The Purpose of a Dictionary

One of the biggest arguments that can ignite the fervor of language experts is based on this question: what is the purpose of a dictionary? At its most basic, a dictionary is a collection of words in a language. A good dictionary will include information about each word including its definition, part(s) of speech, pronunciation(s), and in more formal cases, its etymology, or where the word originated. But whether a word belongs in a dictionary...well, that's where the argument comes in.

Ain't Misbehavin'

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In 1929, Fats Waller and Harry Brooks composed a ballad for which the lyricist Andy Razaf appended lyrics of devotion to a distant lover. The result was "Ain't Misbehavin'," one of the great American jazz standards of the 20th century. The title itself legitimized a nonstandard contraction and arguably made the song more universal. Besides, it flowed easily; "I'm Not Misbehavin'" is just clunky and ruins the song's purposeful cadence. "Ain't Misbehavin'" also reflected one of the biggest controversies in American English: is ain't a word?

Sticklers for standard American English have argued that ain't is not a word, but rather a poor substitution for other, more established contractions that already have been accepted, like isn't or haven't. However, by and large, their argument loses ground in the face of the fact that ain't has actually existed in dictionaries for decades—and in English for centuries.

Should a Dictionary Prescribe or Describe?

This fact drives the standard-bearers mad. They argue that the dictionary is the authority that dictates, or prescribes, what qualifies as standard, correct English. By definition, this is a prescriptivist view of the dictionary.

Yet others take a different view of the dictionary. Who is to dictate what fits in the dictionary? Shouldn't the dictionary just reflect what words people are using, regardless of whether they are "legitimate" or not? Shouldn't it just describe the language we use? By definition, people who believe this should be the case take a descriptivist view of the dictionary.

Prescriptivism vs. descriptivism is a prominent dichotomy among English language devotees. I can understand both sides of the discussion. As a past word list panelist and pronouncer for spelling bees, I have needed to be a prescriptivist, since after all, spelling bees use the dictionary as an authority, and any divergence from its holy writ is construed as wrong. As a copy editor mainly involved in nonfiction, I also see myself as a prescriptivist: my goal is clarity, and in realms like health and science, this requires adherence to a standard that the dictionary provides for all.

Yet outside of these realms, refusing to allow a word in the dictionary because it is nonstandard or somehow looked down upon by so-called arbiters of what is "right" creates a wall that can be seen as unfairly discriminatory. Over time, such a position would result in a dictionary that is hopelessly outdated. After all, language is fluid and mercurial, and to document its changes—to describe language—is one of the chief responsibilities of a dictionary. This is one of the reasons that I have found lexicographers to be more descriptivist—or at least the lexicographers at Merriam-Webster.

Where Would You Stand?

This dichotomy is a fascinating topic, one for which people can find themselves unwittingly on both sides of the divide. It may be easy to consider yourself a descriptivist when you think about how ingrained the word ain't is in informal language—surely there's a place for ain't after centuries of use, right?

But take a deep breath and ask yourself how comfortable you are with the double-negative irregardless. (It does exist in the dictionary, but look at the usage guide to see how Merriam-Webster views this word. It's not with rainbows and butterflies.) And just because a word can be constructed, does it mean that it should exist in the dictionary? An acquaintance of mine, an NPR correspondent, was chagrined to find that at least one lexicographer at Merriam-Webster thought so when giving the okay to ungetatable. He then averred that if this word were to appear in a story that crossed his desk, his red pen would squelch it on the spot.

There are many other prominent topics that this discussion addresses. Take the use of the singular they. Because English has historically lacked a clear singular third person pronoun that doesn't regard gender, editors and linguists have resorted to clear but clunky constructions like he or she. ("If anyone needs to visit the restroom, he or she can find it down the hall.") It can be argued that the singular they is more streamlined, and besides, it conveys the intended information just fine, while he or she is unnecessarily pedantic. This position is becoming more and more widely accepted, particularly in the face of cultural recognition of transgender and nonbinary folk for whom neither "he" nor "she" may apply. There's also the question of language that is generational: does it end up in the dictionary, and if so, when, and what are the standards? Slang terms that have come into wide use within the past decade including on fleek, sus, and yeet have passed muster; meanwhile, as of this post, the newer term cheugy, meaning "the opposite of trendy," has yet to clear the bar. Where you stand on whether these should be accepted as legitimate enough for a dictionary may help you see where you land on the prescriptivism vs. descriptivism discussion.

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