THE INFINITIVE.
Much hinges on the question, “Is the Infinitive a Mood?” It is necessary first to define mood. Harvey says that ‘mood’ is the mode or manner in which the action, being or state is expressed. He says further, “The infinitive mood expresses action, being, or state without affirming it.” Though he defines the manner in which the indicative, the subjunctive, the imperative mood expresses action, being, or state, he fails to state in what manner the infinitive expresses the same. If he means to say that it expresses action, being, or state without affirming it, while the indicative, subjunctive and imperative moods affirm any of these, and that in this difference lies its claim to be called a mood, why does he not call participles and gerunds moods, as they also express action, being or state without affirming it? Mason says: “Moods are certain variations of form in verbs by means of which we can show the mode or manner in which the action or fact denoted by the verb is connected in our thought with the thing that is spoken of;” furthermore, that the infinitive may be attached to a subject in a dependent phrase, as ‘I saw him fall,’ and that this would justify us in calling it ‘mood.’ According to Mason, in the sentence, ‘I saw him falling,’ it would be justifiable to call a participle, which is sometimes called the ‘infinitive in-ing,’ a mood. Why then does Mr. Mason not call it a mood? Besides, in a great majority of cases the infinitive is used, as in the sentence, ‘I will go,’ without this subject accusative, as Mason calls it. His definition of the word ‘mood,’ though phrased with a view to include the infinitive, does not give any more light on the question than the definition of Harvey. Clark holds: “The infinitive mode differs from the other modes in this: It has no grammatical subject and therefore can not be a predicate.” Brown, in his “Grammar of English Grammars,” says that the infinitive mood is that form of the verb which expresses action, being or state in an unlimited manner. It seems that these authors ought certainly to have given a clearer or at least a more consistent distinction between the infinitive, participle and gerund on the one hand, and the indicative, subjunctive and imperative moods on the other. They make the infinitive a mood along with these three moods because its manner of expression is unlimited, while these mood forms are limited, and yet neglect the participle and gerund, which have, by their definitions, just as much right to the distinction.
The preposition ‘to’ is not an essential part of the infinitive, for it is not an invariable sign of it. Many verbs, especially the auxiliaries, are followed by the infinitive without ‘to.’ The infinitive in Old English ended in-an and did not have ‘to’ before it. It was treated as a declinable abstract-noun, and a dative form (called the gerund) was used with the preposition ‘to’ to denote purpose, as ‘He that hath ears to hear’; to hear = to gehyranne. This gerundive infinitive passed into modern English with the loss of the dative ending. From denoting purpose, the ‘to’ came to denote the ground of an action, and may indicate the cause or condition of an action. Thus the gerund (the infinitive with ‘to’) came to be used in place of the simple infinitive. The preposition ‘to’ has in this manner come to be nothing but an inflection for the nominative and accusative cases, and to lose the notional idea of a preposition except with the infinitive of purpose.
The infinitive is a verb-noun. The authority for this begins with the fact that it was in Old English declined as an abstract-noun. Prof. Whitney, of Yale, says that the infinitive is a verbal-noun expressing in noun-form the action or condition which the verb asserts. Welsh also calls it a verbal-noun. Both of them say that mood serves the purpose of showing a difference in the mode or manner of assertion. These two authors do not consider that the difference in the manner in which an infinitive and the indicative, subjunctive and imperative express action is of the same nature as the difference between the indicative and subjunctive, or between the subjunctive and imperative. These differences, as any one can plainly see, are altogether unlike. The distinction between the infinitive and the three moods is by far greater than any distinctions that the moods have among themselves. The infinitive, gerund and participle have their verb natures alike. All three are unlimited to person, number, or order of time. It is only in the other half of the compound that they differ. The gerund partakes of the nature of a verb and a noun, while the participle partakes of the nature of a verb and an adjective, and the infinitive is verbal in the dependence of other words upon it and has the nature of a noun in its dependence upon other words. From this it is seen that, if the term ‘mood’ can be applied to the infinitive, as it pertains only to its verbal nature, it can be applied to participles and gerunds. If all three are called moods, then there is a nomenclature which is not needed and still not such as will separate the two great classes of verb-forms (finite and infinite) and show the difference in their expression of action, being or state. The name ‘infinitive,’ it is true, would denote its manner of expression, but the participle and the gerund have nothing in their names to denote this same quality. What is needed is a distinction between the two great classes. If the infinitive is not called a mood, there is this distinction; if it is called a mood, then there is need of some other names by which to distinguish the two classes.
