Abstract
Language prescription – political efforts to produce and maintain language norms – has been integral to modern governance. Pursuits of linguistic homogeneity can be traced through numerous pedagogical programmes, reform projects, and ventures of national consolidation. This essay argues that historical cases of orthographic standardization – that is, prescribed protocols of spelling – must be understood as examples of temporal synchronization. By mapping out the principal incentives of a comprehensive spelling reform carried out in early twentieth-century Sweden, the analysis connects the rationality of standardization to situated experiences of temporal disorder, asynchronous rhythms, and conflicting timescapes. The central argument is that orthographic reforms produce unified historical time in order to align a series of conflicting temporalities. Implementing analytical frameworks of temporal multiplicity and synchronization, the article accentuates a previously understudied relationship between spelling reforms and strategic constructions of historical time.
In 1906, the Swedish government initiated a comprehensive spelling reform. The ambition was to create a simple, efficient, and scientifically coherent orthography to replace the traditional – and ostensibly outdated – spelling standard in use since 1801. The final reform was preceded by decades of fierce negotiation during which the orthographic question came to encompass issues of educational policy, democratization, cultural heritage, and national identity. But during the protracted debates, a somewhat unexpected theme came to dominate the issue: time. This article argues that the spelling reform must be understood as an example of temporal synchronization, that is, as an intervention designed to align and harmonize divergent temporalities. Language prescription – understood here as politically motivated efforts to produce and maintain language norms – has been integral to modern governance, but previous research tends to overlook the temporal features of these endeavours. Using the Swedish case as an example, this article shows that language prescription and efforts to standardize spelling are best understood as ventures of temporal alignment.
Consider the following example. In 1891, librarian Erik Lind composed an ambitious opinion piece in favour of a radical spelling reform. According to Lind, language consisted of two main components characterized by diverging temporalities: speech and writing. While spoken words were limited in time and space, writing could transcend the local immediacy of the speech act into the global records of history. For example, a sermon held by a priest would not be heard beyond the church walls. But once transcribed, the words could outlive the speaker and reach both future generations and remote audiences. The instability of speech and the durability of writing constituted a temporal split inherent to the nature of language. To Lind, the current need for a spelling reform was due to the unsynchronized relationship between these temporal factors. Speech evolved through subconscious variations occurring independent of human intentions. Conversely, the development of writing had to be politically manufactured to avoid a detrimental lag: “If we leave [the written language] without proper care and attention, it will decline and deteriorate and become less able to perform its function adequately” (Lind, 1891: 11). 1 The reform became a matter of aligning two deviating speeds. But the orthographic problem had additional motives that came to saturate the discourse: the severely strained timescapes of education. As the primary victims of the asynchronous orthography were students and teachers forced to spend valuable time memorizing arbitrary rules, the main benefactor of a simplifying reform was the public school system. In the words of Erik Lind: “Knowing the tremendous amount of work and timewasting already involved in teaching spelling, it is not dificult to imagine how things will be in the future, when the textbook has been supplemented by a dozen or so new rules.” (Lind, 1891: 31–32).2
This article examines the previously overlooked relationship between orthography and time. Researchers frequently describe language prescription as projects of national consolidation, pedagogical innovation, colonial expansion, and liberal governance. Regulations and implementations of normative language policies has been central to the production of modern identities and imagined communities (Anderson, 1983; Bartsch, 1987; Schmid, 2001; Gal and Irvine, 2019; Kroskrity, 2000; Milroy and Milroy, 1985; Nordblad, 2015; Rutten, 2019; Teleman, 2003; Thylin-Klaus, 2015). But the temporal dynamics of these efforts are severely understudied, and even though temporal aspects of modern power have been thoroughly theorized (Chakrabarty, 2000; Fabian, 1983; Hunt, 2008; Mudrovcic, 2019), these models are rarely applied to these kinds of empirical examples. Arguing that the standardization of spelling, the prescription of language norms, and the synchronization of time are deeply entangled practises, this article aims to bridge the gap between research on language regimes and theories about time regimes. By understanding the spelling reform of 1906 as a form of temporal intervention, the analysis shows deep connections between prescriptive orthography and constructions of temporal order.
Recently, notions of temporal multiplicity have gone from the fringes to the centre of cultural studies. As a result, any serious endeavour to describe the politics of time must account for a complex multitude of entangled temporalities, and with new analytical concepts being launched on a regular basis, there is a growing need for empirical exploration (Esposito and Becker, 2023: 4). Theories of temporal multiplicity challenges established notions of time as a unified and homogenous order, and while scholars such as Fernand Braudel, Reinhart Koselleck, and François Hartog facilitated studies of time as a complex, multi-layered, and highly political phenomena (Braudel, 1949; Hartog, 2003; Koselleck, 1979), their models, typologies, and analytical metaphors tend to emphasize order rather than conflict. This critique has been further developed by a growing number of scholars. Zoltán Boldiszár Simon and Marek Tamm speak of historical time as a complex fabric (Simon and Tamm, 2023), Dan Edelstein, Stefanos Geroulanos, and Natasha Wheatley use the concept of chronocenosis in order to emphasize the dynamic, symbiotic, and fiercely competitive nature of temporal interaction (Edelstein et al., 2020: 4), and in a condensed assessment, Matthew C. Champion describes temporality studies in the following manner: “It traces the power of individuals and institutions to form and maintain dominant temporal regimes, unearths conflicts over different orders of time, and reconstructs attempts to harmonize temporalities, in theory and practice” (Champion, 2019: 254).
