Coming to terms: Thomas Elyot's definitions and the particularity of human letters.

I. DEFINITIONS

Once upon a time in early sixteenth-century England there was no dictionary. There were some incomplete Latin-English lexicons like the Medulla Grammatica (the "marrow" or "kernel" of grammar), compiled in the early fifteenth century. And there was an abundance of schoolboy prompt-books, like the popular Promptorium parvulorum, little more than English-to-Latin word-lists that enabled pupils struggling at "making Latins" to find the right Latin word for their translations. But there was no magisterial resource with the intellectual authority and cultural centrality that works like the OED would obtain in modern culture or that the Stephanus's Greek-Latin dictionary would find in learned circles of the Renaissance. It is against this lack, then, that one must recall the publication of the dictionary in Henrician England--the publication of the book that gave this resource work its name in English, Sir Thomas Elyot's Dictionary of 1538, the first full-scale Latin-English lexicon. A powerful minister, Thomas Cromwell, Elyot's patron throughout his career, plays an important part in the inaugural scene of the Dictionary, as does his king, Henry VIII, whose vanity about his learning is well documented. Like the publication of the Great Bible or the royal prescription of Lyly's Grammar, the emergence of Elyot's Dictionary possesses some of the elements of Henrician cultural stagecraft that position the royal court as an almost mythical source of learning and wisdom, magically supplying every want of a grateful nation. And one might indeed plausibly argue that like the great eighteenth- and nineteenth-century dictionaries, Elyot's Dictionary finds in linguistic stratification a means of encoding social hierarchy. As Allon White comments, "The dictionary embodies an implicit hierarchy of language and produces a linguistic environment which, taken together, powerfully establish the 'high' language over against all other registers, dialects, and sociolects."(1) Indeed, one might well hold that Elyot's Dictionary, along with Lyly's royally sanctioned grammar, helped to establish the schoolroom as a new cultural field for instituting royal absolutism.

But Elyot's Dictionary also proves finally to be a national institution with a complex and surprising cultural volatility. Even the work of establishing a clear linguistic hierarchy in the studia humanitatis, for example, becomes a scene of cultural cross-purposes. The editions and revisions of Elyot's Dictionary provided a model for the Latin-English lexicon as new norms for both languages and new relations between them were negotiated through the religious and pedagogical "re-formations" of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The Dictionary regulated the professional discourses of humanist Latin against the Latin of the schools (a bilingualism within professional Latin).(2) And yet the Dictionary inevitably also worked backwards (as a resource for neoclassical uses for English words or for Latinate neologisms). It enabled and regulated the emerging high uses of English, undermining the primacy of the humanist Latin it also established in a larger cultural heteroglossalia.

The political and ideological work of the Dictionary is equally circuitous. My hope here is to explore the shifting and intractable shapes of cultural difference that circumscribe works like Elyot's Dictionary that proceed from and from without the courtly center of influence and legitimate royal power. I use the terms "difference" and "circumscribe" in distinction to "subversion," "resistance," or "transgression," terms whose uses trouble cultural historiography. Because power is relational and contingent, rather than essential, any inquiry into the multiple and heterogeneous discourses that were producing the Tudor state must acknowledge how these discourses and the subjects producing them are the confused site for the play of differences among competing interests and institutions: gender, kinship, status, faction, religious sectarianism, regionalism, trade, profession. Historians must be able to transcribe the past in terms that suggest the cultural circuits of a continuous structuration as discourses are produced through the ongoing play of difference in the material agency of subjects.

At times, historiography will attend to the movements of people inscribed in large social formations, writing over the particularities of individual acts in order to demonstrate a given argument legible in the play of differences in the past. Here, for example, I have tentatively argued that Elyot's Dictionary was inscribed by the rise of Tudor absolutism and English nationalism. But there is another scale of historiography, in which the particularity of a given field of action can be written over the larger argument of which it may be the example. This inquiry recognizes subjects as agents appropriating material in a field of choice even as these subjects are the objects of construction of the institutions among which they choose. Writing history at the level of the subject does not mean hypostatizing "humanity" or the "individual." It does, however, respect the material scene of human agency; it allows for difference as a given condition of cultural work, transcribing ideological contradiction, personal confusion, and even coincidence as part of historical production. These two ways of writing history complement and challenge one another. A particularized history requires a nomenclature and a methodology that does not overdramatize and thus underestimate individual labor, as one might, for example, by scripting it in a romantic agon of domination and resistance. This rhetoric may be useful in telling the story of an institution that it defines (the crown, the urban proletariat), but it cannot allow for the important particularity and the fast play of differences in the cultural circuits that characterize ideological production at the level of the subject, where cultural criticism must, in part, be written.

II. A PREFACE TO THE DICTIONARY

Like many of the instructional works Elyot produced in the late 1530s, his Dictionary was dedicated to the king in a hopeful bid (through Cromwell) for royal patronage; it promotes itself as a work undertaken for the king on behalf of the common good.(3) But the dedicatory preface also glosses the curious schism that the power of the court cut in the material history of the book. The Dictionary was "in pryntyng and vneth the halfe deal performed" when Henry was told of it by Elyot's friends, the privy counsellor Anthony Denny, the royal librarian William Tildisly, and "mooste specially by recommendation of the most honorable lorde Crumwell, lorde priuie seal, fauorer of honestie, and next to your highnesse, chiefe patron of vertue and cunnyng" (sig. A2v). Henry, Elyot explains, commended the undertaking and offered the use of his library. Elyot then stopped the presses at the letter M and began to revise from N on, realizing from his perusal of the royal library how much he had left out while relying upon his own resources. When he finished revising N to Z he returned to A and began again, publishing "additions" that cover thirty-six folio leaves in an appendix.