Chapter XV · CATEGORIES: PSYCHOLOGICAL AND GRAMMATICAL.

The divisions into which grammarians have distributed words, such as gender, number, and, in the case of verbs, voice and tense, are based upon the function which each word discharges in the sentence. Now, these functional differences rest ultimately upon psychological categories: that is to say, upon differences which depend upon the view taken by our mind of the natural grouping and classification of ideas. In other words, the divisions formed by grammarians depend ultimately upon the classification of the relations in which the ideas suggested by words stand to each other, as it appears to our imagination. Grammatical classification was, in fact, originally nothing but an attempt to express and group the order and connection of ideas as they were conceived of by the human mind. Immediately that this influence of imagination has made itself felt in the usage of language, it becomes a grammatical factor: and the groups which it forms become grammatical categories. But the action of the psychological category does not cease when it has thus produced the grammatical; and the difference between the two kinds is that, whereas the grammatical categories become, so to speak, stereotyped and fixed, those created by the imagination are ever changing; just as the human mind itself is ever changing its ideas. Besides this, changes in sound-groups are always occurring, and are constantly operating to prevent the grammatical categories coinciding with the psychological. Then, as a tendency makes itself felt to bring about a coincidence of the two categories, the grammatical category suffers a displacement, whence arise what we are accustomed to call grammatical irregularities. A consideration of the way in which these irregularities arise may help us to understand the origin of the grammatical categories, to which we now proceed.

Gender.

The foundation of grammatical gender is the natural distinction between the sexes in mankind and animals. Fancy may endow other objects or qualities with sex; but sex, whether fanciful or real, has no proper connection with grammar. The truth of this may be well seen from the English language, in which we have in most cases discarded the use of grammatical gender. In order, therefore, to study the conditions of gender, we have to turn to languages more highly inflected than English.

The test whereby we now recognise the grammatical gender of a substantive is the concord existing between the substantive and its attribute and predicate, or between it and a pronoun representing it—Domus nigra est, ‘The house is black;’ Domus quam vidi, ‘The house which I saw;’ It is the moon; I ken her horn (Burns); etc. The rise, therefore, of grammatical gender is closely connected with the appearance of a variable adjective and pronoun. One theory to explain this is, that the difference in form, before it yet marked the gender, had become attached to a particular stem-ending: as if, e.g., all stems ending in n- admitted the ending -us—as bonus, ‘good,’—and all those in g- the ending -ra—as nigra, ‘black;’—and that the ending may have been an independent word which, while yet independent, had acquired a reference to a male or female.144 Gender appears in English, in the first place, as an artificial and often arbitrary personification, as when the sun and moon are spoken of as he and she respectively, under the influence of the ideas attaching to Sol and Luna: Phœbus and Diana, etc.: and, again, as an expression of interest in objects or animals, it frequently occurs in the language of the people and of children; though it sometimes enters into the language of common life, as when a dog is referred to as he and a cat as she, in cases where sex is not spoken of. (See Storm, die lebende Sprache, p. 418.)

In the pronoun, as in the adjective, the distinction of gender may appear in the stem-ending: as ‘une’ (‘one,’ ‘a’); ‘quæ,’ (‘which’). It may, however, also be expressed by distinct roots, such as er, sie; he and she. It is, indeed, probably in substantive pronouns that grammatical gender was first developed, as in fact it has longest maintained itself; as in English, where, in adjectives and nouns, it has almost entirely disappeared.

Grammatical gender probably corresponded originally to natural sex. Exceptions to this rule must gradually have come about, partly through changes of meaning setting in,—as where a word is used metaphorically, like love (neuter, abstract), love (masc. or fem.—‘the beloved object’); or where it has ‘occasionally’ modified its meaning, like Fr. le guide, strictly ‘the guidance,’ and so used in Old French; your fatherhoods (Ben Jonson). Consequently we find natural sex again influencing the genders as fixed by grammar. Thus, in German, Die hässlichste meiner kammermädchen = ‘the ugliest of my chambermaids’ (Wieland), where the article die is of the feminine gender, though the word kammermädchen, being a diminutive in chen is, like all others of that class, neuter. In French, we have UNE (fem.) brave enfant, ‘a brave girl.’ The word gens, again, is, properly speaking, feminine, like the word la gent, which still survives in the restricted sense of ‘a race:’ but in combinations like ‘tous les braves gens’ (‘all worthy people’) the grammatical gender is neglected; and this neglect is fostered by the use of such a word as braves, which in form might apply to either sex. On the other hand, in combinations like ‘les bonnes gens,’ (‘good people’), where an adjective with a specifically feminine termination is joined to the substantive, the grammatical gender maintains itself. Cf., also, instances like ‘un enseigne’ (‘an ensign’), ‘un trompette’ (‘a trumpeter’); and, in Provençal, ‘lo poestat,’ for ‘the magistrate’ (‘il podestà’). In Latin and Greek, these so-called violations of the concord in gender are very common; we are familiar with them as constructions πρός σύνεσιν, i.e. according to the sense; cf. Thracum auxilia (neuter) ... cæsi (masc.) (Tac., Ann., iv. 48), ‘The Thracian auxiliaries were killed;’ Capita (neut.) conjurationis virgis cæsi (masc.) ac securi percussi (masc.) (Livy, x. 1), ‘The heads of the conspiracy were slain and their heads cut off;’ Septem millia (neut.) hominum in naves impositos (masc.) (Livy, xl. 41), ‘Seven thousand men put on board ships;’ Hi (masc.) summo in fluctu pendent ... tres Notus abreptas (i.e. naves—fem.) in saxa latentia torquet (Vergil, Æn., i. 106-8), ‘Some (of the ships) hang on the crest of the waves ...; three, swept away, the South wind whirls upon hidden rocks.’ In Greek, ὦ φίλτατ’, ὦ περισσὰ τιμηθεὶς (masc.) τεκνον (neut.) (Eur., Tro. 735), ‘O dearest, O much honoured child;’ τὰ τέλη (neut.) καταβάντας (masc.) (Thuc., IV. xv. 1), ‘The magistrates having descended:’ and similar instances frequently in Thucydides.