This article understands temporal ordering as a matter or practical intervention, and draws inspiration from theories of synchronization developed by Helge Jordheim. Jordheim argues that modern historical time – the linear and progressive temporality described by François Hartog as the modern regime of historicity (Hartog, 2003) – is a consequence of synchronization: procedures devised to harmonize a multitude of conflicting temporalities. The theory highlights the chaotic multitude as well as dominant patterns of time, and emphasizes that temporal order is a consequence of human efforts. Temporal multiplicity is an inescapable facet of human existence (Jordheim, 2022), and historical time is the outcome of practical dialectics: “[...] historical time should be investigated in terms of a dialecticts between nonsynchronicities [...] and the work to adjust, adapt, and control, in other words, to synchronize them.” (Jordheim, 2014: 506).
By examining orthographic reform as an example of temporal synchronization, this study aims to expand our knowledge of temporal politics at the turn of the twentieth century. Meanwhile, the empirical case enriches the conceptual model. Orthographic reform is an unconventional example, and previous research into temporal synchronization tends to focus on more intuitive examples such as historiography, technology, mediation, archival systems, environmental data, and the standardization of clock time (Bergwik and Ekström, 2022; Bowker, 2005; Ogle, 2015; Sörlin and Isberg, 2021; Zerubavel, 1982). By studying a less intuitive site of synchronization, the article demonstrates the diversity of the concept. Modern historical time was produced in a wide range of situations, through an extensive variety of practises, and with regard to a multitude of different temporalities. By highlighting a somewhat forgotten venue, the study widens the perspective to showcase orthographic reform as a situated production of historical time.
As previously mentioned, the orthographic question encompassed a wide range of political themes such as popular education, democratic aspirations, notions of cultural heritage, and national identity. Late nineteenth-century Sweden was unquestionably a society in transition, and historians habitually describe the period as the scene of a modern breakthrough, meaning rapid industrialization, unprecedented urbanization, compulsory education, institutional expansion, and a growing demand for democratic reforms. In just a few decades, the country underwent dramatic changes in almost every sector of public life, and while this article strives to deconstruct situated notions of historical progress and modern breakthroughs, the period is undisputably characterized by structural changes and transitions mirrored in the orthographic discourse. But in line with aforementioned theories, these events will not be interpreted as signs of a modern breakthrough, but rather as an emerging temporal heterogeneity in dire need of management.
A language out of synch
In the autumn of 1885, Johan August Lundell – prominent language scholar and educational reformer – gave a series of public lectures regarding the general principles of spelling. The well-attended events helped reignite the somewhat dormant question of orthographic reform. Lundell identified a number of problems concerning the current state of Swedish orthography: heterogeneity, unpredictability, and a near total absence of intelligible rules. In order to fulfil its purpose, a language system requires universal and transparent principles: “But the highest law of the orthography is lawlessness; its order is disorder” (Lundell, 1886: 88–89). 3 Being an early proponent of linguistic phonology, Lundell advocated spelling principles based on sounds rather than signs, and argued that the orthographic standard ought to reflect the soundscape of speech. In his view, this basic principle would eliminate the need for arbitrary rules and capricious exceptions that seemed to dictate contemporary spelling. To demonstrate the merits of phonological principles, Lundell presented statistics based on writing samples taken from a wide selection of students. A rudimentary comparison showed undisputable correlation between writing mistakes and words written with non-phonetic spelling. To Lundell, this was proof enough that a comprehensive reform targeting the discrepancy between speech and spelling would halve the number of errors, and consequently ease the burden on both students and teachers (Lundell, 1886: 94–95, 105). But what was the underlying reason for the supposed disorder?
To Lundell, the orthographic question was a battle between two competing logics. An orthographic standard could be modelled either on sounds or words. This roughly corresponds to the distinction between phonemic writing – which is based on phonemes – and morphological writing – which is based on morphemes. In short, a written word can either imitate speech, or stand as a meaningful symbol on its own right. A discouraging example frequently used was that of Chinese logography, a system in which each word was represented by a unique symbol. According to Lundell, anyone who opposed the basic principles of phonemic writing was ‘Chinese-minded’, and thereby disqualified as irredeemable conservative (Lundell, 1886: 49–50). 4 The choice between thousands of unique symbols and some thirty phonetic letters should be simple: “How can one hesitate in the choice between word writing and sound writing?” (Lundell, 1886: 47–48). 5 However, the relationship between phonology and morphology was not primarily geographical or cultural, but temporal. Lundell explained that over time, a perfectly intelligible system of phonemic writing could degenerate into a logographic system of symbols with no connection to the soundscape of speech. The looming disintegration was a potential consequence of neglect: if the orthographic standard was left unreformed, the discrepancy would gradually increase. And if left too long, the link between speech and writing would dissolve entirely (Lundell, 1886: 49). Language was portrayed as a number of different paces, or rhythms, and what appeared to be phonological gaps were actually temporal lags. This reasoning drew a sharp line between the modern and the obsolete, and Lundell actively recreated colonial tropes of a static otherness in the periphery of western progress. Moreover, phonemic writing was seen as a prerequisite for the cohesion of a modern nation state, and Lundell argued that a logographic system would cause provincial dialects to evolve into autonomous languages (Lundell, 1886: 54–59). The reasoning is reminiscent of the temporal hierarchies described by María Inés Mudrovcic: “The politics of time consists of a set of operations that, while sanctioning what is proper or charachteristic of the present, constructs an ‘other’, excluding it diachronically or synchronically from that present.” (Mudrovcic, 2019: 458)
Through his analysis, Lundell made the orthographic reform into a matter of forcing different tempos into unified progress. The standard should speak to the present, and all traces of other times were to be eliminated: “Scratch out exemptions and remarks that have no sensible significance for our time” (Lundell, 1886: 111).
