Chapter 15

These three conflicts--on the score of form grouping, of rhetorical emphasis, and of order--are supplemented by a fourth difficulty. The emphatic _whom_, with its heavy build (half-long vowel followed by labial consonant), should contrast with a lightly tripping syllable immediately following. In _whom did_, however, we have an involuntary retardation that makes the locution sound "clumsy." This clumsiness is a phonetic verdict, quite apart from the dissatisfaction due to the grammatical factors which we have analyzed. The same prosodic objection does not apply to such parallel locutions as _what did_ and _when did_. The vowels of _what_ and _when_ are shorter and their final consonants melt easily into the following _d_, which is pronounced in the same tongue position as _t_ and _n_. Our instinct for appropriate rhythms makes it as difficult for us to feel content with _whom did_ as for a poet to use words like _dreamed_ and _hummed_ in a rapid line. Neither common feeling nor the poet's choice need be at all conscious. It may be that not all are equally sensitive to the rhythmic flow of speech, but it is probable that rhythm is an unconscious linguistic determinant even with those who set little store by its artistic use. In any event the poet's rhythms can only be a more sensitive and stylicized application of rhythmic tendencies that are characteristic of the daily speech of his people.

We have discovered no less than four factors which enter into our subtle disinclination to say "Whom did you see?" The uneducated folk that says "Who did you see?" with no twinge of conscience has a more acute flair for the genuine drift of the language than its students. Naturally the four restraining factors do not operate independently. Their separate energies, if we may make bold to use a mechanical concept, are "canalized" into a single force. This force or minute embodiment of the general drift of the language is psychologically registered as a slight hesitation in using the word _whom_. The hesitation is likely to be quite unconscious, though it may be readily acknowledged when attention is called to it. The analysis is certain to be unconscious, or rather unknown, to the normal speaker.[136] How, then, can we be certain in such an analysis as we have undertaken that all of the assigned determinants are really operative and not merely some one of them? Certainly they are not equally powerful in all cases. Their values are variable, rising and falling according to the individual and the locution.[137] But that they really exist, each in its own right, may sometimes be tested by the method of elimination. If one or other of the factors is missing and we observe a slight diminution in the corresponding psychological reaction ("hesitation" in our case), we may conclude that the factor is in other uses genuinely positive. The second of our four factors applies only to the interrogative use of _whom_, the fourth factor applies with more force to the interrogative than to the relative. We can therefore understand why a sentence like _Is he the man whom you referred to?_ though not as idiomatic as _Is he the man (that) you referred to?_ (remember that it sins against counts one and three), is still not as difficult to reconcile with our innate feeling for English expression as _Whom did you see?_ If we eliminate the fourth factor from the interrogative usage,[138] say in _Whom are you looking at?_ where the vowel following _whom_ relieves this word of its phonetic weight, we can observe, if I am not mistaken, a lesser reluctance to use the _whom_. _Who are you looking at?_ might even sound slightly offensive to ears that welcome _Who did you see?_

[Footnote 136: Students of language cannot be entirely normal in their attitude towards their own speech. Perhaps it would be better to say "naïve" than "normal."]

[Footnote 137: It is probably this _variability of value_ in the significant compounds of a general linguistic drift that is responsible for the rise of dialectic variations. Each dialect continues the general drift of the common parent, but has not been able to hold fast to constant values for each component of the drift. Deviations as to the drift itself, at first slight, later cumulative, are therefore unavoidable.]

[Footnote 138: Most sentences beginning with interrogative _whom_ are likely to be followed by _did_ or _does_, _do_. Yet not all.]

We may set up a scale of "hesitation values" somewhat after this fashion:

Value 1: factors 1, 3. "The man whom I referred to." Value 2: factors 1, 3, 4. "The man whom they referred to." Value 3: factors 1, 2, 3. "Whom are you looking at?" Value 4: factors 1, 2, 3, 4. "Whom did you see?"