We next find cases where the grammatical gender has completely changed. Thus, in Greek, masculine designations of persons and animals are turned into feminines by simply referring them to female objects: thus, we have either ὁ or ἡ ἄγγελος (‘messenger’), διδάσκαλος (‘teacher’), ἰατρός, (‘healer’), τύραννος (‘ruler’), ἔλαφος (‘deer’), ἵππος (‘horse’ or ‘mare’), etc. In Christian times, a form ὁ παρθένος (‘an unmarried man’) was constructed (Apocal., xiv. 4), translated into Italian by Vergine. Neuter diminutives in German readily become masculine or feminine when the diminutive meaning has been obscured: as, e.g., the occasional construction die Fräulein, ‘the young lady;’ cf., also, in Latin, Glycerium mea, Philematium mea (Plaut., Most., I. iii. 96), mea Gymnasium (Plaut., Cist., I. i. 2). In English, there are a great number of words which would, in the first instance, be thought of as masculines, as containing a suffix commonly associated with masculine words. These are, however, very frequently used as feminines; and, in some cases, even when a feminine termination exists side by side with the masculine one—as, She is heir of Naples (Shakespeare, Tempest, II. i.): others are enemy, rival, novice, astronomer, beggar, teacher, botanist, etc. Cf. she is a peasant (Longfellow); The slave loves her master (Lord Byron); His only heir a princess (Temp., I. 2); She is his only heir (Much Ado, I. i.); The daughter and heir of Leonato (ibid., I. iii.); She alone is heir to both of us (ibid., V. i.); etc.

If collectives or descriptions of qualities become descriptions of persons, the result may be a change of gender. The Fr. le garde (‘the watchman’) was once identical with la garde (‘the watch,’ vigiliæ); cf. further, in Spanish, el cura (‘the priest’), el justicia (‘the magistrate’): the Old Bulgarian junota (‘youth’), as a masculine, means ‘a youth.’ The Russian Golova means ‘a head,’ and, in the masculine, ‘a conductor.’ Portuguese furnishes numerous instances of this; as, a bolsa (fem.), ‘the purse,’ ‘exchange;’ o bolsa (masc.), ‘the treasurer:’ a corneta, ‘the cornet;’ o corneta, ‘the trumpeter:’ a lingua, ‘the tongue;’ o lingua, ‘the interpreter:’ etc.145 In Italian, podestà (‘magistrate’) is an instance of this. Feminine surnames, again, are frequently added to masculine personal names: cf. Latin Alauda, Capella, Stella; Ital. Colonna, Rosa, Barbarossa, Malespina, etc. So, in French, we find names like Jean Marie.

A word often takes a particular gender from the fact that it belongs to a particular category. The gender of the type of the species, in fact, fixes the gender for other members classed with it. Thus, in English, the word for beast comes from the O.Fr. beste (bête), which is feminine: but this word, and the names of beasts generally, are treated in poetry as masculines, because the Teutonic usage is to treat beasts generally as masculine. Cf. The beast is laid down in his lair (Cowper); And when a beste is deed he ne hath no peyne (Chaucer, Cant. Tales, 1321); The forest’s leaping panther shall hide his spotted hide (Bryant). Numerous other instances are given by Mätzner.146 It is probable that personification aids in fixing the gender in these cases. Similarly, in French, été (‘summer’), from æstatem, has become masculine because the other seasons of the year were masculine. Minuit (‘midnight’) has followed midi (‘midday’); val (‘valley’) has followed mont (‘mountain’), font (‘fount’) fontaine (‘fountain’); aigle (‘eagle’) is masculine because oiseau (‘bird’) is masculine; brebis (‘wether’) is feminine because ovis (‘sheep’) is feminine; sort (‘lot’) is masculine because bonheur (‘happiness’) is masculine; art (‘art’) is masculine because métier (‘profession’) is masculine: mer (‘sea’) is feminine because terra (‘land’) is feminine. In German, again, the names of Tiber and Rhone have followed the model of most German river names, and appear as feminine. In Greek, many names of plants and trees have become feminine, following the model of δρῦς (‘tree’) and βοτάνη (‘grass’); cf. ὁ κύανος (‘steel’), ἡ κύανος (‘the corn-flower’), so called from a fancied resemblance between the plant and the metal. Towns, again, in Greek, show an inclination to follow the gender of πόλις, ‘a city:’ cf. ἡ Κέραμος, from ὁ κέραμος, ‘clay;’ ἡ Κισσός, from ὁ κισσός, ‘ivy;’ ἡ Μάραθος, from ὁ μόραθος, ‘fennel.’

