ACTA LINGUISTICA LITHUANICA

LIETUVIŲ KALBOTYROS KLAUSIMAI XLII (2000)

Rita MILIŪNAITĖ

Lietuvių kalbos institutas, Vilnius

NEW LANGUAGE PHENOMENA: NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL SELECTION

The standard language and the society that uses it are bound by two kinds of relationships—those that develop spontaneously and those supported by conscious linguistic activity. We tend to speak more about the conscious side of the functioning of the standard language (hereafter SL): we consider the principles of standardization, the norms themselves, and matters concerning the regulation of the SL in general, while the spontaneous side has been left, as it were, in the shadows. Yet unregulated use of the SL must also not be overlooked, because it is precisely there that norms crystallize, the validity of language specialists’ recommendations is “tested,” and new phenomena first emerge.

Under ordinary conditions, a monitored SL maintains a certain balance: that is, the natural tendency of a living language to develop is not disrupted, while the needs of the linguistic community are also met. Can we assume that our present-day standard language maintains such a balance? I would venture to say that this balance has been seriously disrupted, and this is clearly shown by the features of how new phenomena function in current SL usage and by society’s reaction to them.

Linguistics textbooks present the view that language changes gradually, without speakers noticing it at all: “Even without special sociological studies, it is clear that the linguistic community believes it speaks today just as it did yesterday, that the present generation speaks just as its parents spoke” (Karaliūnas 1997: 49). Moreover, it is claimed that “the individual is unaware of the laws of language,” since “linguistic phenomena are never criticized by speakers, and every nation is generally satisfied with the language it has inherited and uses” (ibid.).

Even without special studies, the state of our present-day SL seems quite the opposite: language is not evolving gradually but, at times, appears to be gripped by revolutionary fever. First, the linguistic community senses changes in language and reacts to them in various ways, most often expressing dissatisfaction with the most tangible new developments that disrupt established habits and create confusion in everyday usage (for example, people resent the influx of new foreignisms, the original spelling of non-Lithuanian proper names, non-Lithuanian intonation in public usage, and so on). Second, overly rapid language changes widen the gap between generations and strata of the linguistic community and sometimes threaten to make communication impossible. Is that not the case now, when linguists of the older and even middle generations, asked for advice on the use of certain new words, have to encounter and work out for the first time what, for example, a DJ, a drive or a single is—that is, things that young people have already made part of their everyday language and

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have absorbed into their speech. Even some new foreignisms that have been specially monitored, selected, and included in lists of words to be avoided seem to some people accidental and unfamiliar. We could find more examples showing that changes brought about by excessively rapid innovation turn against society itself: some levels of language and domains of use become excessively variable, and language users, constantly having to guess where, when, and what to choose (often, moreover, in order to please “those linguists”), begin to lose confidence in themselves and in a language that, under ordinary circumstances, should be learned at school and should not cause major difficulties later in life.

Thus, our standard language is not always able to perform its most important functions unhindered, while conscious linguistic activity, although at times outwardly active, is nevertheless unable to counterbalance the advance of spontaneity. In seeking ways to restore the balance, let us take a closer look at the spontaneous emergence of new phenomena and the features of how they function in usage.

Looking at the current decade, we can discern language processes that in calmer times were either very slight or became apparent only over a considerably longer period. This includes both the expansion of the functions of the SL into various areas of social life and internal changes in the language itself (cf. Rudaitienė, Vitkauskas 1998: 11–29). For example, 10–15 years ago, the appearance of some new word seemed almost like an event, whereas now dressings, mobbings and roamings, dips, chips and clips, steppers and staplers... come crashing down on us every day. Leafing through hopelessly outdated dictionaries, we will not find even words that have become entirely familiar to us, such as yogurt, makeup, rating, or certain meanings (for example, in reference dictionaries stylist means “a writer with a good style” and “a specialist in stylistics; an editor of style and language,” but now also “a fashion designer”). Presumably, diapers, mass media and a host of other ever-proliferating neologisms are on their way into the new Dictionary of the Standard Language.