6
The lectures became an important source of inspiration for the emerging reform movement, but the temporal rationale was also prescribed by more moderate forces openly critical to the phonological paradigm advocated by Lundell. When renowned philologist Esaias Tegnér Jr. wrote an impactful rejoinder, he too emphasized the temporal facets of spelling. In his view, orthographic development was to reproduce the steady rhythm of a military march: But if writing develops normally and consistently follows speech in such a way that the two have a close ‘sensation’ of each other – as in matters of good military marching order – then the advantages undoubtedly outweigh the inconvenience that could lie in a minor difference between the two language forms. (Tegnér, 1886: 33)
7
With his response, Tegnér helped solidify the temporal logic, and the orthographic question became a matter of speed, rhythm, and maintenance of temporal order.
In November of 1885, the otherwise fragmented reform movement was briefly united under a newly formed central organization, the Spelling Society [Rättstavningssällskapet]. The organization was ambitious and determined, but remarkably short-lived. Internal conflicts erupted almost immediately, and by the mid-1890s, the society had gradually begun to dissolve. But despite its short lifespan, the organization played an important role in reviving the orthographic question. The leader was yet another prominent language scholar, Adolf Noreen, whose first major undertaking was to formulate a set of orthographical principles to be demonstrated in a new dictionary. In early 1886, the organization began sending out lists containing words with indecisive pronunciation commonly spelled with such variety that they could be considered particularly disputed. The list contained nearly 1400 articles, and gave several spelling suggestions for each word. The recipients – members of the public who had shown special interest in the orthographic question – were instructed to cross out options that, in their opinion, least resembled the proper pronunciation. The completed forms were to serve as foundation for the new dictionary. Fredrik Tamm, the society's official secretary, gave a detailed account of the whole process. Of the disseminated lists, 242 were returned. However, due to time constraints the editors were forced to choose a mere 25 of these, and in order to ensure against bias to particular dialects, the selection was made on geographical basis (Tamm, 1887: 171–172). The new dictionary was published in 1886, and was distributed in 5000 copies. In the introduction, Noreen encouraged members of the public to submit comments and suggestions for improvements, and the editors emphasized that the system was a work in progress open to ongoing corrections (Noreen, 1886a: 2). The following year, an updated version of the foundational principles was published together with a new dictionary compiling over 8000 words spelled according to the new system (Noreen and Arpi, 1887). The publication was received with doubt and suspicion. Several prominent reform advocates – including Lundell – argued that the principles were obscure, and that the project had been rushed to completion without proper consideration or scrutiny. Moreover, the tentative nature of the new system – the fact that it was explicitly open to continuous modification – was likely to exacerbate the orthographic disorder (Lundell et al., 1886: 7, 11, 23, 43).
In addition to the dictionary and the declaration of principles, the publication contained three text samples – a passage from the Old Testament, parts of a history textbook, and three stanzas from a poem by Johan Ludvig Runeberg – showcasing the new orthographic system in practise. Each sample was presented first in conventional spelling, and subsequently in the updated format (Noreen, 1886a: 14–16). This shows the intended scope of the reform: the new standard was to be applied across the entire literary infrastructure. Needless to say, these implications provoked a strong reaction. Tegnér, who was quick to point out the recklessness of the proposal, was not an outspoken opponent of language reforms per se. His main concern was with the accelerating speed, general carelessness, and unimpeded scope of the orthographic question. If the changes were too radical, or implemented too quickly, the literary infrastructure would be at the risk of collapse. The reading public would disintegrate into small isolated subdivisions: “Which newspaper, which books a person shall read, will at some point depend on something so entirely superficial as orthography” (Tegnér, 1886: 13).
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If initiated without proper consideration, a radical reform would dissolve the sense of historical continuity, and turn precious books into anachronistic relics: Behold, all around our country are thousands of small cottages, some spread across the countruside, some gathered in alleys at the edge of town. You will hardly find a single one, that does not have a small row of books with worn covers at a modest place in the corner […] They bind different ages together, they do their part to ensure that the spirit of division, which in out time more than ever sets sons against fathers, does not penetrate too quickly into the deep ranks. What will happen, when sons no longer read the books of their fathers, and the fathers no longer read the books of their sons? (Tegnér, 1886: 13)
9
Silent signs and scientific temporalities
As the need for change was widely acknowledged, the orthographic question was rarely concerned with the legitimacy of reform, but rather with issues of guiding principles and practical implementation. All parties were searching for axiomatic rules that would apply to every possible contingency. A recurring candidate for such a principle was a systematic elimination of silent letters, that is, alphabetic graphemes used in conventional spelling without being pronounced in speech. Within the temporal logic of the orthographic question, the elimination of silent letters became a matter of weeding out anachronisms: remnants of the past nestled in the present. Two prominent reform advocates – Ivar Adolf Lyttkens and Fredrik Amadeus Wulff – suggested this as a universal principle of spelling. And much like Lind and Lundell, they attributed the persistence of silent letters to the unsynchronized relationship between speech and writing, and a prolonged absence of progressive reforms (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1898: 4, 20).
A predominant aspect to the strategy of the reform movement was the continuous production and application of knowledge. While Lundell categorized spelling mistakes, Noreen based his principles on public surveys. In terms of language science, the orthographic question was heavily influenced by phonology, the systematic study of speech sounds. In 1885, Lyttkens and Wulff published a detailed compilation of phonological theory, propelling the authors to the epicentre of the orthographic debates. The book was an exhaustive survey of speech sounds, complete with sound indexes and anatomical illustrations depicting the human speech organs. The soundscape of speech was rigorously broken down into categories and presented in the form of a catalogue. The book was very similar to an ordinary dictionary, but where conventional glossaries provided information on spelling, grammar, and etymology, Lyttkens and Wulff presented a meticulous inventory of sounds, their function in the structure of language, and their origins in the human anatomy (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1885: 19–24, 27–32). The publication became a valuable contribution to the emerging field of linguistic phonology, but it was first and foremost a strategic intervention in the orthographic question. In more conservative circles, silent letters were commonly justified by grammar or etymological derivation. For example, if a letter was present in the basic form of a verb, or in an etymologically related term, this would justify its presence and preservation. This logic was based on knowledge of written language. The works of Lyttkens and Wulff offered a viable alternative: a logic of speech, and in this, a scientific justification for the removal of silent letters.