In other cases formal reasons have brought about a change in gender. We have a striking example of this in the feminine gender assumed by abstract nouns in -or in the Romance languages, to which flos (‘flower’) has also added itself. The fact was felt that most abstract substantives were feminine, e.g. those terminating in -tas, -tus, -tudo, -tio, -itia, -ia; and, especially, the feminine termination -ura sometimes was employed as an alternative to -or; cf. pavor (‘fear’), Ital. paura. Again, in Latin, words in -a, when these were not, like poeta, the names of males, were commonly feminine. Consequently, we find that Greek neuters in -μα appear in popular Latin as feminines, a gender which they have in many cases preserved in the Romance languages. Examples of this are seen in schème, dogme, diademe, anagramme, énigme, épigramme, etc. In the same way, in Modern Greek, the old Greek feminines in -ος have in many cases became masculine, as ὁ πλάτανος, ὁ κυπάρισσος, ‘the plain,’ ‘the cypress.’

Sometimes the termination appears altered to suit the gender; thus the Lat. socrus (‘a father-in-law’) produces the Spanish word suegra (‘a mother-in-law’): and, again, sometimes the traditional was the natural gender; and this was an additional reason why the word should alter its termination, instead of being modified by the gender,—thus, in Greek, the α stems which have become masculine, like νεανίας (‘a youth’), have adopted the characteristic s of the masculine nominative.

The way in which natural gender, as viewed by imagination, has affected grammatical gender may be well seen in English. The personal pronouns give the only real traces of grammatical gender left in English, he, she, it; his, her, its, etc. On the other hand, substantives are very commonly referred to one sex or another by writers, and to some extent personified. In these cases sometimes a faint tradition of their Anglo-Saxon gender seems to have lingered, as when, for instance, mammals and reptiles are in poetry spoken of as masculine; e.g., Like the roe (A.S. rá, fem.) when he hears (Longfellow); I have seen the hyena’s (Lat. and Fr. fem.) eyes of flame, and heard at my side his stealthy tread (Bryant). Birds, on the other hand, are treated very often as feminines, irrespective of the grammatical gender possessed by their Anglo-Saxon or French original; cf. But the sea-fowl has gone to her nest (Cowper); A bird betrays her nest by striving to conceal it (Byron); Jealous as the eagle of her high aiery (ibid.); The raven flaps her wing (ibid.); A hawk hits her prey (Halliwell, s.v. ruff); The swan rows her state (Milton).

We must mention one more point which ought not to be overlooked, though, owing to the scanty survival of grammatical gender in modern English, it cannot easily be illustrated by English examples. We have indicated some of the causes which have been active in producing a change of gender; but, besides these, there is a negative one, viz., the absence of impediment to such change, which, in a certain sense, may be said to have contributed to the same effect. The distinction in gender which is even yet marked in French and German by the different forms of the singular article (le, der, masc.; la, die, fem.; das, neut.) has long since disappeared in the plural. We find les, die for all genders. And hence it is clear that such words as were most frequently used in the plural were least closely associated with a particular gender, and were therefore more especially amenable to the influence of any force tending to group them with words of a gender different from their own. For instance, most feminine nouns in German form their plural by adding -en to the singular, while few masculine and only six or seven neuter nouns do the like; as a result of which many nouns, formerly masculine, are now feminine, and this especially applies to cases where the plural was in frequent use.

The neuter, the sexless, owes its origin as a grammatical category merely to the development and differentiation of the two other genders.

Number.

As in the case of gender, so, before number passed into a grammatical category, concord must have been developed. Even in languages which, like English, would naturally express the plural by some plural termination, we find words denoting a plurality, and, indeed, a definite number, conceived and spoken of as a unity. Such are a pair, a leash, a brace, a triplet, a trio, a quartette, a dozen, a score.

We find similar cases in the most varied languages: cf. the Fr. une dizaine (‘a collection of ten’), une douzaine (‘a dozen’), centaine (‘a collection of a hundred’), etc.; Ital. una diecina, dozzina, etc.; trave, in Danish, means ‘a score of corn sheaves;’ schock, in German, means ‘sixty;’ tchetvero, in Russian, means ‘a set of four.’ We may add, the curious Latin word quimatus, ‘the age of five years.’

Thus, in like manner, so-called collective nouns are simply comprehensive singular designations of plurality. Now, the speaker or writer may choose to think of the collective of which he is speaking as a unity or as a plurality, and the way in which he chooses to regard it may affect the concord; nay, it may even affect the gender.

The most common case is where a plural verb follows a singular collective noun: as, ‘The whole nation seem to be running out of their wits’ (Smollett, Humphrey Clinker); ‘The army of the Queen mean to besiege us’ (Shakespeare, 3 Hen. VI., I. ii.);147 cf. ‘Even until King Arthur’s table, man by man, had fallen in Lyonness about their Lord’ (Tennyson, Idylls of the King); ‘Pars perexigua, duce amisso, Romam inermes delati sunt’ (Livy, ii. 14) = ‘A very small part, their leader lost, were brought unarmed to Rome;’ ‘Cetera classis, prætoria nave amissa, fugerunt’ (Livy, xxxv. 26) = ‘The rest of the fleet, with the loss of the prætorian ship, fled (plur.).’ Sometimes there is a mixture of singular and plural, e.g. ‘Fremit improba plebes (sing.) Sontibus accensæ (plur.) stimulis’ (Stat., Theb., v. 488) = ‘The impatient people murmur (sing.), inflamed (plur. part.) etc.:’ cf. the following examples from the Greek—Μέρος τι (sing.) ανθρώπων οὐκ ἡγοῦνται (plur.) θεούς (Plato., Leg., 948) = ‘A portion of mankind do not believe in gods;’ Τό στράτευμα ἐπορίζετο (sing.) σῖτον, κόπτοντες (plur.) τοὺς βοῦς καὶ ονους (Xen., Anab., II. i. 6) = ‘The army provided itself with food (by) cutting up (plur. part.) the oxen and asses.’

