Founding Grammars

 

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Table of Contents

About the Author

Copyright Page

 

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Acknowledgments

Big thanks go to the following people: my excellent editor at St. Martin's, Daniela Rapp, for helping me produce the best book possible; my wonderful agent, Janet Rosen of Sheree Bykofsky Associates, for her support and professional know-how over the years; my critique group, Mary-Kate Mackey, Deanna Larson, Kelly O'Brien, and Sophia Bennett, for their enthusiasm and sharp editing skills; and, as always, my husband, Jeff Ostler, for his support and valuable input as I was writing this book.

 

Preface

What's your pet usage peeve? Do you grind your teeth when someone starts a sentence with
hopefully
? Does it drive you crazy when someone says
between you and I
? We all have intense feelings about language use, and nearly everyone has a few usage gripes. These can range from the purely grammatical, such as substituting
me
for
I,
to spelling errors like writing
it's
instead of
its.
We've all been exposed to the standard rules at some time or another—“Don't split an infinitive”; “never end a sentence with a preposition”; “use
whom
in objective case”; “avoid double negatives.”

Never mind that these rules are seldom followed and may be impossible to apply consistently. (Try using subject pronouns after every instance of the verb
to be. It is I
might be okay, but how does
It couldn't have been we
sound?) Never mind that some of them don't make sense for English. (Infinitives, for example, are already “split,” since they consist of two words—
to
plus a verb. There's no reason not to boldly insert an adverb in between.) These well-worn axioms are woven into the culture. Once they get a grip on us, it's hard to break free.

Every so often, language scholars will point out the pitfalls of trying to follow arbitrary grammar rules from earlier centuries. Their well-meaning interventions never fail to trigger red-hot outbursts from purists. Blog posts that touch even indirectly on style issues draw huge numbers of angry comments. People who've learned the traditional rules don't want to be told that those rules are confused or don't really matter. A command of the standard grammar rules is one hallmark of a good education and has been for centuries. For many people it's more than that—it's a sign of civic virtue.

Our fascination with grammar is nothing new. Americans have been passionate about grammar and linguistic style since the earliest days of the republic. The question of which linguistic model the new country should follow was energetically debated in the early United States. On one side were those who still saw England as the source of superior speech habits. Although they could imagine polishing and improving the language, they weren't interested in making any radical changes. They preferred to stick with the tried and true, including imported British grammar books.

On the other side—a much smaller group—were the linguistic freethinkers who wanted to see Americans develop their own speech standards based on their own natural idiom. Famous dictionary author Noah Webster was among the first to champion this side. His alternative grammar writings encouraged Americans to blaze their own linguistic path. Webster's challenges to his grammatical enemies—and their furious retorts—were the first of those explosive clashes that seem to be an inevitable feature of any grammar discussion.

No matter which side you were on in the late eighteenth century, grammar books were big business. They provided the foundation of a solid education. Children learned how to read and spell from the lists of letters and syllables in the first chapters of the book. Those who were lucky enough to attend school for more than a year or two progressed to more advanced lessons. Older students spent a large part of the school day memorizing parts of speech and usage rules, and meticulously dissecting sentences into their component parts. The carefully chosen readings, either at the back of the book or in a separate volume, were meant to do more than teach language skills. They turned children's thoughts toward righteous living. Just studying a grammar book was in itself considered a step in the direction of goodness.

Plenty of adults in early America memorized grammar books, too. In the new country, opportunities for self-betterment were greater than ever before, but a command of standard English was a necessary first step. That meant mastering the contents of one of the popular grammar texts. Because they were cheaper and more available than other books, they were an educational lifeline for anyone too poor, too geographically isolated, or too old to take advantage of formal schooling.

Early grammar books are exotic items today. They are filled with antiquated prose, obscure quotations, and elevated passages from long-forgotten volumes. With their ornate typefaces, they are sometimes a struggle to read. Yet in some ways grammar books are oddly familiar. Most of the rules that people think about when they hear the words “correct grammar” can be found in these books, often with their wording virtually unchanged. The double negatives rule—“two negatives make a positive”—has come down to us over the centuries very much as it appeared in 1770s grammar books.