The infinitive has the principal uses of a noun. It may be used as the subject or object of a verb; it can be used as a noun in the accusation to modify a noun, ‘A house to let;’ it may be used in the accusative as an adverb, ‘That is hard to do.’
All these reasons go to show that the infinitive is a verbal-noun, and that no one will ever have to contradict himself if he calls it by this name and does not call it a mood.
R. D. M.
Editorials.
| M. C. THOMAS, Hesperian, |  | Editors. |
| D. C. ROPER, Columbian, |
The amount of Greek and Latin required in our colleges is necessary and expedient. The extension of the curricula to include more French and German is indeed commendable; but the study of the English language in most of our colleges has been, to say the least of it, too circumscribed. The earnest English student is not satisfied with giving the Greek and Latin literatures only a passing notice, but studies them as languages, both for the mental training they afford, and for the influence which they have had on the development of his own language. So the study of English should be the study of a language, rather than the study of a literature. The old-time curriculum looked upon the study of English as a “belles lettres” course—merely the study of literature. This, indeed, is good enough as far as it goes, but it is neither commensurate with the claims upon the consideration of an Englishspeaking person, nor with the benefit that is to be derived from the study of the language, pursued historically. A knowledge of English in its less developed condition, accompanied by a fair understanding of the modifying influences and developing changes which have from time to time been brought to bear upon it, is indeed necessary. It is as impossible for a person thoroughly to comprehend the English language without a knowledge of Old English as it is to understand the Latin language without a fair knowledge of its word-agreement. The study of either the “belles lettres” or the historical course, however, to the exclusion of the other is not at all commendable. What we need and should have in our colleges is a simultaneous study of these courses accompanied by a thorough study of the grammar of Modern English so measured out and distributed as mutually to aid in a thorough comprehension of each other and, consequently, of the language.
Among the latest features of the present system of teaching English in our colleges, may be mentioned the introduction of what is generally known as “parallel reading.” Formally the student was required during the great part of his college course, at least, to study only text books, which tend to train rather than fill the mind. No question should be of greater importance to a developing mind than what should I read? This is a question which the student cannot decide without help. If the mind were originally able to grapple with great subjects, this would not be a perplexing question, but like other things, the mind has its infancy, at which period the directing hand of one more experienced, is quite indispensable. The professor of English and a good library unite in college, as no where else, to do this important work of mind-training and mind-filling. This parallel, which is read at such spare moment as would probably otherwise be lost, not only enables the student to learn what he should read, but also gives him a fair knowledge of the leading English authors. For example, if, in this way, one book is read per month, the student, at the end of his four years college course will have read about forty books, which having been carefully selected by his professor will give him some knowledge of English literature.
Phrenology may have some truth in it as a science, but implicit confidence, to say the least, should not be placed in the statements of so-called phrenologists. A phrenologist has recently visited Trinity and examined the heads of a good many of the students, and as a rule to their supreme satisfaction. The strange part about it is that all the students, with a few exceptions, had special talents for the professions—would make first-class lawyers, doctors, preachers, &c.; but lo and behold! scarcely a single one was told that he would make a good farmer. Such taffying pays the phrenologist very well financially, but may do harm to the young man who is thus flattered, as he will often conceive that he is indeed a genius, and imagine that he will become a distinguished professional man if he only turns his marvellous talents in that direction, when he is not suited for such in the least. There may be something in phrenology, but the young man who relies upon the fine marks given him by a phrenologist as conclusive proof of the fact that he will make a grand success, will eventually find himself left in the race of life. Energy is the great thing after all. The boy who has energy will be certain of some success at least. So it does not matter so much whether you have a fifty-four or forty-nine ounce brain, but whether you improve what you have. You have an opportunity here at college to improve your mind; make use of it.
Let outward and inward improvements keep pace! Away with “Smoky-row”! This filthy den is a disgrace to a community whose object it is to bring up young men in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.