In A.S., when ðæt or ðis is connected with a plural predicate by means of the verb ‘to be,’ the verb is put in the plural: ‘Eall ðæt sindon micle and egeslice dæda’ (‘All that are great and terrible deeds.’) Conversely, where we should say ‘each of those who hear,’ the idiom in Anglo-Saxon was to say ‘each of those who hears:’ as, ‘Ælc ðára ðe ðás míne word gehyrð’ (= ‘Each of those who hears these my words’, where the verb is made to agree, not with ðara ðe, but with ælc. Cf. Sweet, Anglo-Saxon Reader, p. xci.).

We find many words so commonly combined with the plural, that we more naturally apprehend them as plural than as singular; such a word is the English ‘people,’ which we instinctively connect with a plural verb. In such cases, we sometimes even find that the grammatical form actually assimilates itself to the psychological number, as when we speak of folks; cf. also sheeps in Shakespeare (Love’s Labour’s lost, II. i.); while from the French word gent, which was used in Old French with the plural, we find formed, in the same way, the word gens: in Italian we find genti beside gente. In Anglo-Saxon, -waru denotes ‘a nation,’ ‘a defence:’ the plural -ware, ‘citizens;’ as Rómware, ‘the men of Rome;’ Cantwáre, ‘the men of Kent,’ etc. In Gothic, there is a collective neuter fadrein, which we may illustrate or parallel, though not exactly translate, by the word ‘fathership.’ In the singular (genitive) it is used in the meaning of ‘race’ or ‘family’ (Eph. iii. 15), thus showing its original abstract and then collective sense; and again it is found (Luke viii. 56) still singular but with a plural verb: jah usgeisnodedun fadrein izos = and were-astonished fathership (i.e. PARENTS) her = and her parents were astonished. We even find the singular noun with the article (i.e. demonstrative pronoun) in the plural: Andhofun ðan im ðai fadrein is jah qeðun = Answered then to him those fathership his and said = Then answered his parents and said (John ix. 20). It is, thus, this plural meaning which caused the word to be used in the plural form, exactly as we use folks quoted above, while the etymological meaning as abstract collective was overlooked. For example: Ni auk skulun barna FADREINAM huzdjan, ak FADREINA barnam = not eke shall bairns for FATHERSHIPS hoard, but FATHERSHIPS for bairns, i.e. For the children shall not hoard for the parents, but the parents for the children (2 Cor. xii. 14).148

The converse of this also happens. A plural expression receives the function of a singular when the parts thus indicated are thought of as a whole. Thus we can talk of another sixpence, another hundred yards; or even use phrases like There’s not another two such women (Warren); this seven year (Shakes., Much Ado, III. 3.); What is six winters? (Rich. II., I. iii.). Amends, gallows, sessions, shambles are plurals, but are generally treated as singulars; e.g., a shrewd unhappy gallows (Love’s Labour’s lost, V. ii. 12). So, too, works, scales, etc.: e.g., that crystal scales (Rom. and Jul., I. ii. 101); Stoppage of a large steelworks (Weekly Times and Echo, August 19, 1888); Fire in a Liverpool chemical works (Liverpool Daily Post, June 30, 1884, p. 7); This is good news; etc. Finally, such plurals become singular, not only in sense, but even in form, and are treated and declined as such. Thus, in English, we talk of an invoice (Fr. envois, plur.). In Latin, castra (plur.) sometimes formed a genitive of singular form, castræ:149 the plural litteræ, in sense of ‘an epistle,’ has passed into the French lettre as singular, with a new plural, lettres; the Latin plural vela, ‘sails,’ into French une voile: minaciæ has become the French menace, ‘threat,’ and the Italian minaccia: nuptiæ, ‘nuptials,’ has become, in French, noce, ‘a wedding,’ as well as noces: tenebræ, ‘darkness’ has become, in Spanish, tiniebla, as well as tinieblas; deliciæ, ‘delights,’ in French, délice, as well as délices. Pâques, ‘Easter,’ Athènes, ‘Athens,’ are used as singulars.

Pronouns referring to abstract expressions stand sometimes in the plural; as, Nobody knows what it is to lose a friend till THEY have lost him (Fielding). Again, the predicate may stand in the plural;150 as, Quisque suos PATIMUR manes (Verg., Æn., 743)—‘We each suffer our own ghostly punishment,’ where quisque ‘each’ in singular, but the verb patimur is plural. Similar are uterque educunt (Cæs., C., iii. 30); uter ERATIS (Plaut., Men., 1119); neuter ad me IRETIS; Every one of these letters ARE in my name (Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, II. v.); Neither of them ARE remarkable (Blair); Every one to rest THEMSELVES BETAKE (Rape of Lucrece, 125); when neither ARE alive (Cymb., IV. ii. 252). Most Indo-European languages possess pairs of pronouns, in each of which sets one properly denotes the singular, the other plurality; as in English all, every; or each, and any: and these are readily interchanged; e.g., without all doubt (Shakes., Hen. VIII., IV. i. 113), less attemptable than any the rarest of our ladies (Cymb., I. iv. 65). Thus, even in Latin, the singular omnis is used where we should have expected omnes; as, militat omnis amans (Ovid, Amor., I. ix. 1). Tu pulses omne quod obstat (Hor., Sat. II., vi. 30). Thus totus has passed into the French tout, ‘all.’ We find both in Shakespeare, connected with the singular; Both our remedies within thy help and holy physic lies, i.e. the remedy for us both (Rom. and Jul., II. iii. 51). Thus, also, autrui, ‘others,’ in French, really the oblique case of autre, is in fact a singular, but is looked upon as a plural; as, la rigueur envers autrui (Massillon).