Although it is generally acknowledged that “words are the most changeable and most open part of the language system” (Palionis 1985: 212), we can also discern new phenomena emerging in the grammatical system. Even the graphic appearance of Lithuanian text has changed: we have admitted foreign characters into non-Lithuanian proper names and titles, and an apostrophe disrupts the written integrity of a word (even a foreign one). Even intonation sometimes fails to withstand foreign influence and loses the features of rhythm and voice modulation familiar to us.

We can view everything new that emerges from several perspectives: 1) whether it has arisen on the soil of our own language or as a result of the influence of other languages; 2) whether it is a new phenomenon that has developed spontaneously or the result of conscious linguistic activity; 3) whether it is a passing novelty or one with a tendency to spread. In the case of a standard language that is consciously regulated, monitored, and standardized, what causes the greatest concern is, of course, what is foreign to it and what develops spontaneously—and these two features of innovation seem to be gaining the upper hand in current usage. Therefore, setting aside language innovations that are consciously introduced and supported (a substantial part of these would consist of terminology from various fields that is purposefully regulated), what we will be concerned with below is showing what these spontaneous—

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as the emerging innovations are diverse, since it is precisely their heterogeneity that should primarily determine our different attitudes toward them.

In general, everything new often arouses suspicion, distrust, or even fear. For instance, a few years ago a young writer admitted in an interview that she had had a great deal of trouble with the editor of her work, who had crossed out everything in the text that she could not find sanctioned in prescriptive language works, thus rejecting anything new as well. This is, of course, an extreme case, in which the specificity of literary language is not understood in the first place, nor is the language’s natural need to renew itself constantly; for a language that does not change or develop is already a dying language.

So—which innovations can we regard calmly, and which should we beware of, even defend ourselves against?

Temporary innovations and natural selection

According to frequency of use and spread, innovations can provisionally be divided into two groups: 1) temporary innovations and 2) new phenomena that spread in usage.

The fate of temporary innovations is determined by natural selection: they do not even develop into phenomena, but merely perform their function in a particular context and disappear. These are one-off, situational (at least not relevant to our everyday usage) loanwords or coinages, so-called occasional formations (Paulauskienė 1994: 53), as well as various accidental or contextual variants and the like.

An unfamiliar new word is often explained or defined in some way so that the addressee, encountering it for the first time, is not left at an informational dead end: Familiarity with wine began with an introduction to someljė—a person who advises restaurant patrons on choosing wine and matching it with food LR 1998 02 13. Mobingas [...] is a new and apt word, borrowed from English and meaning ‘to attack, to start scolding or abusing someone.’ Today this word describes ‘psychological terror in the workplace’ R 1998 11 04 and so on.

Sometimes even a minimal context is unnecessary for understanding coinages approximately (e.g., kultūrpelkė LR 1998 09 08, verslavyris R(Br) 1998 11 21), whereas sometimes their meaning becomes clear only once the situation being discussed is understood. For example, ausiratis was coined on the model of the word akiratis. The context is as follows: a radio journalist (sports commentator) is asked: [...] remind us how long you have been missing from our field of vision—or, more precisely, from our ausiračio R 1997 03 10. Another author needed to give an ironic name to an imaginary creature—gyvatvabzdį—because the idea of such a species was prompted by a grammatically and stylistically mangled sentence: “When carrying out work in forests, workers may be stung by snakes and other venomous insects.” ŠA 1996 08 31. The author of a coinage may also explain in greater detail the reason and manner of its creation. For example, in a news item about “The Poetic Autumn of Druskininkai ’98,” M. Kontrimaitė writes:

As it happens, the last evening gradually turned into žaimas. This is a coinage of my own, derived from the Samogitian word žaimotis—how can I translate it more precisely?—roughly, ‘to sprawl about.’ [...] That is what I suggest

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to give all happenings, performances, and other kinds of postmodern fluxing beautiful and distinctly Lithuanian-sounding names Dvd 1998 11 06.

