Much, in this world, is to be taken for granted. We can not enter into the minutiæ of all we would express, or have understood. We go upon the ground that other people know something as well as we, and that they will exercise that knowledge while listening to our relation of some new and important facts. Hence it is said that "brevity is the soul of wit." But suppose you should talk of surds, simple and quadratic equations, diophantine problems, and logarithms, to a person who knows nothing of proportion or relation, addition or subtraction. What would they know about your words? You might as well give them a description in Arabic or Esquimaux. They must first learn the simple rules on which the whole science of mathematics depends, before they can comprehend a dissertation on the more abstruse principles or distant results. So children must learn to observe things as they are, in their simplest manifestations, in order to understand the more secret and sublime operations of nature. And our language should always be adapted to their capacities; that is, it should agree with their advancement. You may talk to a zealot in politics of religion, the qualities of forbearance, candor, and veracity; to the enthusiast of science and philosophy; to the bigot of liberality and improvement; to the miser of benevolence and suffering; to the profligate of industry and frugality; to the misanthrope of philanthropy and patriotism; to the degraded sinner of virtue, truth, and heaven; but what do they know of your meaning? How are they the wiser for your instruction? You have touched a cord which does not vibrate thro their hearts, or, phrenologically, addressed an organ they do not possess, except in a very moderate degree, at least. Food must be seasoned to the palates of those who use it. Milk is for babes and strong meat for men. Our instruction must be suited to the capacities of those we would benefit, always elevated just far enough above them to attract them along the upward course of improvement.
But it should be remembered that evils will only result from a deviation from truth, and that we can never be justified in doing wrong because others have, or for the sake of meeting them half way. And yet this very course is adopted in teaching, and children are learned to adopt certain technical rules in grammar, not because they are true, but because they are convenient! In fact, it is said by some, that language is an arbitrary affair altogether, and is only to be taught and learned mechanically! But who would teach children that seven times seven are fifty, and nine times nine a hundred, and assign as a reason for so doing, that fifty and a hundred are more easily remembered than forty-nine and eighty-one? Yet there would be as much propriety in adopting such a principle in mathematics, as in teaching for a rule of grammar that when an objective case comes after a verb, it is active; but when there is none expressed, it is intransitive or neuter.
The great fault is, grammarians do not allow themselves to think on the subject of language, or if they do, they only think intransitively, that is, produce no thoughts by their cogitations.
This brings us to a more direct consideration of the subject before us. All admit the correctness of the axiom that every effect must have a cause, and that every cause will have an effect. It is equally true that "like causes will produce like effects," a rule from which nature itself, and thought, and language, can never deviate. It is as plain as that two things mutually equal to each other, are equal to a third. On this immutable principle we base our theory of the activity of all verbs, and contend that they must have an object after them, either expressed or necessarily understood. We can not yield this position till it is proved that causes can operate without producing effects, which can never be till the order of creation is reversed! There never was, to our knowledge, such a thing as an intransitive action, with the solitary exception of the burning bush.[13] In that case the laws of nature were suspended, and no effects were produced; for the bush burned, but there was nothing burnt; no consequences followed to the bush; it was not consumed. The records of the past present no instance of like character, where effects have failed to follow, direct or more distantly, every cause which has been set in operation.
It makes no difference whether the object of the action is expressed or not. It is the same in either case. But where it is not necessarily implied from the nature and fitness of things, it must be expressed, and but for such object or effect the action could not be understood. For example, I run; but if there is no effect produced, nothing run, how can it be known whether I run or not. If I write, it is necessarily understood that I write something—a letter, a book, a piece of poetry, a communication, or some other writing. When such object is not liable to be mistaken, it would be superfluous to express it—it would be a redundancy which should be avoided by all good writers and speakers. All languages are, in this respect, more or less eliptical, which constitutes no small share of their beauty, power, and elegance.
This elipsis may be observed not only in regard to the objects of verbs, but in the omission of many nouns after adjectives, which thus assume the character of nouns; as, the Almighty, the Eternal, the Allwise, applied to God, understood. So we say the wise, the learned, the good, the faithful, the wicked, the vile, the base, to which, if nouns, it would sound rather harsh to apply plurals. So we say, take your hat off ( ); put your gloves on ( ); lay your coat off ( ); and pull your boots on ( ); presuming the person so addressed knows enough to fill the elipsis, and not take his hat off his back, pull his gloves on his feet, or his boots on his head.
In pursuing this subject farther, let us examine the sample words which are called intransitive verbs, because frequently used without the object expressed after them; such as run, walk, step, fly, rain, snow, burn, roll, shine, smiles, &c.
"I run."
That here is an action of the first kind, none will deny. But it is contended by the old systems that there is no object on which the action terminates. If that be true then there is nothing run, no effect produced, and the first law of nature is outraged, in the very onset; for there is a cause, but no effect; an action, but no object. How is the fact? Have you run nothing? conveyed nothing, moved nothing from one place to another? no change, no effect, nothing moved? Look at it and decide. It is said that a neuter or intransitive verb may be known from the fact that it takes after it a preposition. Try it by this rule. "A man run against a post in a dark night, and broke his neck;" that is, he run nothing against a post—no object to run—and yet he broke his neck. Unfortunate man!
The fact in relation to this verb is briefly this: It is used to express the action which more usually terminates on the actor, than on any other object. This circumstance being generally known, it would be superfluous to mention the object, except in cases where such is not the fact. But whenever we desire to be definite, or when there is the least liability to mistake the object, it is invariably expressed. Instances of this kind are numerous. "They ran the boat ashore." "The captain ran his men to rescue them from the enemy." "They ran the gauntlet." "They run a stage to Boston." "He ran himself into discredit." "One bank runs another." "The man had a hard run of it." "Run the account over, and see if it is right." "They run forty looms and two thousand spindles." "He runs his mill evenings." Such expressions are common and correct, because they convey ideas, and are understood.