An Examination of the Material Treated in Simon Winchester’s
The Meaning of Everything
The story of the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary is surpassed in magnificence perhaps only by the history of the language that it has undertaken to catalogue. There is no more an end to the scope of the work and the intricacies of lexicographic principles employed nor to the depth of character of the myriad players involved than there is an end to the evolution of the language itself. The combination of the genius involved in its planning and creation, and the perseverance of the editors and contributors who tirelessly and dauntlessly dedicated themselves to its eventual completion are what make the Oxford English Dictionary - and its history – an unrivalled presence, a monolithic authority for the English language and its speakers.
The genius of the work lies only secondarily in its size and scope. Originally entitled A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, the project undertook not only to define an immensely greater number of words than had any earlier dictionary, but to illustrate how and when each was born into the language and how and when each had taken on different shades of meaning through the centuries and across geographical boundaries. A plan had been set forth to – in the words of Dr. James Murray - ‘push… experimentally through an untrodden forest,’ to do something that had not been done and which, in the eyes of London’s most proactive philologists, needed to be.
The Oxford English Dictionary (from here forward the OED) was compiled ultimately in response to a call by Dean Richard Chenevix Trench and the Philological Society to remedy ‘some deficiencies in our [existing] English dictionaries.’ Among the most apparent and abhorrent shortcomings that vexed those early, inferior and incomplete lexica1 were the omission of obsolete words, cited earliest uses of words that were far more recent than their actual inaugurations, important semantic changes overlooked, redundancy within and among existing dictionaries, and an annoyingly negligent and lackadaisical approach to the reading of literature in search of illustrative quotations. Eventually, the OED would prove itself immune to and impenetrable against lexicographic plagues such as these that had been allowed to run rampant among dictionaries for so long. The completed Dictionary certainly answered the Dean’s entreaty for a ‘remedy’ and went far above and beyond what he or even its later contributors could have desired or expected. Indeed it was as close to perfect and complete as ink and paper would have allowed at the time of its publication.
There is much that can be said about the glory and supremacy of the ‘Big Dictionary’, but the stroke of genius that would prove to be the coups de grace to silence any questions on its authority and authenticity came when Dean Trench announced that in proceeding with the project, London’s Philological Society was to ‘involve in the making of the lexicon the very people who spoke and read the language’ (Winchester 44). Volunteers would be summoned to scour all of literature and all things written in English – American and British alike – in order to ensure that they would ‘leave neither words nor things unexamined’ (Johnson qtd. in Winchester 94) and that the Dictionary would indeed be ‘of the people’ (44). Dean Trench understood and, fortunately, expressed to the Society that ‘a dictionary is an historical monument, the history of a nation contemplated from one point of view – and the wrong ways into which a language has wandered may be nearly as instructive as the right ones’ (qtd. in Winchester 42, emphasis added).
The decision to produce a living, breathing, thriving history of the English language based upon descriptive – even democratic – principles was the most important single decision in the history of the dictionary, and perhaps in the history of the language embraced between its covers. History has the drafters of the OED to thank for embracing the decree made by lexicographer Benjamin Martin and adopted by Samuel Johnson that ‘the pretense of fixing a standard to the purity and perfection of any language is utterly vain and impertinent’ (qtd. In Winchester 30). What is available now as the completed OED is an accurate, candid expression of the organic evolution of a beautifully intricate and masterfully expressive language, unblemished by attempts at restraint and standardization. Of course, all of the planning and outlining and drafting would have been – indeed, almost was – in vain without the individual and concerted efforts of the brilliant minds and industrious hands that kept the machine in motion.