We may venture to surmise that while _whom_ will ultimately disappear from English speech, locutions of the type _Whom did you see?_ will be obsolete when phrases like _The man whom I referred to_ are still in lingering use. It is impossible to be certain, however, for we can never tell if we have isolated all the determinants of a drift. In our particular case we have ignored what may well prove to be a controlling factor in the history of _who_ and _whom_ in the relative sense. This is the unconscious desire to leave these words to their interrogative function and to concentrate on _that_ or mere word order as expressions of the relative (e.g., _The man that I referred to_ or _The man I referred to_). This drift, which does not directly concern the use of _whom_ as such (merely of _whom_ as a form of _who_), may have made the relative _who_ obsolete before the other factors affecting relative _whom_ have run their course. A consideration like this is instructive because it indicates that knowledge of the general drift of a language is insufficient to enable us to see clearly what the drift is heading for. We need to know something of the relative potencies and speeds of the components of the drift.

It is hardly necessary to say that the particular drifts involved in the use of _whom_ are of interest to us not for their own sake but as symptoms of larger tendencies at work in the language. At least three drifts of major importance are discernible. Each of these has operated for centuries, each is at work in other parts of our linguistic mechanism, each is almost certain to continue for centuries, possibly millennia. The first is the familiar tendency to level the distinction between the subjective and the objective, itself but a late chapter in the steady reduction of the old Indo-European system of syntactic cases. This system, which is at present best preserved in Lithuanian,[139] was already considerably reduced in the old Germanic language of which English, Dutch, German, Danish, and Swedish are modern dialectic forms. The seven Indo-European cases (nominative genitive, dative, accusative, ablative, locative, instrumental) had been already reduced to four (nominative genitive, dative, accusative). We know this from a careful comparison of and reconstruction based on the oldest Germanic dialects of which we still have records (Gothic, Old Icelandic, Old High German, Anglo-Saxon). In the group of West Germanic dialects, for the study of which Old High German, Anglo-Saxon, Old Frisian, and Old Saxon are our oldest and most valuable sources, we still have these four cases, but the phonetic form of the case syllables is already greatly reduced and in certain paradigms particular cases have coalesced. The case system is practically intact but it is evidently moving towards further disintegration. Within the Anglo-Saxon and early Middle English period there took place further changes in the same direction. The phonetic form of the case syllables became still further reduced and the distinction between the accusative and the dative finally disappeared. The new "objective" is really an amalgam of old accusative and dative forms; thus, _him_, the old dative (we still say _I give him the book_, not "abbreviated" from _I give to him_; compare Gothic _imma_, modern German _ihm_), took over the functions of the old accusative (Anglo-Saxon _hine_; compare Gothic _ina_, Modern German _ihn_) and dative. The distinction between the nominative and accusative was nibbled away by phonetic processes and morphological levelings until only certain pronouns retained distinctive subjective and objective forms.

[Footnote 139: Better, indeed, than in our oldest Latin and Greek records. The old Indo-Iranian languages alone (Sanskrit, Avestan) show an equally or more archaic status of the Indo-European parent tongue as regards case forms.]

