CHAPTER XXIII.
THE STANDARD LANGUAGE.
In all modern civilised countries, we find, side by side with numerous dialects, a standard language, professing to stand aloof from all dialects, and to represent what may be called the classical form of the language. This standard language is in fact an abstraction, an ideal, a supreme court of language prescribing rules to be followed in the case of each language. It bears the same kind of relationship to the actual processes active in language, as a particular code of laws to the aggregate of all the cases in any district in which that code is applied; or of a definite dogmatic text-book to the religious practices and faiths of all the individuals of a community confessing the particular faith embodied in that book.
Such a standard language as we have described,—as it does not result from the various processes natural to the life of language,—necessarily differs from language in general by its fixity; wherever a change takes place in a standard language, the element of consciousness is more clearly present than in the ordinary changes of language. Not that a standard is absolutely all-foreseeing in its provisions, or can claim to decide on the entirety of the cases for which it gives the example. A code of law, in the same way, or a confession of faith, may be liable to several interpretations, and may not cover some of the cases which come under its purview. Besides this, we must always take into account the possible lack of intelligence on the part of those who ought to act up to its provisions; and, again, the feeling which must set in from time to time, that many of the provisions of the code are obsolete, owing to fresh moral or economical views which may have become current since it was drawn up. When such a feeling has set in strongly, the code is commonly altered to suit the demands of the day. Just so the standard language may, and indeed must, alter from time to time; but its alterations are, like those of the code, adopted designedly, or at all events with much more consciousness than those which set into the ordinary course of language.
This standard language is, speaking generally, the language of a certain restricted circle in an entire community—most commonly, as in England, the language of the best-educated classes. The standard language may be settled in two different ways: (1) by spoken language; (2) by written authorities. Supposing that a standard language is to result from a spoken language, it is necessary that the persons who are regarded as authorities should be in continuous and full communication with each other, in order to keep the standard as consistent as possible. Sometimes we find a particular town or district cited as speaking the language which is quoted as the standard. Thus it is common to quote Hanover, in Germany, and Tours in France, as places where the purest German and French are heard. But it is clear that, even assuming the correctness of such model towns or districts, none but the better-educated classes even of those districts can be looked upon as likely to maintain the standard language in its purity. In England, the standard language can be defined in no other way than as the language of the well-educated classes, who make it their object to speak alike, and to exclude abnormal or dialectic variations from the standard language. In France, besides the appeal to the usage of the educated, there is the further tribunal of the Academy, whose verdict is final upon all questions of literary taste and diction. In Germany, the language which must be taken as the standard language is not that of any town or district, but the purely artificial language employed on the German stage in serious drama. This language forms a very interesting and remarkable example of a standard language which is consciously maintained as the most effective medium of communication for a nation which is more divided into dialects than most other European nations. The stage language of Germany is maintained by a continuous and careful training, based on a knowledge of the science of phonetics. The objects aimed at by the actors have been twofold: in the first place, it was necessary to practise an eclecticism in the choice of their language, which should succeed in making it intelligible to the largest number of German speakers: in the next place, beauty and grace could not be left out of consideration. Hence a fixed norm had to be settled on and maintained, as it is plain that a consistent pronunciation maintained unchanged is a main factor in promoting intelligibility. Again, inconsistency in pronunciation is practically the admission of dialectical peculiarities: and such peculiarities at once suggest characterisation where none would be in place. Those points, then, in the varying dialects, were alone selected for this normal language which seemed more conducive to clearness. Sounds and intonations peculiar to any dialect were admitted into the standard language if they contributed to this result. Syllables which had come, in the course of time, to be slurred over on account of their light stress were reinstated in the integrity of their original sounds. The orthography was made to aid in the reconstruction of the pronunciation. Such studied straining after clearness must necessarily prevent the stage language from passing into a colloquial language. Its very clearness would savour of a stilted affectation. But, with all its rigidness and precision, the stage language still exercises some influence upon the sounds of the colloquial language—considerably more than that exercised by any particular dialect. But its form is to a large extent poetical; indeed, it receives much of its language ready made from the poets.