Once again, speech and writing were seen as two separate times – or tempos – out of synch. While written language was inherently delayed, speech featured immediacy and fickleness. To Lyttkens and Wulff, a person who relied on written communication was “moving, as it were, in a different time” (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1885: 6). 12 Through this reasoning, sound became a symbolic model for absolute simultaneity, and speech the primary form of language. Meanwhile, writing was reduced to a mere mediation, a form susceptible to temporal lag. Still, when communication involved parties separated by time and space, written language was nevertheless indispensable: “But when it comes to making the course of development and historical learning available to future or distant generations, then the written ‘translation’ and storage of living speech come into its own.” (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1885: 6)13
These notions of language as a multitemporal nexus were shared by liberal politician Fridtjuv Berg – the man most often credited as the chief architect behind the reform. In a detailed exposé of orthographic development, Berg concluded that writing, since its very conception, sought to mediate the soundscape of speech. Moreover, old medieval orthography had been truer to this principle than the nineteenth-century travesty currently in use. In accordance with the general analysis, Berg argued that the reason for the current disorder was a lack of timely updates (Berg, 1902: 5–8). However, as previous generations did not have access to modern scientific protocols, these failures were courteously excused: “But when one considers that thirteenth-century Swedes could not be familiar with linguistics, let alone scientific phonology, which is a completely new branch of research, it is evident that the task must have been quite difficult for them” (Berg, 1902: 4). 14 As seen here, notions of scientific progress became instrumental to the orthographic discourse. The issue was saturated with a temporal logic that effectively made the reform into a matter of synchronizing the scattered temporalities of language. The progress of language science – and especially phonology – became an important tool in these aspirations.
With increased emphasis on scientific principles, the orthographic question naturally became an arena for disciplinary conflicts. The contradictory principles – stemming from the incompatible logics of sound and speech – were, in part, analogous to conflicts between phonology and philology, typical to late nineteenth-century language science. While Tegnér was a classical philologist, Lundell was a pioneer in the emerging field of linguistic phonology. But the Swedish debates were equally influenced by a scholarly movement on the European continent: the neogrammarian school of linguistics. Originating at the University of Leipzig, the movement challenged the paradigms dominating language science since the romantic era. Instead of immanent life forces, etymological derivation, and language spirits, the neogrammarians explained linguistic development through a series of universal sound laws. Their theories rejected notions of decay and degeneration commonly held by an older generation of German scholars such as Jacob Grimm, Franz Bopp, and August Schleicher (Haapamäki, 2002: 216–221; Jankowsky, 1972: 124–143, 190–198; Pourciau, 2017: 2–19). Scholars have pointed out that the neogrammarians regularly overemphasized the novelty of their perspectives, and some describe the movement as a mere continuation of earlier traditions (Joseph, 2018: 159–160). However, the emphasis on soundscapes, speech patterns, and sound laws must be regarded as an important step away from the philological focus on written sources. Even Ferdinand de Saussure commented on their place in the history of linguistics: “Thanks to them, language is no longer looked upon as an organism that develops independently but as a product of the collective mind of linguistic groups. [...] scholars realized how erroneous and insufficient were the notions of philology and comparative philology.” (Saussure, 1959: 5)
In Sweden, several key figures in the orthographic debates were heavily influenced by the neogrammarian school, and the spelling reform became a national venue for the continental ideas (Eriksson, 1961: 11; Haapamäki, 2002: 221–222).
The theoretical underpinning of the reform was imperative, but the importance of scientific coherency was not entirely undisputed. In a somewhat controversial statement, Lundell stressed a fundamental difference between practical utility and theoretical accuracy. The orthographic question was not simply a matter of science, but rather a practical issue with social undertones (Lundell, 1886: 77). Tegnér interjected by emphasizing the need for scientific expertise and coherence. In his view, practical experience was no guarantee for competence, and the reform had to be conducted by experts well-versed in “real scientific studies” (Tegnér, 1886: 135). 15 Lundell and Tegnér belonged to different branches of language science with conflicting views on the ontological status of the written word. Lundell was an early advocate for linguistic phonology. In academic circles, he became renowned for constructing the Swedish Dialect Alphabet, a phonetic system designed to document the soundscape of various dialects and vernaculars. Tegnér on the other hand, was a classical philologist, member of the Swedish Academy, and grandson of a canonized Swedish poet. And while clearly inspired by the neogrammarian perspectives, Tegnér was still a textual scholar with a high regard for the logic and historicity of the written word (Haapamäki, 2002: 223–224). Conversely, Lundell regarded the written word as a synthetic artefact: a mere mediation of speech. The essence of language – its history and integral meaning – was not tied to superficial signs: “The history of language is made in the human interior. The sound transitions take place in the psychological realm, they appear in physical phenomena, which as such are completely isolated, without internal coherence.” (Lundell, 1886: 28–29)16
The reasoning was clearly influenced by neogrammarian notions of psychologically initiated sound transitions as a driver of language development (Haapamäki, 2002: 217). But the argument was also a strategic contribution to the orthographic question. By placing the meaning and historicity of language on a psychological level, the external format was opened to modification. To Lundell, historical continuity was guaranteed by the spirit of the speaker: “The oak stands for a thousand years, the most short-lived insects live for a few hours. But the word lives only for a few moments – in the sensory world, that is. For in the spiritual world, it lives longer” (Lundell, 1886: 27). 17 Tegnér had a more ambivalent relationship to these theories, and he was not keen to let speculation on psychological transitions influence the orthography: “We need only remind ourselves that writing is a more reflective act than the production of sounds, and that consequently the demand for order and coherence, which governs all our actions, is more easily expressed in our writing than in our speech” (Tegnér, 1886: 32–33). 18
But the primary reason why Lundell objected to a purely scientific logic was the inherent instability of speech, and the relentless progress of phonological knowledge. The countless nuances of a spoken language would render a completely phonetic spelling extremely unstable. Moreover, the complexity of speech grew with the progress of scientific knowledge: the extended use of technologies such as resonators, pyrophones, tuning forks, and phonographs had multiplied the number of distinguishable sounds in the linguistic database: “The ability to distinguish is increasing, the number of language sounds are objectively infinite, in the stream of speech, the sounds merge through transitions with infinite nuances that no one can grasp.” (Lundell, 1886: 37)19
To counteract the volatility, Lundell proposed that standard orthography should be modelled on the language of reading, that is, the sound of the voice when reading from a script. According to Lundell, the principle would initiate a temporal equilibrium: a harmony between the immutable stability of signs and the volatile soundscapes of speech (Lundell, 1886: 65–66). In short, reading became a middle ground synchronizing two conflicting times.