Number, in the sense of singular or plural, cannot, again, be properly predicated of the simple names of materials. We do not think of them as individuals, except in connection with form as well as matter,—in fact, till we think of substances as divided as well as divisible. Hence it is that the names of materials occur mostly in the singular number; the fact being that if there were a neuter number, i.e. a grammatical form expressive of neither plural nor singular, we should naturally employ it.

But the name of a material is readily used as that of an individual object, and, on the other hand, the name of an individual object may easily come to be the designation of a material. The imagination supplies or withdraws, as it may be, the form and definite shape which, as we have seen, is essential to number. Take such instances as hair, grass, bloom, fruit, weed, grain, cloth, stone, wood, field, meadow, marsh, heath, earth, land, bread, cake, etc. Similarly, when we talk of fowl as a viand, we individualise and give form to a general conception; as, in French, when we talk about du porc, du mouton. In the same way, we have in Latin such expressions as leporem et gallinam et anserem for ‘the flesh of the hare, the fowl, and the goose;’ and fagum atque abietem for ‘the beech tree and the fir-tree’ (Cæsar, Bell. Gall., v. 12). In the same way, we must explain the singular in cases like The enemy is approaching; The Russian is within hail. Similarly, Livy uses the singular, as Romanus for ‘the Romans,’ Poenus for ‘the Carthaginians,’ eques for ‘the cavalry,’ pedes for ‘the infantry,’ etc.; nay, he even goes as far as to combine Hispani milites et funditor Balearis (xxvii. 2).

Thus, too, Horace ventures on the combination miles nautæque (Sat. I., i.). Vergil has plurima mortis imago, ‘many an image of death’ (Æn., ii. 369); in Seneca, we even find multo hoste, ‘many an enemy.’

In German, the singular of many words stands constantly after numerals; as, tausend mann, ‘a thousand men,’ zehn stück Pferde, ‘ten head (lit. pieces) of horses.’ Similarly it was usual to write in English such expressions as many score thousand: twenty score paces.151 The fact is, that there is no need for any special designation of plurality to follow a number; the plurality is already sufficiently denoted by the number itself.152 We thus see that the form taken by such a word would naturally be numberless, or absolute, in fact, would be treated in the same way as it would have been treated before the rise of grammatical number.

Tense.

It is the function of the various ‘tenses’ to express the temporal relation of an event, when considered with regard to a certain moment. At the outset, however, we must observe that the tenses actually existing in any given language do not by any means perfectly correspond to the varieties possible and logically distinguishable in these relations. We will first consider what would be indispensable to a logically complete system.

Any event whatever must necessarily be anterior, contemporary, or posterior, to the moment with respect to which it is considered; and this moment must itself be past, present, or future. Hence, according as the moment of comparison is varied, we get the following sets:—

I. Moment of comparison Present.

The event is stated as—

II. Moment of comparison Past.

The event is stated to have been—

III. Moment of comparison Future.

It is stated that the event—

The above nine subdivisions exhaust all possibilities as long as we employ but a single ‘moment of comparison’ in each case; and it is so important that this point should be fully realised, that, simple as it appears, we proceed to illustrate each division as follows:—

It is at once apparent here that in some of these cases we are forced to have recourse to periphrasis, and that in some we use tenses which might also serve in other divisions. This, for instance, may be seen by comparing b₂ and a₁, or, at any rate, c₁ and c₃. But before discussing these points we must pay a little more attention to the above scheme, not, indeed, as it actually exists, but as it might conceivably exist.

It is by no means inconceivable, and quite in accordance with logic, that we should wish to employ two moments of comparison instead of one, especially in some of the cases falling under II. and III. In c₂, for instance, the event might be then still to come, but now α) past, (β) present, (γ) even yet to come.

This at first seems fanciful; but while the example we employed to illustrate c₂ does not necessarily convey as much, still most hearers would naturally interpret it as follows: “When I entered, his speaking was still in the future, but now (unless some hindrance, as yet unstated, has intervened) it belongs to the past.” Again, if, on the other hand, we take a sentence like He has promised to do so; in the first place, it is found to STATE that the promise was given in the past, when as yet the action of fulfilment belonged to the future; and, secondly, to IMPLY that this action of fulfilment belongs to the future still.

Further, it is logically possible, and often necessary, to make a statement about some event without any reference to time; when, for instance, a statement is true at any time, or at no time at all. The form employed in such cases ought, in strict agreement with our definition of ‘tense,’ to be called ‘tenseless’ or ‘absolute;’ but it is well known that, in English and all Indo-European languages, the ‘present’ is the tense employed. In Man is mortal the copula is cannot justly be called ‘present’ tense, for the statement is wholly abstract, and applies equally to past, present, and future; yet it is customary and convenient to apply the term ‘present’ even to the word is as thus used.

This use of the present sometimes gives rise to a certain ambiguity. If, in speaking of a child, we say He is very troublesome, the statement may mean He is at this moment very troublesome, in which case the verb is is present tense proper; or it may mean He is a troublesome child, whence the sentence becomes abstract-concrete153 and the verb is tense absolute.

