I don't believe I mentioned "perfection." I did say "optimal," which is not a static condition. My English is by no means perfect, but it sometimes echoes faintly an English which was optimal for its time. Anyone who suggests that "a big ask" is an example of an English that is optimal for its time is, I believe, mistaken. We need more words, not fewer (or, as would probably be said these days, "less").
Are we then to take it that, because linguists speak of families of languages, they therefore have a washing-up rota? Because they are arranged in trees, do they therefore require fertiliser? This illustrates my point. The way we conceptualise our language shapes its development, and we do have the choice; to see it as a living thing, uncontrollable, unpredictable and inevitably mortal, or to see it as something created by our ancestors and left to us in trust for our use.
I know prescriptivism is a dirty word these days, but it was not always thus. I'm not interested in creating a divide between those who can speak and write well and those who can't, I'm interested in expending the relatively little effort required to make sure that all can speak and write well if they so choose. (After that they can do what they like.) But for that initial step even to be possible, there must be a clear idea of what is to be taught. Allowing consensus to shape the language makes that clear idea impossible. It's the difference between a metalled road and a sheep track. The sheep track may be the easiest to make, but try driving along it with a case of nitro-glycerine on the back seat. It may be democratic, but so is a stampede. And it may look like a romantic ideal from a distance, but go closer and you can smell the shit. If you'll pardon the Anglo-Saxonism.
There is no perfect English for all time. But there is good English right now, and bad English right now, and that implies the existence of optimal English for our time. The argument against "keeping a language static", the one that talks about preserving it in a glass case or pickling it in formaldehyde, is a straw man, because that's not what I'm talking about. And if the French institute (which was doing all right when I was a boy, if my teachers were to be relied on) and the German reforms haven't worked, then maybe that is a symptom of the same malady, the same abdication of responsibility for something that it is in our power to make or to mar.
It's like a public building. It could be sealed off, put behind a rope barrier and the public kept out, and it would decay uselessly. It could be left, as it is being left, untended and uncared-for, and the consensus would cover it with litter and graffiti and break its windows and complain that it's an eyesore and needs to be pulled down. Or, and this is my favourite option, it could be restored, updated thoughtfully where necessary, maintained, and (most importantly) guarded. That way it would continue to be both useful and beautiful for much longer than it would if either of the other options were followed.
Not perfect. We don't get perfect. But we can make it better, and keep it good. If we choose to take responsibility for it.
no subject
Are we then to take it that, because linguists speak of families of languages, they therefore have a washing-up rota? Because they are arranged in trees, do they therefore require fertiliser? This illustrates my point. The way we conceptualise our language shapes its development, and we do have the choice; to see it as a living thing, uncontrollable, unpredictable and inevitably mortal, or to see it as something created by our ancestors and left to us in trust for our use.
I know prescriptivism is a dirty word these days, but it was not always thus. I'm not interested in creating a divide between those who can speak and write well and those who can't, I'm interested in expending the relatively little effort required to make sure that all can speak and write well if they so choose. (After that they can do what they like.) But for that initial step even to be possible, there must be a clear idea of what is to be taught. Allowing consensus to shape the language makes that clear idea impossible. It's the difference between a metalled road and a sheep track. The sheep track may be the easiest to make, but try driving along it with a case of nitro-glycerine on the back seat. It may be democratic, but so is a stampede. And it may look like a romantic ideal from a distance, but go closer and you can smell the shit. If you'll pardon the Anglo-Saxonism.
There is no perfect English for all time. But there is good English right now, and bad English right now, and that implies the existence of optimal English for our time. The argument against "keeping a language static", the one that talks about preserving it in a glass case or pickling it in formaldehyde, is a straw man, because that's not what I'm talking about. And if the French institute (which was doing all right when I was a boy, if my teachers were to be relied on) and the German reforms haven't worked, then maybe that is a symptom of the same malady, the same abdication of responsibility for something that it is in our power to make or to mar.
It's like a public building. It could be sealed off, put behind a rope barrier and the public kept out, and it would decay uselessly. It could be left, as it is being left, untended and uncared-for, and the consensus would cover it with litter and graffiti and break its windows and complain that it's an eyesore and needs to be pulled down. Or, and this is my favourite option, it could be restored, updated thoughtfully where necessary, maintained, and (most importantly) guarded. That way it would continue to be both useful and beautiful for much longer than it would if either of the other options were followed.
Not perfect. We don't get perfect. But we can make it better, and keep it good. If we choose to take responsibility for it.