Children’s language can also provide a good example here: as a child learns to speak and discovers the potential of language, they create their own words, which are understood only in their immediate surroundings, usually within the family. For example, without a special explanation, the word sijonė would hardly be understood (it has nothing to do with the word sijonas). Quite simply, knowing the verb sijoti but not knowing or having forgotten what to call the object used to perform that action—that is, a sieve—the child asks: Mama, where did you put my sijonė that I sifted sand with in the summer? (The child makes a noun from the verb using the familiar suffix -onė, since their vocabulary already includes dėžionę and they have heard kaponę.) A few more neologisms from children’s language: paslėpa ‘hiding place’, likenos ‘waste, leftovers’, apvilkinys ‘clothing’, darborankiai ‘work tools’.

A fairly common case is when the author’s expression is constrained by features of the noun’s grammatical-gender category (cf. Paulauskienė 1994: 153–165), so, when necessary, word forms not recorded in normative reference works may be coined (or enter the language through translations). For instance, if a feminine form of kalvio is needed, kalvė is coined (for example, a journalist describes her work by saying: I am a forge of short news reports LA 1998 06 06). A feminine suffix is added to the inconvenient, indeclinable international word atašė: Here is our cultural atašiūtė in Sweden. A beautiful, charming girl, married to a Swede LM 1999 09 11. And here is how the emergence of the form auklis is justified:

Can men be nannies, secretaries, babysitters? In France, they are not afraid to choose professions considered unmasculine. True, the names of professions such as “director’s assistant,” “beautician,” or “nanny” do not yet have masculine counterparts, but that means nothing. Having a man as a nanny is the height of many a toddler’s dreams. Such a “male nanny” runs faster and knows more about football and cars than his female colleagues R(J) 1997 09 06.

It would hardly surprise anyone to hear that the pop star married a photo model, although popžvaigždė—a feminine noun—here refers to a male person, while fotomodelis, conversely, is a masculine noun that denotes a woman. Compare these sentences as well: All the models felt wronged (feminine form) R(J) 1994 12 10. Are the supermodels very jealous of one another? (feminine form) R(Br) 1995 07 01. The model S. Slater, released from prison, [...] did not hide her joy LR 1996 10 09. This mismatch in gender agreement is noticed by the humorist’s attentive eye, and from žvaigždės, meaning ‘star’, a masculine form žvaigždinas is coined for men, just as katės – katinas (‘cat’ – ‘tomcat’). And from modelio, when referring to kindergarten girls showing off fashions, journalists naturally coin modeliukė. A few more similar formations: [...] when he came out singing, he was a real nightingale! R(J) 1996 06 29. Not for nothing [...] poets sing the praises of woman, mother, keeper of the hearth, wise adviser [...] and finally the “thunder-protector” (feminine form), who brings balance to the psycho-emotional state of the whole family R(Br) 1995 09 09. She was so drawn to grandeur, as though she had given birth not to a mother but to a female monument R(J) 1996 12 21. And perhaps a man would not interpret this experience as my female character does LM 1997 03.

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Temporary innovations are usually an expression of individuality, so more of them can be found in areas of language use less constrained by codified norms—fiction, spoken language, and also journalism—where persuasive force is needed. Sometimes such short-lived innovations come into wider use, but rarely extend beyond the usage of a small group or social stratum; and if they do, they may simply be misunderstood. For example, a newspaper reader complains after coming across the incomprehensible word vlaberizmas: “But I couldn’t find that word in any dictionary of foreign words or philosophy dictionary” D 1996 07 18. The editorial office has to explain that the word names aphorisms created by the well-known caricaturist Vladimir Beresniov and is formed from the first syllables of the author’s first and last names (D 1996 07 20).

