The inevitable losses of translation lie behind the popular view that, if we are truly to understand someone and the culture from which they come, then it is necessary that we understand their language. This accounts for the widespread notion in literary and religious study that something essential is lost if texts cannot be read in the original. To a degree this view is motivated by some vague belief in “ the spirit of the language”; more precisely it derives from a belief that important ideas and traditions are specific to a particular language.
The corollary of this view is that if someone is to express themselves fully, they may need t do so in their own language. To preserve their culture, they must also have the right to educate their children in that language. These needs, which have been referred to as language rights, have clear implications for language planning. They are implicit in a good deal of national and international legislation, ensuring the possibility of own language use both in formal transactions and schools. On the other hand, there are many contexts where language rights are denied and linguistic majorities impose upon minorities, often through oppressive legislation. With increasing frequency such conditions contribute to languages dying out completely. In extensively multilingual and multicultural societies there are pressure groups seeking to preserve linguistic diversity and others seeking to restrict it. The ‘English Only’ movement in the USA is an example of the latter. Though the moral case for diversity seems self-evident, there are obvious practical problems in institutionalizing the use of every language, however small, in a community, and a valid practical need for at least one lingua franca. There is also the danger that language preservation, pursued in certain ways, can lead to segregation and sectarianism. The task of the language planner is to reconcile all of these interests and factors. Like that of the translator, it is inevitably thankless and controversial.