In later medieval and in modern times there have been comparatively few apparent changes in our case system apart from the gradual replacement of _thou_--_thee_ (singular) and subjective _ye_--objective _you_ (plural) by a single undifferentiated form _you_. All the while, however, the case system, such as it is (subjective-objective, really absolutive, and possessive in nouns; subjective, objective, and possessive in certain pronouns) has been steadily weakening in psychological respects. At present it is more seriously undermined than most of us realize. The possessive has little vitality except in the pronoun and in animate nouns. Theoretically we can still say _the moon's phases_ or _a newspaper's vogue_; practically we limit ourselves pretty much to analytic locutions like _the phases of the moon_ and _the vogue of a newspaper_. The drift is clearly toward the limitation, of possessive forms to animate nouns. All the possessive pronominal forms except _its_ and, in part, _their_ and _theirs_, are also animate. It is significant that _theirs_ is hardly ever used in reference to inanimate nouns, that there is some reluctance to so use _their_, and that _its_ also is beginning to give way to _of it_. _The appearance of it_ or _the looks of it_ is more in the current of the language than _its appearance_. It is curiously significant that _its young_ (referring to an animal's cubs) is idiomatically preferable to _the young of it_. The form is only ostensibly neuter, in feeling it is animate; psychologically it belongs with _his children_, not with _the pieces of it_. Can it be that so common a word as _its_ is actually beginning to be difficult? Is it too doomed to disappear? It would be rash to say that it shows signs of approaching obsolescence, but that it is steadily weakening is fairly clear.[140] In any event, it is not too much to say that there is a strong drift towards the restriction of the inflected possessive forms to animate nouns and pronouns.

[Footnote 140: Should _its_ eventually drop out, it will have had a curious history. It will have played the rôle of a stop-gap between _his_ in its non-personal use (see footnote 11, page 167) and the later analytic of _it_.]

[Transcriber's note: Footnote 140 refers to Footnote 132, beginning on line 5142.]

How is it with the alternation of subjective and objective in the pronoun? Granted that _whom_ is a weak sister, that the two cases have been leveled in _you_ (in _it_, _that_, and _what_ they were never distinct, so far as we can tell[141]), and that _her_ as an objective is a trifle weak because of its formal identity with the possessive _her_, is there any reason to doubt the vitality of such alternations as _I see the man_ and _the man sees me_? Surely the distinction between subjective _I_ and objective _me_, between subjective _he_ and objective _him_, and correspondingly for other personal pronouns, belongs to the very core of the language. We can throw _whom_ to the dogs, somehow make shift to do without an _its_, but to level _I_ and _me_ to a single case--would that not be to un-English our language beyond recognition? There is no drift toward such horrors as _Me see him_ or _I see he_. True, the phonetic disparity between _I_ and _me_, _he_ and _him_, _we_ and _us_, has been too great for any serious possibility of form leveling. It does not follow that the case distinction as such is still vital. One of the most insidious peculiarities of a linguistic drift is that where it cannot destroy what lies in its way it renders it innocuous by washing the old significance out of it. It turns its very enemies to its own uses. This brings us to the second of the major drifts, the tendency to fixed position in the sentence, determined by the syntactic relation of the word.

[Footnote 141: Except in so far as _that_ has absorbed other functions than such as originally belonged to it. It was only a nominative-accusative neuter to begin with.]

We need not go into the history of this all-important drift. It is enough to know that as the inflected forms of English became scantier, as the syntactic relations were more and more inadequately expressed by the forms of the words themselves, position in the sentence gradually took over functions originally foreign to it. _The man_ in _the man sees the dog_ is subjective; in _the dog sees the man_, objective. Strictly parallel to these sentences are _he sees the dog_ and _the dog sees him_. Are the subjective value of _he_ and the objective value of _him_ entirely, or even mainly, dependent on the difference of form? I doubt it. We could hold to such a view if it were possible to say _the dog sees he_ or _him sees the dog_. It was once possible to say such things, but we have lost the power. In other words, at least part of the case feeling in _he_ and _him_ is to be credited to their position before or after the verb. May it not be, then, that _he_ and _him_, _we_ and _us_, are not so much subjective and objective forms as pre-verbal and post-verbal[142] forms, very much as _my_ and _mine_ are now pre-nominal and post-nominal forms of the possessive (_my father_ but _father mine_; _it is my book_ but _the book is mine_)? That this interpretation corresponds to the actual drift of the English language is again indicated by the language of the folk. The folk says _it is me_, not _it is I_, which is "correct" but just as falsely so as the _whom did you see_? that we have analyzed. _I'm the one_, _it's me_; _we're the ones_, _it's us that will win out_--such are the live parallelisms in English to-day. There is little doubt that _it is I_ will one day be as impossible in English as _c'est je_, for _c'est moi_, is now in French.