If, as in the case of grammatical gender and number, these distinctions of form are to be regarded as later developments in the case of the grammatical tenses of the verb, we must assume (i.) that the same form must once have served indifferently for all tense relations, and (ii.) expect that the tenses actually differentiated will (a) correspond only incompletely with the scheme of logical distinctions, (b) will in various languages show various deviations from the ideal scheme, and (c) will, in the same language at different periods of its history, show similar variations in those deviations.

i. Though the conclusion under head i. is actually inevitable, it seems, at first sight, improbable and doubtful; but, in addition to the use of the present tense discussed and exemplified above, there is much in modern English which may help to illustrate and enable us to realise it, while older languages afford much more material for the same purpose. A usage closely akin to that of the present tense for tense absolute occurs when the present is used for the future, and more especially when some other word in the sentence definitely refers the event to the future. Thus, in I am going to London to-morrow, we actually employ that specially English periphrasis which is never used in the absolute sense, but, as a rule, emphatically expresses that the action belongs to the present time.154 Nay, where circumstances are sufficiently unequivocal to absolutely preclude the meaning of the present tense, the addition of such words as to-morrow, etc., is not even needed. If two friends, for instance, were speaking about some coming holidays, and the one had said, I think I will go to Wales, the other might answer, I don’t care for Wales, I am going to London; or, again, without such explanatory circumstances, or any special words, the present in a subordinate clause can stand for a future event, provided that the main clause grammatically expresses the future; e.g., I will call you when he comes.

We also sometimes use the PRESENT TENSE FOR THE PAST. This we do (a) where the event is equally true of the past as of the present; e.g., I know that = I know it, and knew it some time ago—a case in which the present tense expresses past AND present together: or (b) where the event belongs, indeed, entirely to the past, but the result is represented as actually present. Of (b) these are instances: ‘Master sends me to tell you,’ ‘He tells me that he is going away,’ ‘I hear he is better now.’ This usage approaches closely to a third (c), the so-called Historic present, which, however, we should probably not consider as a present tense expressing the past, but as a simple present, whose use is due to the vivid imagination of the speaker, when it leads him to regard the past as actually present.

We have said that the consciousness of the result of an action sometimes causes the use of a present tense for a past event. The same cause may also lead to an exactly opposite usage, viz., that of a past tense for an event in the present. Thus, as the result of seeing is knowing, it came to pass that a form originally signifying I have seen acquired the meaning I know; the Ger. Ich weisz means ‘I know,’ but is derived from the same root as the Lat. Video, ‘I see.’ Thus, again, the root which we find in Lat. gno-sco (= I begin to learn, I get to know) appears in the English I can, which, exactly as the Lat. novi (for *gnovi, cf. agnovi for ad-gnovi), meant I have got to know (= I know), has developed its present meaning, I am able, from one expressive of something like I have become able, or I have learned. It is thus that arose the so-called ‘præterito-presentia,’ can, must, will, shall, etc., which still betray, one and all, their origin from a former grammatical past tense, by absence of s as a characteristic termination of the third person singular—a termination which we add to the stem in the case of all other present tenses.

Logically, the relation between some tenses of the same verb, as, e.g., the present TENSE cognosco (‘I get to know’) and the perfect TENSE novi (‘I have got to know’), which is used as a present tense to express the result, is identical with that between many sets of verbs. In fact we might translate cognosco by I learn, and novi by I know. Similar sets are to step, to stand; to fall, to lie; etc. But here, again, this distinction need not to be expressed, or, at least, is not always expressed; the same form may serve for both. Not to refer to dead languages or obsolete forms, it is sufficient to quote the well-known schoolboy’s expression, He stood him on the form, for He made him stand on the form. So, also, He stood the candle on the floor (Dickens).155

Now, all this confusion of past for present, present for past, effect for cause, cause for effect, present for future, present for every relation, causes in practice, as we have already seen, little or no ambiguity. If we remember this, it becomes easy for us to realize how conversation and intelligible statement may once have been quite possible without further aid than that afforded by what we call the tense absolute, i.e. a form of the verb expressive of the action only, without any indication of its time. A glance at a tense system very different from our own, will enable us to do this even more fully, and at the same time will to some extent illustrate our statement that, in different languages, the actually existing tenses correspond variously with the logical scheme. In Hebrew, the verb has three different forms, called respectively (a) imperative, (b) perfect, (c) imperfect; which terms, however, might be replaced for the occasion by (a) command tense, (b) finished tense, (c) unfinished tense, lest they should mislead readers who have not studied Hebrew. Instead of ‘tense,’ we might as correctly call them ‘moods.’

The context is the sole guide as to whether the event spoken of belongs to past, present, or future. In narrative, the perfect and imperfect serve very much the same purposes as the tenses similarly named in Latin; but the imperfect, as tense or mood of unfinished action, serves also for our present and future, while a future which is to represent something as certainly expected, is supplied by the perfect or finished tense. Again, the imperfect serves for the optative (wish mood), and also sometimes replaces the imperative, since the latter is essentially a mood of action as yet unperformed. In this latter use of the imperfect there is sometimes a slight differentiation of form.

