A few days ago, my mother emailed me this BBC article on the ongoing malcontent between linguistic purists yearning to keep words true to their classical meanings, and the unwashed masses who use words - which are, after all, symbols - in new and rapidly changing ways. The Internet, of course, has only accelerated these changes, and thus increased the fervor of the debate.
While this is hardly the first such article I've seen, it has left me a bit taken aback. Do people really use "bemused" to mean "slightly amused?" The article tells me it's a skunked term, or one over which there is such confusion that edited publications refrain from using it. In my opinion, that's really sad. English is kind of a screwed-up language, what with its kleptomaniacal habits ranging from causal pickpocketing of other Western European languages (some French terms just have that je ne sais quoi absent from more prosaic tongues, you know?) to armed robbery on the high seas. The silver lining to this cloud of linguistic piracy is the incredible richness of terms - of synonyms, antonyms, connotations, nuances of thought and meaning, and as a lover of words, to see that wither is like watching a limb that could be healed instead wither from disuse.
It would be easy to tell myself, based on that, that I come down firmly on the "linguistic purist" side of things. In all honesty, as ever, it's more complicated than that. Call it sophistication or cussedness, but if I went with the obvious, logical course I'd probably burst into flames. Rather than coming down on either side, here, I find myself astride the argument, hoping it doesn't jump up and hit me in the fork. It probably will, but that's the risk of living in the fast lane, yo!
Man, I mixed that metaphor.
Back on subject, I've been on both sides. For example, how do you use "weird?" Do you use it to mean strange, bizarre or unusual, or do you view it as a term for the eerie or uncanny? Until a couple years ago, I was vaguely aware of the latter meaning but thought it primarily an antiquated one. Weird, meaning uncanny, reminded me forcibly of Macbeth. My mother, on the other hand, was and to a degree still is thrown for a loop when I call something peculiar "weird." We've kind of cross-pollinated each other, by now. She referred to local TV as weird the other day and, while I guess it can be pretty unsettling, that wasn't what she was aiming for.
On the other hand, I fume at the corruption of "literally" every bit as much as I mourn the dereliction of "bemused." The crux, I think, is twofold. First, in cases like "literally," there is already a perfectly good freaking word meaning exactly what people are mis-using "literally" for! This word is its FREAKING ANTONYM, "figuratively!" What are we going to do next, start calling red things blue?!
If terms share kinship, such as peculiar and eerie - the eerie is almost invariable peculiar, and the peculiar sometimes eerie - then it makes sense for one term, in different contexts,to cover both bases. "Literally" and "figuratively" are opposites, though, and "irony" in the hipster sense thereof will never be more than an attempt at excusing the lovely combination of bad taste and pretentiousness.
Second, for words like "bemused," whose meanings remain as current as ever, to fall out of use or into abuse bespeaks a far-reaching intellectual laziness. As previously mentioned, words are symbols. Symbols, in turn, are tools. Specifically, a symbol is a tool used to represent a concept. Thus, some become obsolete, while others require some skill to use. The thing about skill, then, is that it takes effort, and since today's hyper-connected society has transformed communication from an activity into a constant state of being, it's incredibly easy not to make that effort. Ye gods and little fishies know I'm guilty!
On the other hand, much like using a fork for a screwdriver - sure, the tines will kinda do the trick, I guess - this compromises efficiency and elegance and runs the risk both of damaging the project, be it carpentry or communication, and of making a fool of the person doing so.
An interesting aspect of language is the prevalence of figurative speech. Obvious metaphors and similes pervade works of prose and poetry, as well as daily conversations. However, many instances have so ingrained themselves in how we talk about the world around us that we don't even notice their existence. Prime among them in my mind right now is the term "living language" and its twin, "dead language." English, as one of the most-spoken tongues in the modern world, is without a doubt a living language.
And what do living things do? They change. Whether you adhere to the theory of evolution or the dogma of intelligent design, the fact remains that individuals learn, grow and change, and species adapt to their environments. Language, too, evolves. To try to hold it static is to do it harm and frustrate yourself. On the other hand, to allow it to mutate willy-nilly leads to strange and painful deformations. In linguistic changes, as in all things, thought and moderation are key.
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