I love language, in its many forms. I am a native US English speaker, and am also fluent in American Sign Language. I had 4 years of Spanish in High School, a couple of terms of Arabic in college, and have spent considerable time attempting to learn Japanese on my own.

I spent a couple years attempting to teach English to Chinese natives. During this time, I frequently felt that I was learning more about my own language than my students were.

I also thoroughly enjoy computer languages of many different flavors. I consider myself to be quite proficient in C, C++, Java, C#, JavaScript, Perl, and Bash, and I have written multiple programs in at least a dozen other languages.

So what, precisely, are you getting at?

English is an imprecise language, full of history, nuance, implications, and connotations. Given any mildly complex concept, there are hundreds of ways that concept could be expressed in sentence form, factoring in vocabulary selection, grammatical style, extent of descriptive language, and so forth. That last sentence was particularly tricky for me. Even though I knew exactly the thought that I wanted to express, it took several attempts for me to type it in words that conveyed the idea to my satisfaction.

Even a single English word can be ambiguous. If you have taken the time to read through a discussion I had with my friend Matt on the meaning of the word “offense”, you will see that it was a rather long journey for us to come to an understanding of how we each perceive the concepts imparted by that solitary term.

What did you really intend to say?

My son Tim (age 12) and I have had several discourses recently on the power and purpose of language. Tim has decided, as has many an adolescent before him, that the words uttered by another person must direct their intent. For example, if I were to tell him to wipe the table, he would very happily run a dish cloth over a small corner of the table and then explain at length why I should be satisfied with that interpretation of my command.

I have repeatedly attempted to explain to Tim that words convey intent, and that he should always strive to decipher the intent behind a person’s words, rather than stubbornly enforcing the first (or most convenient) interpretation that comes into his head.

That ain’t proper grammar!

The words we use don’t only impart meaning. They can also imply information about the speaker’s background, such as geographic origin or educational history.

Last week I had a dialogue with a colleague at work about the use of possessives when applied to inanimate objects. It is her assertion that an inanimate object can’t own anything, and therefore can’t take the possessive form, as in the car’s headlights.

After a bit of research, I decided that this is actually a commonly held misconception, but I also concluded that it’s best to avoid inanimate possession (as my co-worker recommended) because the impression of bad grammatical form is so widespread.

Awkward this sentence is.

As Yodish hyperbaton aptly demonstrates, many grammatically correct sentences just sound weird to us because they somehow deviate from linguistic norms. Not all awkward sentences are so obvious, though. Just tonight, Marlene and I were discussing a sentence similar to the following:

Jenny knocked on the door across from her and Jeff’s room.

I’m still not positive, but I think that the grammar of this sentence is correct. It sounds strange, though. If a reader needs to exert himself to parse a sentence, then the meaning behind the words may be lost.

Put it to the test??

I love the precision of computer languages. Ignoring the rare, random anomaly, all computers in the world respond to any given instruction in the exact same way. This truism has given rise to a practice called Test Driven Development (TDD). The core tenet of TDD is that the first step in writing a computer program is to write a test. This test ensures that your intent is getting through to the computer properly. Then all that is required is to fill in the language constructs that will make the test pass.

The TDD concept doesn’t translate at all to spoken (or written) language. How do you test the effectiveness of your words on your audience? Each person reading this very article will derive slightly different meaning from the words recorded in it. Even if I simplify the problem to an audience of one, that individual must use imprecise language to report back to me their perception of my intent. That’s not a very reliable test.

Would you please define “correct”?

One of the dirty little secrets of spoken language is that, despite what your 3rd grade teacher told you, there’s no such thing as “correct” and “incorrect” usage. What constitutes “correct” usage of the language is highly contentious, and is in constant flux.

The English language is continuously accruing new content: new vocabulary, new sentence structures, and new rules. If the sentence you have written is deemed to be somehow flawed, just wait 50 years or so. It may be perfectly acceptable then. Very rarely is anything removed from English. If such-and-such a famous author used such-and-such a phrase in such-and-such a composition, then it is a permanent fixture of the language.

Ultimately, “correct” English is determined by which combination of word will best convey the point you are trying to make. If you use words with ambiguous interpretation, then your essay will likely be misinterpreted. If you use confusing sentence structure, then your opus will likewise be confused.

For me, it’s like a game. Each sentence is a puzzle to be solved, and each paragraph an amusing conundrum. I admit that I am far from mastery of the language, but learning comes from experience, and the journey is, for me, an enjoyable one.

– danBhentschel