If such an innovation becomes socially useful, it is “picked up,” can spread, and becomes part of general usage. Thus, temporary innovations should not in themselves cause either fear or concern, unless they begin to spread and prove defective in some respect from the standpoint of the language system.

An intermediate case in the life of innovations is that of language fashions, “things of a few seasons,” adopted as topical expressions but eventually disappearing at least from active use. For example, alongside the military term mobilizacija ‘mobilization’, a homonym with an ironic tone temporarily appeared in spoken language (and in the journalism reflecting it), coined from the word mobilus, -i: telephone mobilizacija (ŠA 1991 02 06), whose approximate meaning would be ‘universal provision of mobile phones’.

One of the more interesting examples of this kind of innovation is the increased use of feminine forms alongside masculine ones in cases where the masculine form alone can also have a general meaning applying to both genders. In linguistic terms, masculine forms are characterized by neutralization. For example, when we say This poetry is accessible to every poetry enthusiast, the word ‘enthusiast’ refers generally to people of both sexes in a certain group. But here is an authentic sentence from a literary criticism essay: That poetry written in one’s own native language, accessible to every male and female poetry lover, has attained and continues to attain poetic heights has been proven by our women and men poets [...] Dvd 1995 02 03. Clearly, the use of feminine forms here is redundant, but it is encouraged by feminist ideas and supported by examples from other languages. Here is an excerpt from a review of an exhibition by a foreign author:

The final point is a reproach to the project’s curators for translating the exhibition title so ineptly. I think the author himself has no idea that the work “Paint Your Own Nails” is intended only for male viewers, so in the context of today’s customs and current socio-political issues, such a title is terribly inappropriate. In civilized countries, both gendered forms of words (pats / pati, ‘oneself’ masculine / feminine) have long been used everywhere, especially on such formal occasions LM 1997 04 12.

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Viewed from this perspective, our folklore should seem just as “terribly incorrect,” unless we were to give it a “civilized” form too: Do not do to another what you would not want done to yourself, and so on. It is fine if feminine forms really do perform a distinguishing function in a text and are used purposefully (for example, in job advertisements it is sometimes genuinely necessary to make clear that the sex of the person sought does not matter: The company needs a bookkeeper, male or female); the masculine form alone, bookkeeper, could raise doubts about whether women may respond to such an advertisement. But insistently imposed, redundant forms provoke an advertisement like this: Responsible persons (masculine), responsible persons (feminine)! Having washed our hands clean, let us not carry off the soap! KD 1998 12 31. Moreover, let us consider what our legal codes would look like if the feminine form were indiscriminately written alongside the masculine form. Here is what Article 265 of the Code of Criminal Procedure would look like: [...] the prosecutor, male or female, the accused, male or female, the defense counsel, male or female, the injured party, male or female, and his or her representative, male or female, as well as the civil plaintiff, male or female, the civil defendant, male or female, and their representatives, male or female have equal rights to present evidence [...].

Thus, language too sometimes pays tribute to fashion. When assessing similar phenomena that persist for a time, we need to consider whether they have any negative effect, regardless of whether that fashion may soon pass. For example, the once-fashionable lambadà. By the time journalists had learned where to place its stress, the fashion had passed too, but no one can be sure it will not return someday.

Spreading innovations and artificial selection

Some innovations spread for various reasons. This is where we should focus most of our attention and examine how they spread, how they take root in the soil of our language, which ones our language needs and which should be rejected.

Spreading innovations may persist for a while and then leave usage just as naturally or by coercive means (through codification) (for example, sponso-rius and its derivatives, which reached their peak in usage around 1992–1993, are certainly nearing disappearance from public view after the Language Commission pronounced its verdict at the end of 1993). In other cases, spreading innovations become established in usage and may enter the structure of the language.

