AUTHORITATIVE STUMBLING-BLOCKS IN THE STUDY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.
Writers for publication ought to write just as their matter should
appear in print, but often they do not. Though every educated
English-speaking person is expected to know how to use his own language
correctly, no one needs such knowledge more than the proof-reader
does. Very commonly matters of form, as punctuation, capitalization,
compounding, and almost entirely the division of words at the ends of
lines, are left to the proof-reader’s decision. How shall he decide
reasonably if he have not the requisite knowledge? And how shall he
have knowledge without study? And how shall he succeed in his study if
he use not close thought and wise discretion?
The proof-reader, like every one else, must get at least the foundation
of his knowledge through the medium of books. His practical use of
knowledge, his faculty for instant perception of error, and his equally
useful faculty for merely challenging what an author may wish to keep
unchanged--all these must be acquired or confirmed by experience; but
books must furnish the groundwork. One who desires thorough equipment
as a proof-reader may never cease studying.
Good books on the English language are plentiful, but even the best
of them contain statements that are not beyond question. It is our
purpose here to note a few questionable teachings, by way of warning
against acceptance of anything simply because it is found in any book,
and our most prominent example is from a work really good and really
authoritative.
An incident will illustrate the aim of the warning. A customer in a New
York store, taking up a book treating of word-forms, asked, “Does it
follow Webster?” Information that its author had not closely followed
any one dictionary, but had made the work for the special purpose of
selecting the best forms from all sources, caused instant and almost
contemptuous dropping of the book. Evidently that person had no idea
that anything in language could be right if not according to Webster.
Undoubtedly there are to-day thousands who would instantly decide such
a matter in just this way. Each of them has always been accustomed to
refer to some one authority, and to think that what is found there must
be right. Indeed, so far is this species of hero-worship carried that a
critic, reviewing the book on word-forms mentioned above, could hardly
find words strong enough to express his condemnation of its author,
theretofore unknown to the literary world, for daring to criticise
statements made by noted scholars. It is amusing to recall the fact
that one of the heroes of this champion’s worship began his career
in exactly the way objected to, having devoted a large part of his
first book to severe condemnation of some famous grammarians for doing
something that he did himself, namely, copying and preserving errors.
Even yet we have not gone back to the earliest recorded condemnation of
such hero-worship. One of the most famous of the grammarians scored
by our preceding hero was Lindley Murray, and his stated reason for
writing on grammar was identical with that of his critic--the work of
his predecessors was not sufficiently accurate. Long before Murray’s
time, also, “peremptory adhesion unto authority,” as Sir Thomas Brown
wrote in the seventeenth century, had been “the mortallest enemy unto
knowledge, and that which hath done the greatest execution upon truth.”
Where can “peremptory adhesion unto authority” be found better
exemplified than in children’s persistence in believing what they are
first taught? Impressions made in childhood days certainly retain a
strong hold long afterward, and this should be a powerful incentive
toward giving them true impressions. One of the most popular language
books now in use in primary schools, if not _the_ most popular, has
conversations between teacher and pupil. Here is one: “_T._--When I
say, _falling leaves rustle_, does _falling_ tell what is thought of
leaves? _P._--No. _T._--What does _falling_ do? _P._--It tells the
_kind_ of leaves you are thinking and speaking of.” Is it not simply
astounding that our children must learn in school that _falling leaves_
means a _kind_ of leaves?
There is plenty of the same quality in books at the other extreme of
schooling--the very popular university grammar, for instance, William
Chauncey Fowler’s “English in its Elements and Forms,” which says:
“While language has power to express the fine emotions and the subtle
thoughts of the human mind with wonderful exactness, still it must be
admitted that it is imperfect as a sign of thought. It is imperfect
because the thing signified by a term in a proposition either does
not exist at all in the mind of the hearer, or because it exists under
different relations from what it does in the mind of the speaker. In
other words, language is imperfect because the term in a proposition,
if it has any meaning in the mind of the speaker, has a different one
from what it has in the mind of the hearer. Hardly any abstract term
has precisely the same meaning in any two minds; when mentioned, the
term calls up different associations in one mind from what it does
in another.... The phrase ‘beast of burden’ might, to one mind, mean
a _horse_; to another, a _mule_; to another, a _camel_.... It should
be added that there is great vagueness in the common use of language,
which, in practice, increases its imperfection as a medium of thought.”
Yes, there is “great vagueness,” and here, in passing, is an amusing
instance of it by a well-known writer on meteorology: “All cloud which
lies as a thin flat sheet must either be pure stratus or contain the
word _strato_ in combination.” Did any one ever see a cloud containing
the word _strato_ in combination? “Great vagueness” is exemplified also
in the grammarian’s own writing, and in a connection that demands a
full exposition of it.
We need not quarrel with the expression “thoughts of the human mind”
because we do not suppose that animals have mind; but certainly _mind_
would be sufficient, without _human_, in discussing language. It is
another matter, though, that the next sentence shows a constructive
method at variance with the rules of grammar, and of a kind which the
author himself brands as false syntax in his exercises. _Either_ in
the sentence is not in correct construction with the complementary
_or_; it would be if _because it_ were omitted--“because the thing ...
either does not exist at all, ... or exists under different relations.”
In the last clause, “it exists under different relations from what it
does in the mind of the speaker,” _what_ is improperly used, since
the antecedent is plural--_those which_ should have been used instead
of _what_; the construction makes _does_ a principal verb, wrongly,
because it is used for _does exist_ or _exists_, and even with the
right verb another preposition should be inserted, thus--“from those
under which it exists in the mind of the speaker.” The whole sentence
would have been much better expressed in this way: “It is imperfect
because sometimes a thing mentioned is either not known at all to the
hearer, or presents associations to his mind different from those
conceived by the speaker.”
The third sentence ludicrously transposes _speaker_ and
_hearer_--“because the term, ... if it has any meaning in the mind
of the speaker, has a different one from what it has in the mind of
the hearer.” Possibly the writer accidentally placed these words in
the wrong order, and the error is one of carelessness; but error it
certainly is, for of course the _speaker_ in every instance must
suppose that his words mean something, whether his hearers think so or
not.
In the fourth sentence “great vagueness” is again shown. What is the
meaning of “when mentioned”? As here used, it can mean only “when a
term is spoken of as a term,” and that is nonsense. The sentence would
be complete and accurately constructed without “when mentioned.”
The fourth sentence also contains the only so-called imperfection which
the grammarian mentions, “beast of burden.” Undoubtedly there are many
possibilities of ambiguity, but this phrase, chosen to illustrate
imperfection, is really one of the beauties of the language. It is
absurd to suppose that any one would attribute to such an abstract
term a concrete meaning; but even if “beast of burden” does suggest to
one person a horse, to another a mule, and to another a camel, there
is nothing in that circumstance to prove that language is imperfect.
All that is _expressed_ in the phrase is “some kind of beast used for
carrying,” and it is not said imperfectly. The imperfection is in the
mind of the writer, not in the language--unless he can give a better
example. If this author had omitted this section of his work, he would
have shortened his book to the extent of half a page, and he would
not have afforded a text for preaching against imperfection of mental
training. If a thoroughly qualified proof-reader had suggested proper
corrections, in the proper way, it must be that the matter would have
been bettered; and every proof-reader should know how to make such
suggestions.