Rules, History and Linguistic Authorities

The love that we Spanish speakers have for rules and academies – a love that is ours alone – has its origins in history, but it is instilled in us so early on, and has been for so many generations, that it may, in fact, be stored in our genes.

The linguistic chaos that reigned in Spain throughout the XVIII century and the need for language to be homogenous in order to consolidate the empire led to the founding of the Real Academia Española. In less than a century, this linguistic academy fulfilled its mission, creating two works that were considered magnificent at the time: the dictionary and grammar. As a result, the teaching of language was standardized in Spain and throughout the colonies, making it now possible for native speakers from twenty countries to be able to communicate with one another with no trouble.

This history, which dates back two or three centuries, and this great work of the academy left Spanish speakers with the idea that someone should continue to tell us how we should talk and write and in what direction language should be evolving – even today. We have all seen debates on linguistic issues end with a hard-and-fast "The dictionary of the Real Academia Española says so," or heard statements such as "That word doesn’t exist; it’s not in the dictionary," or "The Real Academia Española doesn’t accept it." Given this notion of authority, which we have been spoon-fed since childhood, it is no surprise that companies are ready to make a profit selling certificates of "correct Spanish" and declaring war on words borrowed from English speakers.

I am not in favor of linguistic chaos nor do I support eliminating rules – rules which all languages have, though often speakers utilize them without ever knowing it. However, every year, thousands of trained linguists (or linguists-in-training) graduate from universities to interpret the language of people, media and literature and then discover and report on the laws that govern it. I merely wonder why a government office or state-owned entity in a given country has to set the standards for a language spoken by native speakers in more than twenty countries – not to mention the fact that such entities often patronize those who sell linguistic consulting services. As for the Latin American linguistic academies, their very existence is based on exploitation and their production is only noteworthy in terms of all that it lacks: their role is limited to adding a coat of polish to the academy.

The teaching of English is a very important segment in the British economy, but no one would ever think of telling English speakers what words actually "exist" or how to speak. It has been said that this is the task of good dictionaries and grammar guides. It is not that the dictionary published by the Real Academia Española is a bad dictionary: it is simply too poor and incomplete for all the fanfare and presumption with which it is presented – not to mention the amount of money invested to produce such unsatisfactory results. All of us who work with language know that the products of the RAE cannot lift a finger to an Oxford or a Merriam Webster – but that is all we’ve got.

I don’t know much about language conferences: I only attended the one in Valladolid for work-related reasons and it appeared (maybe not so much at the time, but certainly today) a pompous media event put together to push product sales. There is nothing wrong with that; sales are the goal of trade shows and no one complains. What seems to me problematic is when public entities give themselves an authority they don’t really have to justify the exclusive distribution – reserved for themselves or for others – of certain editorial products and consulting services. Not to mention the fact that renowned academics attend these fetes organized by the ones with money. There is no wrongdoing in the actions of such academics; they believe that such public entities have the right to do so, because they were also instilled early on with the notion that these entities are the guardians of our language, though against what enemy, we are not sure.

No U.S. professor would ever think of telling a student: "Don’t say papaya, that’s a word taken from Spanish: say paw-paw, which is the way we say it." Spanish speakers, in contrast, don our armor and resignedly march off to battle.

The linguist Manuel Seco, a member of the Spanish academy, would seem in favor of our position. In his work on essential Spanish grammar, Seco states:

From the very beginning, the Academy became the official authority of language. This authority increased as a result of the high quality of the first of its publications, leading many speakers – both Spanish and Latin American – to believe, as they continue to believe today, that the Academy "dictates" what should and should not be said. Even among educated people, it is common to hear that such-and-such word "is not accepted" by the Academy and that therefore "is incorrect" or "doesn’t exist."

There is a fundamental error in this belief about the Academy: that of considering that anyone – be it a person or a corporation – has the authority to legislate language. Language belongs to the community that speaks it, and what this community accepts is what truly "exists", and what is used and accepted is what is definitively "correct."
(Gramática esencial del español, Espasa Calpe, 1995)

Some months back, Babelia, the literary supplement of Madrid’s daily El País, reported that Spanish "has begun waging a battle for territory in the United States." The author sent out an appeal to "coordinate the defense of our language." A unique – though by no means infrequent – use of the word defense. Sounds a bit like the Pentagon.