The spread of an innovation is first indicated by usage statistics, that is, its frequency of use and establishment in various domains of standard-language use. Another sign of spread is branching from the perspective of the language system. The ways in which this branching occurs depend on the linguistic characteristics of the phenomenon, first and foremost on the level of language.

Over time, lexical innovations acquire a host of derivatives, for example: pilstukas – pilstukininkas, dešrainis – dešrainininkas (an example from an advertisement: Have you already joined the ranks of the dešrainininkai? LR 1998 05 07). Foreign words bring related words with them (country music – country musician – country music venue; graffiti – graffer, and so on). For a new word to function properly, words with the same root are borrowed or coined as needed for: 1) the name of an object, 2) the name of an action, 3) the name of the person performing the action,

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4) the name of a characteristic of an object or action, and so on: hakeris – hakeriauti, paparacis – paparaciškas, -a (paparaciška nuotrauka KV 1998 09 25), serveris – serverynas, ofisas – ofisininkas – ofisinis, -ė (ofisinė pramoga R 1998 05 28). A kind of confirmation of the neologism žiniasklaida in usage is provided by the derivatives that appear immediately afterward: purvasklaida (LA 1997 12 07) – purvasklaidininkas (R 1998 06 01), and so on.

The language itself has certain safeguards against the branching of lexical foreignisms. For example, even those who use printerį do not adopt printinti (Klimavičius 1997), because there is a native verb, spausdinti, meaning ‘to print’. But natural selection is usually too weak to ensure that only what is truly needed remains in a language without conscious intervention.

A foreign word is not difficult to notice; one can quickly reject it or take offense at its use, even mock it, play with it, or look for unexpected sound patterns: While thousands of people stomped and swayed to country music, hundreds of concertgoers patiently waited in line for the toilets LR 1998 06 29.

Changes in word meaning and new phraseology are probably the toughest nuts to crack from the standpoint of standardization. These changes are not easy to pin down, since it is not always straightforward to determine whether they result from the development of the language itself or are shifts in meaning influenced by other languages (cf. Klimavičius 1985: 197–199; Jakaitienė 1997: 5)—shifts that might be viewed as acceptable extensions or transfers of an existing meaning—or whether they are outright semantic calques that do not fit into the system of meanings of a particular word or semantic group.

For example, not long ago the verb šildyti acquired in usage a meaning not recorded in dictionaries, which we can readily understand from the sentence: At the concert, before the guest performer from Holland appeared, a well-known Lithuanian pop group warmed up the audience. Of course, the verb šildyti entered this context under the influence of other languages, but quite justifiably, since this usage is supported by the familiar system of meanings of the verb.

More complex is the change in meaning of another word—the adjective gyvas, -a ‘live’. The expressions live music (a broadcast or the like), to perform live are spreading in usage, meaning that an action is performed and observed at the same time, right there and then—as opposed to an action that took place earlier and is merely replayed from a recording: “The organizers of ‘Eurovision’, seeking to save the funds allocated for the contest, decided that only the vocalist would sing ‘live’ at the concert, while all the other music would be played from recordings R 1999 03 19. “‘Youth Stage’ is a festival of prerecorded music, but groups that are very eager to perform live are given that opportunity KV 1997 02 28. “‘Hello, gentlemen, would you like to come in? We have live pornography tonight,’ [...] says a stylish long-haired young man LR (S) 1998 10 02. Sometimes the adjective tikras, -a, ‘real’ is also used here: ‘The disco at this club is open every day; on Fridays there is real music’ R 1996 10 05. ‘True Sound Concert’ from the LNK concert studio KV 1995 10 07. ‘Live music’ primarily means ‘lively, energetic, catchy’ to us, and usage itself challenges us where that meaning intersects with the new one. Let us read an advertisement for a funeral home: “‘Lakrima’ has three funeral halls. [...] In the most expensive one, there is live music LR 1997 10 04.