In 1893, Lundell published a comprehensive dictionary with an updated orthographic standard. The compilation of words was meant to represent a contemporary language, and the selection constituted a demarcation between the modern and the anachronistic. The temporal order of progress was emphasized in the preamble: “The vocabulary of language is, over the course of cultural development, brought into constant change” (Lundell et al., 1893: viii). 20 The publication was preceded by extensive efforts to collect previously undocumented words. The editorial team, consisting of Lundell and his sisters Hilda Lundell and Elise Zetterqvist, inventoried works of fiction, non-fiction, newspapers, and educational literature on history, grammar, political science, logic, arithmetic, algebra, geometry, trigonometry, physics, chemistry, botany, zoology and geology. They went through literature from colleges, agriculture schools, trade schools, navigation schools, military schools, and textbooks on economics, animal husbandry, forestry, bookkeeping, construction, shipbuilding, field fortification, and military medicine. Being a scale model of contemporaneity, the completed glossary contained over 81 000 words (Lundell et al., 1893: iv–xvi). While considerably larger than many of its competitors, the wordlist excluded a number of concepts considered either anachronistic or ephemeral. This applied to certain fashion items, but the principle was also extended to certain scientific concepts, making the selection a strategic demarcation between modern science and antiquated delusions. Certain taxonomic terms used by botanists and zoologists had been excluded due to linguistic misconceptions: “Their reflections on language […] relate to modern linguistics much like the thoughts of gold makers to the chemical science or our time” (Lundell et al., 1893: vi). 21 Among the scientific terms excluded was Grimm's law, a hypothesis concerning the development of Germanic languages formulated by Jacob Grimm in 1822 (Lundell et al., 1893: xiv). The principle was indispensable to the traditional branch of comparative language studies, and thus an important target for the neogrammarian critique. Given Lundell's academic allegiances, the decision to take it out of circulation was hardly coincidental.
Timescapes of education
The orthographic question was posed with regard to a number of external temporalities, and as previously mentioned, the most pressing demands came from the educational system. The orthographic debates coincided with a fundamental expansion of public schooling sometimes described as an educational revolution. In a few decades, basic education went from a marginal phenomenon, reserved for societal elites, to a national concern at the heart of political discourse (Larsson, 2019). After the Elementary School Act, passed in the summer of 1842, basic education was mandatory, but the system was far from uniform, and the education anything but equal. There were two parallel school formats, and conditions varied so widely that it quickly proved difficult to maintain quality across the board. In 1878, the first standardized curriculum was launched. Apart from detailed descriptions of expected learning outcomes and directives for managing the various school formats, the document contained meticulous instructions for the allocation of time. The complexity of the document reflects the irregularity of the system. Starting out, basic education was divided between primary schools and grammar schools, each with different schedules and learning outcomes. Moreover, the primary school was divided into permanent and ambulatory formats depending on the region, each with timetables customized for a varying number of students and an uncertain availability of teachers (Normalplan, 1878). The reality of nineteenth-century education was far removed from visionary politics, and in the pursuit of a more unified system, time became a precious – and extremely limited – resource.
In 1885, a governmental committee reported back on the general condition of the public school system. In their final assessment, the workload was identified as a severe problem with detrimental consequences to student health. The investigators found a widespread incidence of physical ailments, and assumed this to be directly related to strenuous mental labour: 12.7% of students suffered from jaundice, 13.5% experienced recurring headaches, and 6.2% had regular nosebleeds (Törnebladh, 1885: 12–13). The report did not mention orthography per se, but the basic analysis came to influence the spelling issue: school time was a limited resource that could not be extended without harming the students. In the following decades, time became a dominant premise of educational politics, and motifs of efficiency shaped the logic of the orthographic question. Orthography was understood as immediately connected to the educational timescapes, and a spelling reform was identified as a potential way to reallocate time.
When yet another committee evaluated textbooks and teaching materials, the orthographic standard was the main focus of the report. The investigators criticized the inconsistent spelling appearing in formally approved textbooks, and expressed astonishment at the extent of the incongruence. The spelling norms appeared to be completely arbitrary, and with heavily limited teaching time, it was almost impossible for students to develop confidence and certainty. According to the report, phonetic spelling would first and foremost save time: “If the precious time, which young people now must spend learning a multitude of conflicting and often arbitrary designations, were used in a more fruitful way, the school would reap a great benefit” (Gustrin, 1885: 420).