ii. a. The fact that the grammatical tenses correspond very incompletely with the logical distinctions, has already been very fully illustrated by all we have said in this chapter, and it only remains to add a few words on what are termed in our grammars ‘the compound tenses.’ Strictly speaking, these are not tenses at all of the verbs to which they are said to belong: of tenses, i.e. forms derived from the verb itself, and expressive of definite relations of time, there are but two in English—the present, and the past or imperfect. The enumeration of the so-called compound tenses amongst the tenses proper is due to a confusion between logic and grammar, only slightly removed from the fiction which gave us the still lingering potential mood (I can write), or which might with equal correctness have given us an obligatory mood (I must write), a desiderative mood (I like to write), an obstinate mood (I am determined to write), etc., etc. In English we now employ various periphrases for all relations but the present and that indicated by the imperfect; and the line which separates a ‘future tense’ I will write, from a phrase like I have the intention of writing, is a perfectly arbitrary one.

ii. b. Our short and necessarily very incomplete discussion of the Hebrew tenses furnished an instance of what we stated under ii. b, p. 256; and there is no need to further illustrate this, especially as any reader acquainted with a foreign language knows how much care is requisite in translating the various English tenses in their different applications. Any student of, say, French or German will recognise this; while, in the case of those who know English alone, no amount of illustration of the point in question could raise their knowledge above mere acceptance on authority, or belief at second hand.

To illustrate ii. c, we shall only give a few instances of (α) the use in English (Modern English and Anglo-Saxon) of a present tense where we should now employ a future (which latter was then, as now, non-existent as a tense, the only difference being that the present periphrasis had not then yet become customary), and of (β) the use of a simple past tense where we should now employ the plu-perfect:—

α. Æfter ðrím dagon ic áríse = ‘After three days I arise’ (Matt. xxvii. 63); Gá gé on mínne wíngeard, and ic sylle eow ðæt riht bið = ‘Go ye into my vineyard and I give (= shall give) you what right is’ (Matt. xx. 4).

β. Hé mid ðám léohte his gást ágeaf ðam Drihtne ðe hine to his ríce gelaðode = ‘He with the light his spirit gave-up to the Lord who him to his Kingdom invited (i.e., had invited)’ (Ælfric; cf. Skeat, Anglo-Saxon Reader, i., p. 86): Hé ne grétte hi oð ðæt héo cende hyre sunu = ‘He not knew her until that she brought forth (= had brought forth) her son.’

In our preceding remarks, we have had occasion to mention that, in Hebrew, the categories of tense and mood are scarcely differentiated. Similarly—to some extent—in Sanscrit, the distinction between what we call tenses and moods is less clearly defined than in, e.g., Latin or Greek. Of this confusion, or rather absence of distinction, we preserve some traces in modern usage. Thus, as the imperative is essentially significant of something still to come, we can understand how a future TENSE can come to be employed instead of an imperative MOOD. Such a phrase as You will do that at once, especially when aided by accent or emphasis, can be used for ‘You shall, etc.’ Nay, the future is occasionally used as OPTATIVE; e.g. Sic me di amabunt, = So the gods will love me, for May the gods love me: and even as DUBITATIVE, as in the Scottish Ye’ll no be o’ this country, freend? (Scott, Mannering, ch. i.) = ‘You will not be of this country,’ i.e. ‘I suppose you are not, etc.’

Voice.

We have seen that what in formal grammar appears as the ‘object’ of a verb is often, from a psychological point of view, the subject of a sentence (cf. Chap. VI.). The use of the passive voice enables us to do away with this incongruence: the object of the action becomes the subject of our sentence, and the grammatical construction is thus made to harmonise with the psychological instinct. For instance, if, in answer to the question Whom does he prefer as companion? we say John he would prefer, we overcome, by a construction somewhat alien to the genius of the English language, the difficulty of expressing that John, the object of the verb to prefer, is in our mind the subject of a statement: John is the person whom he would prefer.

But such an inversion as John he would prefer is not always possible; while such an extension as John is the person whom he would prefer, though, indeed, always a possible construction, would be felt as very awkward and needlessly lengthy. This difficulty is evaded by the use of the passive voice: and the use of this voice serves to give clearness and elegance to style.

It is, however, perhaps not superfluous to point out that, whether we employ the active or the passive voice, the ACTUAL relation existing between the subject and object of our sentence remains the same. Whether we say John loves Mary, or Mary is loved by John, the person John is in either case described as the agent; the person Mary is the object of the feeling expressed by the verb. It is the form only of the two sentences which differs; it is the syntactical, and not the real relation of subject and object which varies. Hence we may say that the distinction of voice in the verb is to some extent purely syntactical in its nature. It is, moreover, clear that the distinction implied in voice could not arise before the distinction between the grammatical subject and object had been established. Until such was the case, mere juxtaposition of substantive and verb must have served equally as the expression of the active and of the passive relation between subject and predicate.

A somewhat similar phenomenon, possibly a survival of this prehistoric stage, is observable in the nominal forms of the verb, which, though indeed already specialised in the earliest stages of those languages with which we are acquainted, contain nothing in their actual formation which can assign them to either voice. And, again, if we consider fully the Latin genitives known in grammar as objective and subjective, we find a similar indefiniteness of expression prevalent as to relationship active or passive. Amor patris (‘love, father’s’) can, according to the context, signify either the love which the father feels, or that which is felt for the father by some one else.

The present participle, now always called active, is even yet sometimes used in a passive meaning, and this use was formerly much more common. We hear, even at the present day, such phrases as Do you want the tea making? I want my coat brushing, etc.156 Again, we have expressions like One thing is wanting, common now as in Shakespeare’s time;157 so much is owing, etc. Other instances not less striking have become obsolete: as, his unrecalling crime (Rape of Lucrece, l. 993) for unrecalled = ‘not to be recalled;’ and his all-obeying breath (Ant. and Cleop., III. xiii. 77) = his breath obeyed by all. We find, also, Relish your nimble notes to pleasing ears (= pleased ears) in Rape of Lucrece, l. 1126.

