Few dictionary definitions in recent memory were as hotly anticipated as the one for “Brexit”, which in 2016 had us all desperate for an escape from the circulatory hell that was “Brexit means Brexit”, the mantra of the then PM Theresa May. While the definition itself, when it came, was never going to be earth-shattering – “the withdrawal of the United Kingdom from the European Union, and the political process associated with it” – it offered for most people the validation they were looking for.
If a word and its meaning had entered “The Dictionary”, then it was official. This week the linguistic spotlight has turned to “Islamophobia”: what it means, whether dictionary-makers have got it right, and – as minister after minister desperately swerved the word – whether it should even exist at all.
The All-Party Parliamentary Group on British Muslims has come closest to an “official” definition of “Islamophobia”: “Islamophobia is rooted in racism and is a type of racism that targets expressions of Muslimness or perceived Muslimness.” It has been adopted by Labour and the Liberal Democrats but not by the Conservative Party, who argue that it could inhibit free speech and therefore needs further consideration.
Many, but certainly not all, Muslims argue that the very existence of the word Islamophobia has allowed them to name their own suffering. The Oxford English Dictionary defines Islamophobia as “an intense dislike or fear of Islam, especially as a political force; hostility or prejudice towards Muslims”. This wording reflects the extended use of the word “phobia” to mean an “aversion” or “strong dislike”, although the now whipless MP Lee Anderson is sticking closely to the original, judging the word to be illegitimate in respect of Islam because a “phobia” can only be an “irrational fear” and, he adds, “I’m not scared of any religion.”
Such fundamental disagreement over the true meaning of a word is echoed in the continued debate over the definition of “antisemitism”, which has taken on a new urgency as a consequence of the devastating Israeli bombardment of Gaza and in the wake of a surge of abhorrent attacks on Jewish communities. The working definition, drafted by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance and adopted by the Government, is that “antisemitism is a certain perception of Jews, which may be expressed as hatred toward Jews. Rhetorical and physical manifestations of antisemitism are directed toward Jewish or non-Jewish individuals and/or their property, toward Jewish community institutions and religious facilities.”
This definition is also not without its critics, who question whether it effectively prohibits any meaningful criticism of the Israeli government and its actions, and the effect upon the Palestinians.
Not for the first time, language is a battleground, vulnerable to being co-opted by bad actors as well as good ones. Anti-Muslim and anti-Jewish hatred, in all their manifestations, can never be captured in single words, ones that are usually imposed externally rather than from within.
But the arguments do raise a key question – who really sets down the linguistic law? Is the dictionary the final arbiter, or can politicians and organisations decide on their own working definitions, even if they are at odds with the accepted view?
When Samuel Johnson embarked on his seminal Dictionary of the English Language in 1755, he was intent upon fixing English before it slid over the precipice. He wished to freeze the language for posterity in order to safeguard it against the advances of slang and obscenity. After years of trying to document English only as it was used by literary giants such as Shakespeare and Milton, he came to realise that “to enchain syllables, and to lash the wind, are equally the undertakings of pride”. Language can no more be held captive than nature.
Yet the desire for the firm smack of linguistic government has never gone away. Calls for regulation began as early as the 17th century, and in Johnson’s own time the writer Jonathan Swift set out his Proposal for Correcting, Improving and Ascertaining the English Tongue. His clamour for an academy to sort out the “daily corruptions” to our language was backed by such distinguished writers as Daniel Defoe and Alexander Pope. Yet while the French and Spanish were busy establishing academies to preside over the proper use of their mother tongues, English always defied attempts to control it.
The – perhaps inevitable – result is that those looking for authority have nowhere to go but “the dictionary”, viewed by many as a single monolith that brings its judgement to bear on every word we use. If a dictionary can decide on whether a word “exists” in a game of Scrabble or Countdown, then it surely delivers the last word when it comes to far bigger, even life-changing definitions of words such as “Islamophobia” or “antisemitism”. In reality, today’s English dictionaries describe our language, and never prescribe it. The words that go in, and the definitions ascribed to them, are based on the evidence of current language, used by all of us. English has always been an entirely democratic concern.
What this means is that those of us grappling with the messiness and gnarliness of English usage may look to the dictionary for guidance, but we will never receive an official say-so. The Oxford English Dictionary can tell us that, even if some consider it misjudged or resent its very existence, the word “Islamophobia” is a living thing – it is recorded from as early as 20s. But that is where the Dictionary’s judgement ends.
Lexicographers are and must be impervious to petition. They will no more change a word’s definition on the say-so of one group or individual than they will invent a word at whim and surreptitiously add it to the dictionary. Ultimately the meanings of such terms as “Islamophobia” and “antisemitism” will be shaped and changed by all of us. But, as is becoming resoundingly clear, it may take us an exceptionally long time to agree.
There is a word from the 19th century which few are likely to dispute: “ipsedixitism”, which describes the assertion that something is “fact” simply because another person says so. There’s a lot of it about, but when it comes to linguistic law-making, ipsedixitism is nowhere to be seen. The only place you’ll find it in the dictionary is under the letter I.
Susie Dent is a lexicographer and etymologist. She has appeared in Dictionary Corner on Countdown since 1992, and co-hosts with Gyles Brandreth the podcast Something Rhymes with Purple