There exists no more significant character in the history of the OED nor greater champion of its survival and eventual completion than the remarkable and underappreciated James Murray2. He stands head, shoulders, and black velvet cap above any other contributor to the work for three major reasons. First, he possessed an unparalleled commitment to the excellence, perfection, and integrity of the finished product. Second, he was - and possibly remains - unmatched in his keen ability to select, edit, paraphrase, categorize, and otherwise tailor illustrations and quotations and utilize them in the development of definitions of the lemmas that he determined were necessary to include. Third, he had been endowed with a certain resoluteness, a tenacity, an indefatigable physical, mental, and emotional stamina that he was able to channel and focus like a laser beam on the dictionary project.
The definitions and etymologies contained in the OED would not be nearly as authentic and meaningful as they are had anyone besides James Murray been responsible for their compilation and creation. The illustrative quotations that were submitted by volunteers – usually around 1,000 every day arrived to Dr. Murray in the Scriptorium - were generally hand-written on small leaves of paper. Dr. Murray had a staff that would sort the slips alphabetically and again by parts of speech. He and he alone would the review the slips, scanning and checking and verifying and clarifying in order to be absolutely certain that they were free of error. He would continue to attempt to discern the differences in meaning – both obvious and subtle – that the words had taken on over the centuries. Finally, he would ‘write and polish and fuss with and burnish… what he divined as their definitions’ (Winchester 116). Winchester states elegantly yet clearly that ‘defining words is a rare and special art’ (116), an art that was possessed by – or that possessed – Dr. James A. H. Murray.
Readers and speakers of English are indebted to Sir James Murray for his unflinching commitment to the natural preservation and proper documentation of their language. Upon receiving ‘suggestions’ from a certain Benjamin Jowett and others of one of the project’s subcommittees that newspapers should not be cited as source material, that only the works of ‘great authors’ should be used, that no modern language - at that time anything after 1875 - be included, and that scientific and slang terms be omitted, Murray was insulted and grew characteristically furious. Said he, ‘The Dictionary can be made better in quality only by more care, more work, more time’ (qtd. in Winchester 128). When that same Jowett, a man hardly involved with the work at hand, nominated himself as the perfect candidate to write the preface to the new dictionary, Murray was livid, even to the point of threatening resignation. ‘I shall write my own preface’ he swore, ‘or it shall remain unwritten’ (129). In 1887 when Phillip Lyttleton Gell – then head of the Oxford University Press – determined that the dictionary was taking too long and that corners must be cut, Murray again threatened to resign, not desiring his name included on or in a product that he deemed inferior or incomplete. We have much to thank Dr. Murray for, for to him ‘it was the long term that counted’ (Winchester 183). His loyalty to the Dictionary and uncompromising attitude are responsible for much of the lexicographic supremacy and timelessness of the OED.
It is true that Dr. Murray stands singular as a great editor of the Dictionary, but what is most important, and what he would take the most pride in, is that he did not write the Dictionary. The OED was written by professors and madmen, hermits and murderers, gardeners and servants and ministers and chemists and boat-builders (see Winchester 212). The identities of the ‘authors’ of the Dictionary are as varied as the words defined therein. The legacy of Dr. Murray and of the OED, their gift to the history of the English language, is the existence of a Dictionary that contains a chronicle ‘not of our English, but of all English’ (qtd. in Winchester 239).
The English language, like any language, is untamed and untamable. The Oxford English Dictionary provides a priceless and compelling narrative of the history of the English language, which is a history of so much more than just words. Indeed, the history of the English language is the history of a nation. Samuel Johnson said that if things are the sons of heaven, words are the daughters of the earth (see Winchester 235). Readers and speakers of English are fortunate that the OED has sought only to provide a home for the earth’s daughters, which will inevitably be joined by countless more of their sisters. The great family of the English lexicon must ever be permitted to grow and flourish.
All citations come from:
Winchester, Simon. The Meaning of Everything. Oxford: OUP, 2003
1 No dictionary should be considered inferior to another, for the history of lexicography is evolutionary, each dictionary learning from and building off of its ancestors, and each one clearing the path for its posterity.
2 James Murray is only underappreciated by those who do not know who he is. Among lexicographers he seems to be practically worshipped.
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