Passing now from questions of pronunciation and grammar to questions of
vocabulary, I can only express my sense of the deep indebtedness of the
English language, both literary and colloquial, to America, for the old
words she has kept alive and the new words and phrases she has invented.
It is a sheer pedantry--nay, a misconception of the laws which govern
language as a living organism--to despise pithy and apt colloquialisms,
and even slang. In order to remain healthy and vigorous, a literary
language must be rooted in the soil of a copious vernacular, from which
it can extract and assimilate, by a chemistry peculiar to itself,
whatever nourishment it requires. It must keep in touch with life in the
broadest acceptation of the word; and life at certain levels, obeying a
psychological law which must simply be accepted as one of the conditions
of the problem, will always express itself in dialect, provincialism,
slang.
America doubles and trebles the number of points at which the English
language comes in touch with nature and life, and is therefore a great
source of strength and vitality. The literary language, to be sure,
rejects a great deal more than it absorbs; and even in the vernacular,
words and expressions are always dying out and being replaced by others
which are somehow better adapted to the changing conditions. But though
an expression has not, in the long run, proved itself fitted to survive,
it does not follow that it has not done good service in its time.
Certain it is that the common speech of the Anglo-Saxon race throughout
the world is exceedingly supple, well nourished, and rich in forcible
and graphic idioms; and a great part of this wealth it owes to America.
Let the purists who sneer at "Americanisms" think for one moment how
much poorer the English language would be to-day if North America had
become a French or Spanish instead of an English continent.
I am far from advocating a breaking down of the barrier between literary
and vernacular speech. It should be a porous, a permeable bulwark,
allowing of free filtration; but it should be none the less distinct and
clearly recognised. Nor do I recommend an indiscriminate hospitality to
all the linguistic inspirations of the American fancy. All I say is that
neologisms should be judged on their merits, and not rejected with
contumely for no better reason than that they are new and (presumably)
American. Take, for instance, the word "scientist." It was originally
suggested by Whewell in 1840; but it first came into common use in
America, and was received in England at the point of the bayonet. Huxley
and other "scientists" disowned it, and only a few years ago the _Daily
News_ denounced it as "an ignoble Americanism," a "cheap and vulgar
product of transatlantic slang." But "scientist" is undoubtedly holding
its own, and will soon be as generally accepted as "retrograde,"
"reciprocal," "spurious," and "strenuous," against which Ben Jonson, in
his day, so--strenuously protested. It holds its own because it is felt
to be a necessity. No one who is in the habit of writing will pretend
that it is always possible to fall back upon the cumbrous phrase "man of
science."[U] On the other hand, the purist objection to
"scientist"--that it is a Latin word with a Greek termination, and that
it implies the existence of a non-existent verb--may be urged with
equal force against such harmless necessary words as deist, aurist,
dentist, florist, jurist, oculist, somnambulist, ventriloquist,
and--purist. Much more valid objection might be made to the word
"scientific," which is not hybrid indeed, but is, if strictly examined,
illogical and even nonsensical. The fact is that three-fourths of the
English language would crumble away before a purist analysis, and we
should be left without words to express the commonest and most necessary
ideas.
Contrast with the case of "scientist" a vulgarism such as the use of
"transpire" in the sense of "happen." I do not quote it as an
Americanism; it is probably of English origin; it occurs, I regret to
note, in Dickens. I select it merely as an example of a demonstrably
vicious locution which ought indubitably to be banished from the
language. It has its origin in sheer blundering. Some one, at some time,
has come upon the phrase "such-and-such a thing has transpired"--that
is, leaked out, become known--and, ignorantly mistaking its meaning, has
noted and employed the word as a finer-sounding synonym for "occurred"
or "happened." The blunder has been passed on from one penny-a-liner to
another, until at last it has crept into the pages of writers, on both
sides of the Atlantic, who ought to know better. If it served any
purpose, expressed any shade of meaning, it might be tolerated; but
being at once a useless pedantry and an obvious blunder, it deserves no
quarter.
My point, then, is that "scientist" ought to live on its merits,
"transpire" to die on its demerits. With regard to every neologism we
ought first to inquire, "Does it fill a gap? Does it serve a purpose?"
And if that question be answered in the affirmative, we may next
consider whether it is formed on a reasonably good analogy and in
consonance with the general spirit of the language. "Truthful," for
example, is said to be an Americanism, and at one time gave offence on
that account. It is not only a vast improvement on the stilted
"veracious," but one of the prettiest and most thoroughly English words
in the dictionary.
The above-quoted writer in the _New York Press_ is a purist in
vocabulary, no less than in grammar. He will not allow us to be
"unwell," we must always be "ill;" an inhuman imperative. Why should we
sacrifice this clear and useful gradation: unwell, very unwell, ill,
very ill? On "sick" he does not deliver judgment. The American use of
the word is ancient and respectable, but the English limitation of its
meaning seems to me convenient, seeing we have the general terms
"unwell" and "ill" ready to hand. Again, the _New York Press_ authority
follows Freeman in wishing to eject the word "ovation" from the
language; surely a ridiculous literalism. It is true we do not sacrifice
a sheep at a modern "ovation," but neither (for example) do we judge by
the flight of birds when we declare the circumstances to be "auspicious"
for such and such an undertaking. Again, we are never to "retire" for
the night, but always to "go to bed." If, as is commonly alleged,
Americans say "retire" because they consider it indelicate to go to bed,
the feeling and the expression are alike foolish. But I do not believe
that either is at all common in America. On the other hand, one may
retire for the night without going to bed. In the case of ladies
especially, the interval between retiring and going to bed is reputed
to be far from inconsiderable. If, then, one really means "retired for
the night" and does _not_ definitely mean "went to bed," I see no crime
in employing the expression that conveys one's exact meaning. Finally
the _New York Press_ will not let us use the word "commence;" we must
always "begin." This is an excellent example of unreflecting or
half-reflecting purism. "Commence" is a very old word; it is used by the
best writers; it is easily pronounceable and not in the least
grandiloquent; indeed it has precisely the length and cadence of its
competitor. But somebody or other one day observed that it was Latin,
whereas "begin" was Saxon; and since then there has been a systematic
attempt, in several quarters, to hound the innocent and useful synonym
out of the language. Whence comes this rage for impoverishing our
tongue! The more synonyms we possess the better. Wherefore (by the way)
I for my part should not be too rigorous in excluding a forcible
Americanism merely because it happens to duplicate some word or
expression already current in England. The rich language is that which
possesses not only the necessaries of life but also an abundance of
superfluities.