Old-fashioned grammar books held a powerful cultural sway until recent decades. As late as the mid-twentieth century, they were an important part of many people's education. We used them in the small parochial school that I attended in the 1960s. Like schoolchildren of previous centuries, we worked our way straight through the books, memorizing and reciting everything in our path, including the inspirational poems that the authors inserted to break up the lists of verb forms and usage rules. (Longfellow's “Excelsior” is one example that stands out in my recollection.) By the time we graduated, my classmates and I had the rules down cold. I'm guessing that most of us still do.

People these days no longer learn grammar by memorizing a book. Few schoolchildren study grammar as a distinct subject, and in any case, rote memorization as a teaching tool has gone out of style. The books still matter though. Their rules—and their point of view—continue to color how we think about language. Ask anyone for a grammar rule and the odds are that you'll be told not to end a sentence with a preposition or split an infinitive. Grammar advice, both in print and online, remains a booming business. Many people still believe that being able to hit all the grammar marks reveals something positive about their intelligence, social class, and character. Even if we realize that speech styles change over time, we can't help feeling jarred when writers or our conversational partners violate familiar shibboleths, such as saying
like
when it should be
as
or using
I
instead of
me
after a preposition.

The terms of the grammar debate have changed remarkably little since the late eighteenth century. There are some signs, however, that the gulf between the two sides may be narrowing. One is the more flexible attitude of many style advisors toward common usages. Another is the increased number of linguists and other language professionals writing about usage in terms that nonspecialists can follow. Whichever side of the debate you're on, understanding how we got to this place is sure to give you a better appreciation of your own and other people's approach to language use.

 

1.

Grammar for a New Country

On the evening of October 19, 1785, thirty people braved the rainy Baltimore weather to attend the first of five lectures on the English language. The cautious ones had paid a quarter for a ticket to this one event. The more committed had spent seven shillings sixpence (equal to a dollar) for the whole series. The lectures were to take place in the First Presbyterian Church, a plain brick building on Fayette Street. Although the building was small—only fifty pews—the audience didn't begin to fill it. The speaker, a young visitor to Baltimore named Noah Webster, was not well enough known to draw a big crowd.
1

This evening would be Webster's first experience as a public lecturer. An unsuccessful lawyer and itinerant schoolmaster, the twenty-six-year-old native of Hartford, Connecticut, had recently launched a new career—author of grammar and spelling books. Webster's three-part
Grammatical Institute of the English Language
featured a speller, a grammar, and a reader, the three subjects typically taught under the broad heading of “grammar” in early American schools. They were the first books of their kind written by an American, for Americans.

Although the speller was on its way to becoming popular, the grammar had not come close to replacing the available British versions. Webster hoped to change that. He had been on the road since May, crisscrossing the Eastern Seaboard from New York to South Carolina. In every town he visited, he distributed his books to schools, left stacks of them with booksellers, advertised them in newspapers, and talked about them to anyone who might be interested. The American language was Webster's passion. He believed strongly that Americans deserved language books designed expressly for them.
2

Webster also wanted protection from book printers who might pirate his work. As he traveled, he registered his books in the few states that guaranteed copyright, and petitioned legislators in other states to pass copyright laws. Catching the legislatures in session often meant loitering in one place for weeks. He had traveled from Baltimore to Charleston in late June only to find South Carolina's legislature out of session, so he returned to Baltimore to wait until it reconvened.

While he waited, he kept busy. There was plenty to do in this bustling harbor town. Almost daily, Webster breakfasted or took tea with new acquaintances, or simply strolled through town with them. At least twice, he went down to the harbor and boarded ships that had recently arrived from exotic places like China and India. He joined the First Presbyterian Church and became friends with its young pastor, Dr. Patrick Allison. With Allison's approval, he started a singing school at the church and gave music lessons during the week. He began studying French.