22
When primary school teacher Gustaf Oscar Börjesson published a book of writing exercises based on the works of Lyttkens and Wulff, he made explicit connections between historical anachronisms, etymological spelling, and educational time constraints: As our present mode of writing, which considers derivation and older customs, even when these are contrary to sound, differs widely from the foregoing principle, and is therefore difficult to learn, and occupies too much of the teaching time, several suggestions have been made […] to remove the greatest irregularities. (Börjesson, 1885: 3)
23
The reasoning shows how the orthographic question came to intersect around several temporal conflicts. As the link between spelling and education became more pronounced, so was the relationship between school time and social motifs of equality typical to the political discourse at the time. The orthographic debates coincided with a dramatic rise of social movements and political organizations promoting labour laws, popular education, and civil participation. And while the key actors of the spelling reform hardly qualify as political radicals, the orthographic question must be understood with regard to egalitarian ambitions emblematic of the period. In 1896, Adolf Noreen published a visionary text speculating on the future of public education. Advocating for a more efficient and centralized system, he explicitly promoted the formation of a new governmental agency to conduct regular school inspections. The unequal system of primary schools and grammar schools were to be replaced by a unified organization were children – regardless of gender and social class – could receive comprehensive education. As part of this utopian vision, Noreen depicted a radical spelling reform designed to mitigate social segmentation. His conclusion reenforced the connection between orthography and time, while adding the social factor: “[...] the present conditions needlessly prolong schooling by at least one year, and create an artificial gulf between those wearing the mark of the lower classes to spell ‘at it sounds’, and the noble badge of erudition to master spelling ‘as it is customary.’” (Noreen, 1896) 24
In 1905, Lundell presented a comprehensive assessment of the time devoted to spelling. Admission to grammar school required three years of preliminary studies in which language training occupied between seven and eight hours per week. Half of this, roughly 400 hours, was devoted to spelling. In the subsequent three years of grammar school, spelling drills would amount to an additional 200 hours. In total, a student would spend about 800 hours practicing spelling: “It is the irrational aspects of the common way of writing that require this work” (Lundell, 1905: 10).
25
According to the reformers, silent signs were not just anachronistic leftovers from earlier phases in the evolution of language. They were time-consuming obstacles that threatened the efficiency of the educational system while reinforcing social segmentation. In the words of Lyttkens and Wulff: Among practical considerations there is one, which must be regarded as most important, namely the need for schools to achieve the objective: a god knowledge in spelling, in the least time-consuming way possible, so that full certainty can be achieved even in schools where teaching has to be completed early. (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1898: 4–5)
26
If close to a decade in grammar school proved inadequate to learn basic spelling, the task would surely be impossible for students with a more rudimentary curriculum. Furthermore, the endless spelling drills took valuable time from other subjects, and Lundell emphasized that the primary schools needed time for other matters. Much like Noreen, Lundell underscored the connection between time constraints and social inequality. In essence, the orthographic question was a social one, and Lundell made connections to the sumptuary laws that once was used to reserve luxury goods for societal elites. Now, it was proper language skills that were being reserved for higher classes (Lundell, 1886: 90, 101). Lundell made sure to repeat this credo in the preamble of his dictionary: “[…] we wish to remove artificial boundaries between the different classes of society. Such a boundary is the art, learnt at great expense of time and trouble, of writing certain letters where they ought not to be” (Lundell et al., 1893: xxi). 27
Time constraints became a common logic that united otherwise conflicting parties. While Tegnér opposed the more radical reform proposals, he never failed to recognise the need for pedagogical efficiency. In 1887, prior to the launch of yet another dictionary – this time the official dictionary published by the Swedish Academy – Tegnér co-authored a report proposing a series of rare concessions to the phonological sensibility. The new dictionary displayed a substantial increase in words spelled with the diacritical letter Ä – pronounced æ – at the expense of the previously more common letter E. The choice between Ä and E was a recurring feature in the orthographic debates. While the use of Ä was considered more phonetically correct, the letter E was commonly held as more etymologically justified, as well as more comfortable to write by hand (Leopold, 1801: 157–159). In the report, Tegnér downplayed the importance of these concessions, which in his calculation would amount to between six and seven changes per average book page. In 25 randomly selected pages of printed text, the proposed changes would mean 175 new occurrences of the letter Ä. According to Tegnér, these could easily be written in roughly 155 seconds. Meanwhile, the same number of E's took around 95 seconds to write. If a person set out to copy 25 printed pages by hand – a task that would take several hours regardless of the orthographic standard – the time difference would amount to one minute (Tegnér, 1887: 9). To Tegnér, this minute was insignificant compared to amount of time that would surely be saved by the adjustments: But when we consider that half an hour's labour is sufficient to learn all the new rules of spelling here proposed; furthermore, that the discomfort which the hand and eye will at first derive from them may be measured in hours and days, while the profit which they will bring to our people will soon be reckoned in years of spared useless labour. (Tegnér, 1887: 52)
28
Temporary standards
The spelling reform was meant to produce systematic coherency, and the project must be regarded a case of standardization. As noted by several scholars of science and technology, standards rarely appear is isolation: they come nestled, intertwined, and intimately connected to other standards (Bowker, 2005; Busch, 2011; Lampland and Star, 2009: 4–8). This rationale is also applicable to temporality. Time seldom appears as a singular order, but rather as a complex entanglement of conflicting rhythms. In the words of Helge Jordheim: “The baseline for human existence on earth is that we are out of sync with each other, as well as with our surroundings, simply because we live in a condition of multiple, heterogeneous, and diverging times” (Jordheim, 2022: 47). As stated in the introduction, this article examines connections between efforts to standardize and efforts to synchronize. Previous sections have shown that the situated aspirations to systematic coherence held by the historical actors were, in fact, enactments of temporal coherence. In this final empirical section, the analysis will suggest that this coherence was achieved – or at least imagined – through a systematic application of a serial format. The term seriality – described in great detail by literature scholar Clare Pettitt – refers to a sequential order that came to dominate the political culture of nineteenth-century Europe. Being both emancipatory and repressive, the serial format created a diachronic flexibility analogous to the modern regime of historicity: “The serial rushes forward, always incomplete, abandoning the past in its wake, in a state of constant self-interruption, beginning again with every new iteration or fresh item or number” (Pettitt, 2020: 21). These unfinished qualities were central to the orthographic discourse, and tangibly ratified through what became to principal tool of orthographic synchronization: the dictionary.