[Footnote 142: Aside from the interrogative: _am I?_ _is he?_ Emphasis counts for something. There is a strong tendency for the old "objective" forms to bear a stronger stress than the "subjective" forms. This is why the stress in locutions like _He didn't go, did he?_ and _isn't he?_ is thrown back on the verb; it is not a matter of logical emphasis.]

How differently our _I_: _me_ feels than in Chaucer's day is shown by the Chaucerian _it am I_. Here the distinctively subjective aspect of the _I_ was enough to influence the form of the preceding verb in spite of the introductory _it_; Chaucer's locution clearly felt more like a Latin _sum ego_ than a modern _it is I_ or colloquial _it is me_. We have a curious bit of further evidence to prove that the English personal pronouns have lost some share of their original syntactic force. Were _he_ and _she_ subjective forms pure and simple, were they not striving, so to speak, to become caseless absolutives, like _man_ or any other noun, we should not have been able to coin such compounds as _he-goat_ and _she-goat_, words that are psychologically analogous to _bull-moose_ and _mother-bear_. Again, in inquiring about a new-born baby, we ask _Is it a he or a she?_ quite as though _he_ and _she_ were the equivalents of _male_ and _female_ or _boy_ and _girl_. All in all, we may conclude that our English case system is weaker than it looks and that, in one way or another, it is destined to get itself reduced to an absolutive (caseless) form for all nouns and pronouns but those that are animate. Animate nouns and pronouns are sure to have distinctive possessive forms for an indefinitely long period.

Meanwhile observe that the old alignment of case forms is being invaded by two new categories--a positional category (pre-verbal, post-verbal) and a classificatory category (animate, inanimate). The facts that in the possessive animate nouns and pronouns are destined to be more and more sharply distinguished from inanimate nouns and pronouns (_the man's_, but _of the house_; _his_, but _of it_) and that, on the whole, it is only animate pronouns that distinguish pre-verbal and post-verbal forms[143] are of the greatest theoretical interest. They show that, however the language strive for a more and more analytic form, it is by no means manifesting a drift toward the expression of "pure" relational concepts in the Indo-Chinese manner.[144] The insistence on the concreteness of the relational concepts is clearly stronger than the destructive power of the most sweeping and persistent drifts that we know of in the history and prehistory of our language.

[Footnote 143: _They_: _them_ as an inanimate group may be looked upon as a kind of borrowing from the animate, to which, in feeling, it more properly belongs.]

[Footnote 144: See page 155.]

[Transcriber's note: Footnote 144 refers to the paragraph beginning on line 4795.]

