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For centuries, the keepers of language viewed the printed dictionary as an unyielding fortress, a structural barrier erected to defend the purity of speech against the corrupting tides of popular usage. In eighteenth-century Europe, this preservationist impulse reached its zenith. Academicians in France and Italy spent decades compiling authoritative lexicons aimed at purging foreign influences and stabilizing grammar. When Samuel Johnson embarked on his monumental *Dictionary of the English Language* in 1746, he initially shared this ambition, hoping to "fix" the English tongue and protect it from what he perceived as a slide into barbarism. However, by the time of his dictionary’s publication in 1755, Johnson had arrived at a humbling realization: language, driven by the daily interactions of its speakers, possesses a vitality that resists any attempts at permanent codification.

This tension between prescriptivism—the belief that language should be governed by strict, unchanging rules—and descriptivism—the practice of documenting language as it is actually spoken—has shaped the evolution of dictionary-making. In the nineteenth century, the debate shifted from the salons of London to the classrooms and printing houses of the newly formed United States. Noah Webster, driven by a fierce sense of national identity, sought to liberate American English from British hegemony. He simplified spellings and validated American idioms, yet his work remained deeply moralistic and prescriptive, seeking to establish a standardized dialect that would foster national unity. Webster’s dictionaries were designed to instruct citizens in correct usage, reinforcing the idea that the lexicographer’s chief duty was to serve as an arbiter of proper speech.

The true paradigm shift in lexicography occurred with the planning and compilation of the *New English Dictionary on Historical Principles*, which would eventually become the *Oxford English Dictionary* (OED). Conceived in the mid-nineteenth century by the Philological Society of London, the project represented a radical departure from its predecessors. Rather than relying on the subjective preferences of a single editor or academy, the OED utilized a volunteer network of thousands of readers who submitted millions of quotation slips documenting word usage across centuries. Led by editors like James Murray, the OED aimed to record the life history of every word in the English language, from its earliest known appearance to its contemporary meaning.

This historicist approach fundamentally redefined the role of the lexicographer. No longer a judge deciding which words deserved admission into the lexicon, the editor became an archivist mapping the shifting contours of language. The OED recognized that words are organic entities; they change pronunciation, acquire new definitions, and drop out of use entirely. To exclude a word simply because it was considered slang or substandard would be to present an incomplete picture of linguistic reality. This shift from prescribing correct usage to describing actual practice marked the birth of modern scientific linguistics.

In the mid-twentieth century, this descriptive philosophy sparked intense public controversy, most notably with the publication of *Webster’s Third New International Dictionary* in 1961. Edited by Philip Gove, the dictionary embraced a thoroughly descriptive methodology, stripping away usage labels like "colloquial" or "incorrect" for many common words. Critics were outraged, accusing the editors of surrendering to linguistic anarchy and abandoning their cultural responsibility to maintain standards. Yet, Gove and his colleagues stood firm, arguing that a dictionary's utility lies in its accuracy, not its authority.

Ultimately, the history of lexicography demonstrates that dictionaries are not static lawbooks designed to freeze a language in time, but are rather dynamic records that must evolve alongside the living speech of the communities they document. While the desire for linguistic stability remains a powerful human impulse, language is an inherently democratic institution, shaped by the collective habits of its speakers. The modern dictionary does not govern language; it merely reflects it, acknowledging that change is not a sign of decay, but a natural consequence of a vital, living tongue.

Based on the passage, which of the following statements best expresses the primary main idea of the text?