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Foreign meanings or entire phraseological expressions sometimes become incorporated into usage so imperceptibly that people begin to treat them as their own. Here the boundaries between what is native and what is foreign soon disappear; word combinations are reworked, new contexts and shades of meaning are discovered, and people take pleasure in them. Thus the saying A person is a sponsor to another person LM 1993 11 13 comes into being. Jurgis Gimbėris deciphers the slang expression to kill time as follows. Asked How do you kill time?, he replies: You can use a stick, too—as long as it takes to get into position, as long as it takes to hit… KD 1997 10 11. Reworking the expression count chickens in the fall (on this, see Petkevičienė 1995), people start counting everything: They count runners in the fall R 1997 09 24; We’ll count beauties in the fall R 1997 09 18; They count chickens in the fall, and what about the gymnasiums? Dlg 1998 04 17, and so on.

In recent years, the slang expression the roof is going has been spreading increasingly in public (!) usage. It finds its way onto the lips of government figures (In the Speaker of Parliament’s [...] view, “some people’s roofs are already going” because of the anti-KGB laws PB 1998 07 17; I wanted to combine vacation and work. [...] To put it colloquially, my roof had started to go LR 1999 02 02), reworked into a time when roofs go traveling (D 1995 10 12; LR 1998 07 20), and an association is sought with the literal meaning of “roof”:

During the Soviet period the site was not built up; on the contrary, a small Evangelical Lutheran church that had miraculously survived was demolished. I saw it after returning from Siberia, though without a roof. Back then, there were no few thousand Soviet rubles to repair its roof, whereas now I think the people of Biržai may have “lost their roofs” if they do not remember their city’s history LA 1998 08 26.

And conversely, the word roof itself is given the meaning of “head” or “consciousness” (e.g., “it hits you in the roof” very hard, especially in Lourdes, where we arrive at night ŠA 1998 05 16).

Similarly, the word nail is appropriated to refer to the most important part, the highlight, the climax of an event; and without heeding the warning that “that nail isn’t ours” (Klimavičius 1992), it is made the axis of an entire article: one ensemble at a folk festival is a fiery nail, the other ensembles are little nails, and the very climax of the festival is a real uknolis. The boundary has therefore already been crossed: the nail is ours, as far as the article’s author is concerned (ŠA 1998 05 30).

Innovations also seep into the grammatical system imperceptibly, but more slowly. If a foreign innovation has not adapted to the grammatical system, several variants often compete for a longer or shorter time. Competition between indeclinable foreign nouns and their declinable variants (hobi: hobis) may be a good example of how natural selection alone is powerless to weed out inconvenient invariable forms when they appear in especially large numbers. In recent years, the indeclinable borrowings kari, kivi and others have begun to be used, undermining an established tendency—also endorsed in prescriptive works—to decline similar words. Forms such as brendi, bikini, žaliuzi are being used again, although the forms bikinis, brendis, žaliuzės have been sanctioned (TŽŽ: 1985).

On the other hand, it cannot be said that usage itself shows no tendency to decline words. Users with a feel for living language decline even words deemed indeclinable, such as želė, reziumė, spageti; from the indeclinable mis comes misė (announcing Lithuania’s new mis and vicemisių trio JG 1991, No. 9; you will be able [...] to admire the contestants as you choose Lithuania’s misė KV 1993 06 04). Even kazi- is declined.

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no (which, incidentally, was declined before the war by Lietuvos aidas: A casino full of Arabs gathered 1937 10 23, quoted from LA 1997 11 14); compare a television speaker today: Her son asked her house for that casino (though then “corrects” herself: that casino) LTV(P) 1994 01 18.

Leaving new indeclinable forms to natural selection, that is, assuming that “usage itself will show,” is probably inadvisable. The Language Commission has recommendations on the declension of some such neologisms (euro, kari), which offer a partial, but at least some, solution to the problem (cf. Dobelienė 1997).