The drift toward the abolition of most case distinctions and the correlative drift toward position as an all-important grammatical method are accompanied, in a sense dominated, by the last of the three major drifts that I have referred to. This is the drift toward the invariable word. In analyzing the "whom" sentence I pointed out that the rhetorical emphasis natural to an interrogative pronoun lost something by its form variability (_who_, _whose_, _whom_). This striving for a simple, unnuanced correspondence between idea and word, as invariable as may be, is very strong in English. It accounts for a number of tendencies which at first sight seem unconnected. Certain well-established forms, like the present third person singular _-s_ of _works_ or the plural _-s_ of _books_, have resisted the drift to invariable words, possibly because they symbolize certain stronger form cravings that we do not yet fully understand. It is interesting to note that derivations that get away sufficiently from the concrete notion of the radical word to exist as independent conceptual centers are not affected by this elusive drift. As soon as the derivation runs danger of being felt as a mere nuancing of, a finicky play on, the primary concept, it tends to be absorbed by the radical word, to disappear as such. English words crave spaces between them, they do not like to huddle in clusters of slightly divergent centers of meaning, each edging a little away from the rest. _Goodness_, a noun of quality, almost a noun of relation, that takes its cue from the concrete idea of "good" without necessarily predicating that quality (e.g., _I do not think much of his goodness_) is sufficiently spaced from _good_ itself not to need fear absorption. Similarly, _unable_ can hold its own against _able_ because it destroys the latter's sphere of influence; _unable_ is psychologically as distinct from _able_ as is _blundering_ or _stupid_. It is different with adverbs in _-ly_. These lean too heavily on their adjectives to have the kind of vitality that English demands of its words. _Do it quickly!_ drags psychologically. The nuance expressed by _quickly_ is too close to that of _quick_, their circles of concreteness are too nearly the same, for the two words to feel comfortable together. The adverbs in _-ly_ are likely to go to the wall in the not too distant future for this very reason and in face of their obvious usefulness. Another instance of the sacrifice of highly useful forms to this impatience of nuancing is the group _whence_, _whither_, _hence_, _hither_, _thence_, _thither_. They could not persist in live usage because they impinged too solidly upon the circles of meaning represented by the words _where_, _here_ and _there_. In saying _whither_ we feel too keenly that we repeat all of _where_. That we add to _where_ an important nuance of direction irritates rather than satisfies. We prefer to merge the static and the directive (_Where do you live?_ like _Where are you going?_) or, if need be, to overdo a little the concept of direction (_Where are you running to?_).

Now it is highly symptomatic of the nature of the drift away from word clusters that we do not object to nuances as such, we object to having the nuances formally earmarked for us. As a matter of fact our vocabulary is rich in near-synonyms and in groups of words that are psychologically near relatives, but these near-synonyms and these groups do not hang together by reason of etymology. We are satisfied with _believe_ and _credible_ just because they keep aloof from each other. _Good_ and _well_ go better together than _quick_ and _quickly_. The English vocabulary is a rich medley because each English word wants its own castle. Has English long been peculiarly receptive to foreign words because it craves the staking out of as many word areas as possible, or, conversely, has the mechanical imposition of a flood of French and Latin loan-words, unrooted in our earlier tradition, so dulled our feeling for the possibilities of our native resources that we are allowing these to shrink by default? I suspect that both propositions are true. Each feeds on the other. I do not think it likely, however, that the borrowings in English have been as mechanical and external a process as they are generally represented to have been. There was something about the English drift as early as the period following the Norman Conquest that welcomed the new words. They were a compensation for something that was weakening within.

VIII

LANGUAGE AS A HISTORICAL PRODUCT: PHONETIC LAW

I have preferred to take up in some detail the analysis of our hesitation in using a locution like "Whom did you see?" and to point to some of the English drifts, particular and general, that are implied by this hesitation than to discuss linguistic change in the abstract. What is true of the particular idiom that we started with is true of everything else in language. Nothing is perfectly static. Every word, every grammatical element, every locution, every sound and accent is a slowly changing configuration, molded by the invisible and impersonal drift that is the life of language. The evidence is overwhelming that this drift has a certain consistent direction. Its speed varies enormously according to circumstances that it is not always easy to define. We have already seen that Lithuanian is to-day nearer its Indo-European prototype than was the hypothetical Germanic mother-tongue five hundred or a thousand years before Christ. German has moved more slowly than English; in some respects it stands roughly midway between English and Anglo-Saxon, in others it has of course diverged from the Anglo-Saxon line. When I pointed out in the preceding chapter that dialects formed because a language broken up into local segments could not move along the same drift in all of these segments, I meant of course that it could not move along identically the same drift. The general drift of a language has its depths. At the surface the current is relatively fast. In certain features dialects drift apart rapidly. By that very fact these features betray themselves as less fundamental to the genius of the language than the more slowly modifiable features in which the dialects keep together long after they have grown to be mutually alien forms of speech. But this is not all. The momentum of the more fundamental, the pre-dialectic, drift is often such that languages long disconnected will pass through the same or strikingly similar phases. In many such cases it is perfectly clear that there could have been no dialectic interinfluencing.