In practice, the orthographic debates were fought with dictionaries. And while previously mentioned efforts to produce alternative dictionaries were somewhat influential, the powerhouse of language politics was still the notoriously conservative Swedish Academy, and their authoritative dictionary first published in 1874: Svenska Akademiens Ordlista, or the SAOL. The origins of the SAOL are steeped in familiar issues of historicity and temporal limitations. In 1787, the newly formed Swedish Academy set out to create a modern dictionary accounting for the spelling, etymology, grammar, and historical derivation of every word in the Swedish language. The project – which is very similar to European counterparts such as the Oxford English Dictionary, or Deutsches Wörterbuch – soon proved excessively time-consuming and labour intensive. In 1870, the enterprise was put on halt. By then, the orthographic debates had started to escalate, and the absence of a ratified standard was becoming a very real and tangible problem. As a response to the situation, the Academy decided to publish a more rudimentary dictionary – a wordlist – focusing on spelling rather than etymological data (Gellerstam, 2009; Teleman, 2003). The grand historical dictionary was temporarily suspended, and the SAOL was published in its place. There was simply no time for history.
In a preamble to the first edition, the editors emphasized the need for order and cohesion. However, the outspoken incentive of stability coexisted with an equally candid declaration of future contingency: the model was indorsed in waiting for future updates (Ordlista öfver svenska språket, 1874: v). Between 1874 and 1883, four new editions were published, but as the orthographic standard remained unchanged, the SAOL quickly became a source of dissatisfaction. One reviewer characterized it as an enterprise “wherein great contempt is being shown even to the humblest demands for reform” (Högbom, 1888: 182). 29 The main strategy of the reform movement was to disseminate alternative dictionaries, and after five near identical editions of the SAOL, their efforts were finally rewarded. In 1889, the sixth edition was published, and for the first time since its conception, the dictionary contained something resembling news. The number of words had been increased from 33 700 to 41 400, and the spelling showed a number of phonological concessions. In the new preamble, the changes were motivated by the urgent need for stability: “Recent orthographic developments have also made it unmistakably clear, that stability and unity could not be sought in any other way than the one now embarked by the Academy: to allow the ä-sign to be used more extensively” (Ordlista öfver svenska språket, 1889: v). 30 Stability and progress were not seen as contradictory or mutually exclusive phenomena. On the contrary, progress was presented as a natural premise, and stability could only be achieved by adapting to the relentless flow of time.
The sixth edition of SAOL was the first to ever attain formal authorization by the Swedish government. The directive was issued in November of 1889, and stated that all educational institutions should conform to the spelling set forth in the new edition. The implementation was to begin immediately, and no textbooks deviating from the stipulated standard was to be used after 1891 (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1910: 1–2). Establishing a new standard by means of executive decree was highly controversial, but as the number of conflicting dictionaries increased, government intervention was deemed necessary in order to prevent further escalation. The orthographic disorder was said to cause widespread uncertainty, and the enforced mandate seemed to many the only way forward. But despite its formal sanction, the new dictionary was never intended as a final solution to the orthographic issue. Just as its predecessors, the sixth edition of SAOL was explicitly launched as a temporary standard: a system open to continuous alterations. The most telling sign of this provisional status was the use of a double standard. Words with disputed spelling were included in two versions: the old and the new side by side. In this fashion, the dictionary produced a transitional state, a historical break between the past and the future. As explained by the editors, the double standard was intended to correspond with a sequence in the natural development of language: In cases where it was feared that a modification, desirable in itself, would appear to the public as too unfamiliar, the new form has been adopted merely as secondary to the old. Since, in current language usage, double forms do exist, and so have existed in almost every period of language development, it would often be inappropriate to recognise only one of these forms. The inconvenience ensuing from certain instances where firm unity is absent, is due to language itself, which in some respect is not fully settled, and a dictionary must not [...] ignore the fact that language, which does not follow a given scheme, sometimes reveals a certain indeterminacy in signification. (Ordlista öfver svenska språket, 1889: iv)
31
The provisional condition was central to the orthographic discourse, and contingency was an amalgamating force. While continuous development and flexibility was held as prerequisites for enduring functionality, unwavering permanence was regularly depicted as detrimental to lasting stability. Progress became a basic premise rather than a contested issue. Lundell emphasized durability as a general criterion by which to evaluate proposed reforms: “The choice is not one between old and new, but between a new with prospects to last at least a couple of generations, and a new, that within a few years must give way to something even newer, and so on forever, so that neither we nor our children will have peace” (Lundell, 1886: 12). 33 Tegnér, who preferred a reform divided into smaller pieces, saw the spelling reform as an intergenerational enterprise: “If each human age brings clarity to the designations of few speech sounds, it does enough” (Tegnér, 1886: 14). 34 Each generation had a duty to its own present and should not attempt to anticipate future problems. His critique against Noreen and the more radical fractions of the reform movement often came down to their tendency to overemphasize the future at the expense of the present. To Tegnér, a functional and egalitarian reform would have to account for society as a whole: “[...] it is the interest of the whole that must be kept in mind, the educated as well as the uneducated, the old as well as the young, the present as well as the future.” (Tegnér, 1886: 60)35