In Gothic there is a remarkable and indeed unique instance of this use (Mark xv. 15): Atgaf Jesu usbliggvands, i.e. (Pilate) gave Jesus scourging = gave up Jesus to be scourged, or for being scourged.

The so-called gerundives in Latin have commonly a passive meaning; thus, amandus usually means ‘fit to be loved.’ But here, again, we meet with exceptional uses which prove that what is now regarded as the ‘regular’ meaning is in reality but accidental and adventitious. Oriundus means ‘arising’ and, in somewhat older Latin, we find forms like pereundus, ‘perishing,’ placendus, ‘pleasing,’ etc.

Little as the distinction of voice is expressed in the nomen actionis, it is equally little inherent in the infinite. In such a sentence as I gave him a good beating, the meaning of beating is active; in the sentence He got a good beating, it is decidedly passive. Similarly, in such a sentence as I can read, the infinitive is active, but this is owing to the context: for instance, in such a sentence as This is not easy to read, it is clearly passive. Yet no one would call these phrases ambiguous. We can therefore easily imagine that infinitives may have existed long before they were differentiated into separate forms to mark the two voices. We still employ many infinitives which might be called neuter, neither active nor passive: such as, for instance, ‘Is it better to say yes or to say no?’ ‘fair to see;’ ‘a marvel to tell.’

In Gothic, however, we find many instances of infinitives which, being commonly employed as actives, are conveniently considered as belonging to that particular voice; but which, in special sentences, have a very clearly defined passive sense. Thus, qêmun ðan môtarjôs daupjan = Came then publicans (to) baptise = to be baptised (Luke iii. 12); Untê sunus mans skulds ist atgiban in handuns mannê = For (the) son (of) man due is (= must) deliver into hands (of) men = shall be delivered into. (Luke ix. 44); Varð ðan gasviltan ðamma unlêdin jah briggan fram aggilum in barma Abrahamis = (It) happened then (to) die (to) the beggar and (to) bring from (= by) angels into (the) bosom (of) Abraham = It came to pass that the beggar died and was carried, etc. (Luke xvi. 22); du saihvan = to see = for being seen (Matt. vi. 1), etc.

Though, then, in these and similar cases we find infinitive forms with unquestionably passive meanings, it would not be quite correct to assign them in formal grammar to the passive voice.

A grammatical passive is only acknowledged in cases where that passive has been formed from the same stem as the active, and has been marked off from it by a special method of formation, as in such cases as amo, ‘I love,’ amor, ‘I am loved.’ The relation of an intransitive verb to its corresponding causative, resembles that of a passive to its active, as in such cases as to fall, to fell; to drink, to drench; to sit, to set: and the pairs from roots etymologically unrelated, to make, to become; to kill, to die. In the case of the intransitive verbs, however, as compared with that of the grammatical passive, we do not dwell so much in thought upon an operating cause as constituting the difference between active and passive. But this distinction is so slight, that we actually find intransitive verbs used with a sequence such as we should expect after a passive, as in He died by the hand of the public executioner; He fell by his own ambition. On the other hand, we can see the transition from the passive to the active in the case of the Russian—where the active form is employed to express a passive sense,—and of the so-called deponent verbs. We have to translate a form like the Latin verti by ‘to turn,’ employing the middle voice. A case like Jam homo in mercaturâ vortitur, ‘The man is now busy with merchandise’ (Plautus, Mostellaria, III. i. 109) may serve to show how nearly allied is the middle or passive voice to the deponent proper. No doubt a true deponent differs from a verb used in the middle voice, by the fact that the deponent takes an accusative after it; but how nearly the two touch one another, may be gathered from such instances as that given above, by the side of adversari regem (Tac., Hist., iv. 84,), ‘to oppose, or to oppose one’s-self to, the king.’

One of the most common ways, in which the passive takes its origin, is from the middle voice, which is sometimes seen to be formed from the composition of the active with the reflective pronoun. We have in English two examples of this method of formation, in the words (to) bask and (to) busk: to bask means ‘to bathe one’s-self;’ to busk, ‘to prepare one’s-self,’ or ‘get ready.’158 The sk stands for sik, as it appears in Icelandic, the accusative case of a reflective pronoun of the third person. The Russian often, in like manner, employs a reflective form in -sya instead of the passive, just as does the French; thus, Tavárni prodáutsya, les hardes se vendent, ‘The goods are sold,’ lit. ‘sell themselves:’ cf. Rien ne s’y voyait plus, pas même des débris (De Vigny).159 ‘Nothing more was to be seen, not even the ruined remains.’

In these cases, one element of the signification of the middle voice is discarded. The middle voice denotes that an action starts from a person, and returns to him. In I strike myself the action ‘strikes’ starts from the speaker, but visits him again with its effects; in I am struck the action is visited upon the subject, but does not originate therewith. There are some reflective combinations, even in English, where the consciousness of the activity of the subject has practically disappeared: as in How do you find yourself? I bethought me; He found himself in an awkward position: but these, it will be seen, approach more to the use of the simple intransitive, by means of the relationship which this bears to the passive; cf. s’exciter with être excité; ‘to be excited:’ moveri, with se movere, ‘to move.’ There are certain uses of the verb, in French and German, in which the operation of the subject is almost effaced: as, sich befinden, in Wie befinden sie sich (‘How are you?’); cela se laisse dire (‘that may be said’).