Borrowed language units can set down roots further—the so-called language interference begins, when not only the foreign units themselves are adopted, but also word relations (Karaliūnas 1997: 345–347). For example, the established features of our sentence structure, word order, and even intonation are increasingly influenced by foreign indeclinable or hybrid names—the names of firms and groups, especially when they are used alone in a text, without accompanying generic explanatory words: in Tallinn „Kalev“ defeated „Zagreb“ LR 1997 10 23; French forwards crushed „Barcelona“ R 1997 10 18; After that KamAZ defeated Krasnodar’s „Kubane“ R 1997 02 12, and many other examples. Sometimes a firm’s name contains a declinable Lithuanian word, but it is seemingly blocked by a foreign word that follows, and the whole name becomes indeclinable: applied to the „Krantas Shipping“ office; Become a „Bitė GSM“ friend; […] With a „Bitė GSM“ card, you can already use mobile service in Denmark today LR 1995 11 10; indeed, later Bitė began to be declined: With „Bite GSM“—to the Czech Republic and Italy D 1996 12 02. Could it be that similar indeclinable names have already given rise to expressions such as: near the „Širvinta“ shops; above the „Nijolė“ salon (Vaskelaitė 1997: 22–23)? Surely it cannot be very far from saying I’ll go to „Hermis Insurance“. When admitting some innovation into the grammatical system, we must be especially careful, for sometimes all it takes to trigger a landslide is for a single tiny stone to shift.

The passage of time strongly favors the spontaneous establishment of innovations. The longer an uncodified new phenomenon functions in usage, the greater the contradiction may later become between the actual and codified norms, bearing in mind that our society’s linguistic habits and linguistic awareness are not such that the most suitable variant will always be chosen (in usage, vagnorkos appear first, and then they are forcibly replaced with little vagnorkos, and so on).

New phenomena do not spread in a completely chaotic way—one can discern patterns of one kind or another. But we should not forget that in the age of information technology, states and nations are becoming less closed and are increasingly less able to control what enters them from abroad. Thus, one should expect spontaneously evolving phenomena to increase rather than diminish. Conscious language activity will therefore require ever greater effort, and achieving the balance mentioned at the outset will become increasingly difficult.

The most important question, then, is this: what should be left to run its course—that is, to natural selection—and where is artificial, that is, conscious, selection of innovations needed? The answer should depend on language planners’ ability to foresee the possible consequences of the establishment of one innovation or another. Here, the so-called

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the principle of social expediency: it “does not allow the rejection of widespread innovations that do not destroy but rather expand the boundaries of the language system” (Principai 1997: 2–3). Thus, a broader perspective on the development of the standard language—its planning—becomes particularly important. Users must be shown both the tendencies in the use of innovations (for example, cf. Girčienė 1997, Kupčinskaitė 1997) and the direction of language development, rather than settling for evaluating individual new phenomena.

The standardization of language innovations should consist of several stages: 1) recording and monitoring an innovation and identifying its connections with similar phenomena; 2) formulating the problem; 3) deciding whether to leave the phenomenon to natural selection or attempt to influence its functioning artificially; 4) issuing a recommendation (if it cannot immediately be codified) or an explicit positive or negative codification; 5) implementing the proposal in usage.

Concluding remarks

One of the developmental regularities considered characteristic of all languages is that various non-linguistic circumstances place certain demands on a naturally expanding language, and “in meeting those demands, the language changes some elements of its structure, but changes them in the way dictated by its existing state and permitted by the language’s internal resources” (Golovinas 1982: 150). Considering the standard language of the past decade, we could not say that it is changing naturally: the influence of other languages is very strong. This makes it all the more meaningful to speak of the artificial selection of new phenomena.

