving a monoculture: for the diversity of experience and upbringing is far to grand.