You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October 2007.

Earlier this week, the Boston Red Sox (of whom I am not a fan) won the World Series (of which I am not a fan). This led to a posting on rec.music.artists.springsteen (to whose music I am indifferent) in which this very blog (of which I am sort of keen) was used in an ad hominem attack as part of a flame war. It seems someone used alot when a lot was called for, and therefore their argument was bunk. (This was one of those very interesting flame wars where neutral if perhaps cheeky comments suddenly erupted into invective without any real point of contention. Invariably in such situations, someone calls someone else out on a grammatical point, and that’s where I came in.)

This idea that bad grammar = bad ideas is unfortunately common, especially amongst the moderately educated. But how can I oppose such ideas in the face of the massive ego-massage I was given? Being cited in a flame war totally means you’ve arrived. My ego thanks you — though my girlfriend likely does not.

(1) You cannot use can not.
(2) You can not use cannot.

Is one or the other of these sentences more grammatically correct? If so, does that make it also more semantically correct?

First off, here’s what I think about them. Up until some time last year, I was convinced that can not was the only acceptable way to write it, and cannot was an error, a neologism, or at least something a bit informal (when it actually has been in use for six centuries). Then for some reason I became convinced that both were acceptable and began using cannot because it is less ambiguous:

(3) I (cannot/can not) eat the cake, because I am too full.
(4) I (*cannot/can not) eat the cake if you want to save it for later.

See, the negation in can not could either negate the modal can (i.e., I am unable to do something) or the predicate (i.e, I am able to not do something), whereas the negation in cannot can only negate the modal. So I personally try to use cannot when I want to negate the modal and can not when I want to negate the predicate. This distinction is relevant to me because I actually do intend to negate the predicates of such sentences sometimes. Most reasonable people do not. If you are one of the people who don’t do this, then there is no reason for the choice of cannot/can not to matter to you. That’s not entirely true; some people argue that can not must be used when you want to emphasize the not, and I’ll drink to that.

Other people’s opinions vary. Neither Strunk nor Fowler seem to explicitly state a preference between the forms, although I can’t find an instance of either of them using can not. The OED, MWDEU, AskOxford, the Columbia Guide to Standard Modern English, and Paul Brians (and me) all agree that while cannot is the more common modern usage, both are acceptable. But of course there are also dissenters, and let me attempt to counter one argument against can not.

This argument is that of Language Hat, (the author of this brilliant diatribe against language “snoot” David Foster Wallace) who is justly irate that the definition of cannot in one dictionary is “can not”. We agree that these two forms are not equivalent (see sentence (4)), but I disagree with his secondary argument that cannot is properly one word because it is pronounced as such. Many phrases are properly written out as multiple words even though they are pronounced as single words. These include should have, going to, want to, go to, out of. And English orthography is hardly beholden to pronunciation (tho it mite be nice if it were).

Summary: Both cannot or can not are generally fine. The one-word form is preferred in contemporary English, but the two-word form must be used when you want to emphasize the negation or you want to negate the predicate. And as for the questions at the beginning, both sentences are grammatically correct, but only (2) is semantically correct: you are allowed to not use cannot.

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The Inner Spaces series so far:
I: A lot about alot (10/24/07)
II: All right (10/26/07)
III: Can not be split? (10/27/07)
IV: It’s Been a While (01/14/08)

I have a confession to make about the previous post. Here I am imploring you against living your life only on the main thoroughfares of language usage, scared that if you turn down the wrong alleyway and dangle a participle you’ll be set upon by the local prescriptivist gangs. And yet in the summary of my last post, I chickened out myself and decided to use acceptable instead of alright, even though I meant alright and not acceptable, because I was concerned that it ought to have been all right.

This is not all right.

So, tail between my legs, I did some research about the usage of alright/all right. All right is always right. Strike that; all right is always acceptable. But to me, all right is not always best. Alright‘s first attestation in the OED is from 1897, and is in the Durham University Journal, so it’s got some cache. The OED does not condemn alright as you might expect; rather, it lists it as “a frequent spelling of all right“. No judgment passed, so I’ll keep using it.

I would write more about why I think alright is acceptable, but Merriam-Webster’s Dictionary of English Usage really nails the point on page 79. (I am figuratively bursting with glee that this whole book is now available for free on Google Books!) Just to summarize the MWDEU argument, alright has appeared many times in print, and would appear more often were it not for the fervor with which editors unjustifiedly lop it out of their authors’ manuscripts.

So here’s my advice. All right is the only form that is unreservedly accepted by everyone; alright is an alternate spelling (probably on analogy with already and although) that arose in the 19th century and has stuck around despite the prescriptivists’ attempts to kill it off. In fact, I am glad to use both — all right represents unreserved support whereas alright is more a statement of passability:

(1) The new guy is all right. (=better than expected)
(2) The new guy is alright. (=good enough)

I’m willing to bet I generally use the two interchangeably, but occasionally I’ve started writing one and decided that the other would be a better choice. I don’t know if this is a distinction that only I make or if it holds for the general populace; unfortunately, it’s a very subtle distinction, so it’d take undue effort to research this. (And, lest you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m lazy!)

Summary: All right and alright are both acceptable, although using alright might ruffle a few feathers. If you’re beset by a vocal critic of alright, direct them to the charming defense of it in the Merriam-Webster Dictionary of English Usage.

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The Inner Spaces series so far:
I: A lot about alot (10/24/07)
II: All right (10/26/07)
III: Can not be split? (10/27/07)
IV: It’s Been a While (01/14/08)

Ah, the humble space. Sure, it can’t be used in passwords or PINs, DOS-era filenames or decaying Roman inscriptions, crosswords or keyboards with sticky space bars (sorry, ran out of alliterative space-free things). In writing, though, the space is indispensable. In its honor, I’ve retroactively dedicated my previous post as part of a series to answer the question of what is one word and what is two. If you’ve got a question of spaces, let me know and I’ll toss it onto the heap.

The Inner Spaces series so far:
I: A lot about alot (10/24/07)
II: All right (10/26/07)
III: Can not be split? (10/27/07)
IV: It’s Been a While (01/14/08)

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A lot of people make claims about what "good English" is. Much of what they say is flim-flam, and this blog aims to set the record straight. Its goal is to explain the motivations behind the real grammar of English and to debunk ill-founded claims about what is grammatical and what isn't. Somehow, this was enough to garner a favorable mention in the Wall Street Journal.

About Me

I'm Gabe Doyle, currently an assistant professor at San Diego State University, in the Department of Linguistics and Asian/Middle Eastern Languages, and a member of the Digital Humanities. Prior to that, I was a postdoctoral scholar in the Language and Cognition Lab at Stanford University. And before that, I got a doctorate in linguistics from UC San Diego and a bachelor's in math from Princeton.

My research and teaching connects language, the mind, and society (in fact, I teach a 500-level class with that title!). I use probabilistic models to understand how people learn, represent, and comprehend language. These models have helped us understand the ways that parents tailor their speech to their child's needs, why sports fans say more or less informative things while watching a game, and why people who disagree politically fight over the meaning of "we".



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