Innovations spread both structurally and functionally, that is, by branching out within the language system and by expanding into new areas of use. When discussing the evaluation of innovations, we must first rely on usage studies: these should clarify when an innovation appeared and how it is used (its frequency, spread across specific areas of use, lexical and grammatical environment, and so on). It is important to look for connections between a newly observed phenomenon and other similar phenomena—in other words, to view innovations systematically, since this can help predict the consequences of an innovation becoming established. We can then try to answer the question: do we really need this innovation, will it overshadow established means of expression, and will it encourage other undesirable phenomena?

It is not always possible to evaluate a new phenomenon immediately and issue firm recommendations. In such cases, the innovation is, as it were, left to its own devices—that is, as people like to say, users are allowed to decide for themselves, and then we wait to see what comes of it. Nevertheless, if we are looking ahead, we should try to determine more clearly what can truly be left to develop on its own and where deliberate, purposeful intervention is necessary. Language users should be given guidance and warned in advance; thus, an innovation should be given at least an approximate direction—toward language norms or the language junkyard—until a clear decision is reached.

Received 1999 03 19

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ŠALTINIAI

D – „Diena“

Dlg – „Dialogas“

Dvd – „Dienovidis“

JG – „Jaunimo gretos“

KD – „Kauno diena“

KV – „Kalba Vilnius“

LA – „Lietuvos aidas“

LM – „Literatūra ir menas“

LR – „Lietuvos rytas“

LR (S) – „Lietuvos ryto“ priedas „Stilius“

LTV (P) – Lietuvos televizija (Panorama)

PB – „Panevėžio balsas“

R – „Respublika“

R(Br) – „Respublikos“ priedas „Brigita“

R(J) – „Respublikos“ priedas „Julius“

ŠA – „Šiaurės Atėnai“

Skaitmenys prie pavyzdžių rodo šaltinio leidimo metus, mėnesį, dieną.

LITERATŪRA

Dobelienė R. 1997: Bendra Europos valiuta turėtų būti euras. – Lietuvos rytas, 1997 05 28.

Girčienė J. 1997: Naujosios svetimybės spaudoje. – Kalbos kultūra 69, 64–68.

Golovinas B. 1982: Kalbotyros įvadas, Vilnius: Mokslas.

Jakaitienė E. 1997: Lietuvių kalbos žodžių reikšmių kitimas. – Gimtoji kalba 7, 1–5; 8, 1–4.

Karaliūnas S. 1997: Kalba ir visuomenė, Vilnius: Lietuvių kalbos institutas.

Klimavičius J. 1985: Semantiniai vertin iai ir motyvacijos pamokos. – Lietuvių kalbotyros klausimai 24, 197–222.

Klimavičius J. 1992: Ne mūsų ta vinis. – Gimtoji kalba 10, 29–30.

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NEW LANGUAGE PHENOMENA: NATURAL AND ARTIFICIAL SELECTION

Summary

During the last decade standard Lithuanian has been rapidly developing. This is due to several reasons. There are remarkable changes not only in the lexis, a layer always likely to change, but also in grammar; there are changes even in the graphicshape of the Lithuanian text.

According to the frequency and distribution of the innovations, they can be divided into the following two groups: 1) transient innovations and 2) phenomena spreading in the language usage. Transient innovations perform their function in their context and become extinct. The statistics of the usage data (frequency and stability of the phenomenon in various spheres of language use) as well as the widening scope of the innovation from the point of view of the language system testify to the spread of the new phenomenon. In course of time the innovations can naturally or via codification become extinct.

Innovations should be subject to adjustment to the language norm at several stages, namely: 1) by recording the innovation, observing it and establishing relations with similar phenomena; 2) by wording the problem; 3) by proposing a solution – either by deciding that the phenomenon should be left to the natural selection or attempting to artificially influence its functioning; 4) by issuing a recommendation (if it is impossible to codify at once) or a clearly negative or positive codification; 5) by establishing the innovation in language use.

Whether the innovation should be left for the natural or artificial, conscious selection, should be decided by the ability of language users to foresee the possible consequences of the innovative usage.

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