The preliminary interim-logic was still present in the supposedly final reform, issued in April of 1906. The decree stipulated that from the following academic year, spelling standards in all educational institutions were to correspond with the seventh edition of the SAOL, published in 1900. The reform was explicitly tied to the serial format of the dictionary, and thus a temporary order open to future corrections. The prescription was met with loud protests. In 1908, a petition in favour of reversing the spelling reform gathered over 40 000 signatures, but the resistance did not result in any major compromises. In 1910, a collection of central documents was published to commemorate the orthographic reform. The editors, Ivar Adolf Lyttkens and Fredrik Amadeus Wulff, had collected a large number of protocols, petitions, policy documents, and regulations produced since 1900. As the orthographic question was only temporarily resolved, the editors anticipated a continuation and spoke directly to a future readership: “We cannot count on many contemporary readers, let alone buyers. But since we are now in a position to give an account of the management of this important issue in Sweden during the aforementioned period, it is dear to us that in this way we can be of benefit to a new future reform” (Lyttkens and Wulff, 1910: unpaginated introduction). 36
Conclusion
In this article, orthographic reform has been analysed as an example of temporal synchronization. The four empirical sections investigate temporal features, problems, and incentives present in debates preceding the Swedish spelling reform of 1906 – a project driven by aspirations to harmonize a number of conflicting temporalities into a unified order of historical time. By emphasizing time as a fundamental incentive to prescriptive spelling, the study extends our understanding of how language reforms and normative standardizations can be understood as political interventions targeting the temporal foundations of modern societies. While previous research frequently describes normative language reforms as enactments of power, the temporal aspects of these endeavours are regularly overlooked, disregarded, or reduced to marginal anecdotes. Moreover, the study contributes to ongoing reassessments of modern historical time emphasizing multiple temporalities in perpetual disharmony rather than orderly layers of time or dominating regimes of historicity. When researchers talk about the relationship between standardization and time, they usually talk about the standardization of clock time – a reform that coincided with the orthographic debates featured in this article – while less intuitive venues of temporal politics often go unnoticed. This article argues that standardizations are central to the production of temporal order, even when the object of standardization is not time per se. Consequently, the analysis is an argument for a wider understanding of how temporal orders are enacted, negotiated, and contested.
The first empirical section showed that the orthographic reform was motivated by a temporal problem: a language out of synch. Orthographic heterogeneity was understood as a temporal misalignment epitomized in silent letters regarded by the reformers as remnants of a distant past. This logic effectively made the standardization into a case of synchronization. The second empirical section showed the orthographic debates as an arena for scientific disputes, and a venue where different theories about language and time collided. The conflict stood between phonology – the logic of sounds – and philology – the logic of signs. As speech and writing was understood as different tempos, the disciplinary disagreement must be regarded as a temporal conflict. Meanwhile, the scientific discourse infused the debates with notions of historical progress. The continuous progression of science became a harmonizing narrative, and the application of scientific methods was imperative to the production of historical time. The third empirical section extended the analysis to include the timescapes of education. The debates coincided with educational reforms and the launch of a new national curriculum regulating the distribution of time in public schools. Subsequently, orthography was understood with regard time constraints, and new reform proposals were frequently evaluated in terms of educational efficiency. Silent letters were not merely anachronistic relics, but time-consuming hitches in the educational infrastructure. And as educational time was unevenly distributed, the efficiency was frequently connected to questions of social inequality. The fourth and final section showed how the orthographic reform was implemented as a temporary standard: a preliminary order explicitly open to continuous alteration. While the historical actors agreed on the need for stability, they found continuous development to be a prerequisite for order. Every reform proposal – including the final decree – was intended as a temporary system open to updates. The primary instrument of this temporal flexibility was the serial format of the dictionary, a material incarnation of contemporaneity and a central tool of synchronization.
These findings have both empirical and theoretical implications. Empirical with regard to historical studies of language reforms, and theoretical with regard to ongoing research into the nature of historical time. The perspectives applied make it possible to destabilize a conventional account of language reforms. Both research literature and empirical sources are saturated with binary oppositions and dichotomies underpinned by a temporal order: reforms of this kind are habitually depicted as struggles between progressives and conservatives advocating for either functionalism or traditionalism. I do not mean to say that such distinctions are irrelevant, but highlighting the temporal foundations of such binary designations can deepen our understanding of dichotomies that are all too often naturalized, implied, or taken for granted. These ambitions to destabilize and denaturalize – ambitions that are central to cultural studies of time – can be extended to include history itself. In accordance with recent theories on multiple temporalities, this study regard cohesive historical time as a consequence of cognisant political efforts. The perspective makes situated motifs of progress, development, and acceleration into functional tools rather than just passive concessions to a prevailing zeitgeist. In this way, the analysis demonstrates an analytical model that can be applied to other examples, debates, and questions. Efforts to reform, prescribe, and standardize always entail temporal conflicts that goes beyond the tropes of progress inherent to modern political discourse. By highlighting the conflicts underpinning these tropes, we can deepen our understanding of modern historical time while unlocking previously unseen sites of temporal negotiation.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Jenny Beckman and Petter Tistedt for their unwavering support during the entire research process.
Funding
The author received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.
Declaration of conflicting interests
The author declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.