As we stated above, in the case of our own language the only normal standard that we are able to point to as the purest English is that commonly spoken among educated people. In this case it is obvious that the agreement between the different classes who aim at maintaining the norm can be at best but an imperfect one. Each class of educated men will have a tendency to fall into certain peculiarities of speech which will mark them off in some degree from all others. The language of the bar is not quite that of the army. The language of the Church differs from that of both. The language of the educated in England, however,—in other words, the language of those who aim at following the norm,—agrees in one respect, that in all an emancipation from dialect is aimed at, and, to a large extent, attained. This result is largely owing to the fact that in England the better-educated classes are in the habit of sending their sons to be educated out of their own dialectical district, and the result is that they come into contact, at an early period of their lives, with companions whose language is characterised either by different dialectical peculiarities from their own, or by an absence of any. But even so it must always be remembered that those who speak their language in its greatest purity, i.e. with the greatest absence of dialectical peculiarities, are subject to the changes which mark all language and are an inseparable concomitant of its existence.
But there is another means whereby a standard or common language may become fixed, and may come to serve as the normal or ideal language of the speakers of any given language. This means is the reduction of such normal language to writing. The reduction of the standard language to writing renders it independent of those who speak it, and enables it to be transmitted unchanged to the following generations. It further permits the standard language to spread without direct intercourse. Of course, the influence of a written language upon dialects is much more powerful upon the material than upon the phonetic side. A Scotch peasant may read a page of the Times every day, and, if he reads it aloud to his family, the absence of Scotticisms will act powerfully upon the younger generation, and to a certain extent upon himself. But he will probably continue to pronounce the standard language in much the same way as his native dialect.
It is possible to make strict rules for the maintenance of a written language, by adhering to the usage of definite grammars and dictionaries, or of particular authors, and admitting no other authorities. This happens when, for instance, modern Latinists aim at reproducing the style of Cicero, like Mr. Keble in his celebrated Prælectiones. But if so-called purity of style and expression be gained by this process, surely far more is lost. The author writing under such restrictions must necessarily lose much of his power of original expression, and must find himself very much cramped in his vocabulary. In fact, writing at a period when the whole character of the civilisation has changed from that of his model’s epoch, he will find himself at a loss for words to express his most common conceptions.
The fact is that a written language, in order to live and be effectual, must change with the changing times, and admit into itself words and methods of expression which have become usual among those for whom it is to serve as the model. It may maintain a conservative influence by refusing to admit such words and expressions too hastily; but it must allow of no absolute barriers to their ingress. Modern Latin, in the shape of the Romance languages, has survived, and has proved adequate to the expression of modern thought; but in its ancient form, it has died out as a living language; and the fair dream of the Humanists that the tongue of Cicero might serve as the medium of communication to all civilised Europe was destined to pass away unrealised, from the simple fact that they insisted too strongly that this tongue should be exclusively modelled upon that of Cicero himself.
A literary language which has emancipated itself from its models must, of course, become less regular as time goes on, and each individual who employs it introduces into it some of his own peculiarities of idiom. But it need not split up into varieties geographically situated, as must needs be the case under similar circumstances with spoken language. For instance, the English written in America is much more like the English written in England than is the dialect spoken in Cornwall like that spoken in Yorkshire. Sound-change, of course, under our present alphabetic system remains wholly undenoted. Inflections, word-significations, and syntax are of course exposed to change, but to a less extent than in the spoken language. Such a word as bug may have retained its older significance of insect in America, and have been specialised in England; but the word is written in the same way in the two countries alike. Similarly, will and shall may be exchanged, or one of these used to the exclusion of the other; but they will remain spelt in the same way. Besides this, it must be remembered that the so-called classical models in any language will always continue to exert a large influence upon those who write in it; and this will always be an influence antagonistic to change.