Grice's Modifier and its Implicatures

Speranza

So we have identified the thing.

Now the question is what Popper or Grice would say about it!

H. P. Grice would be perhaps interested in distinguishing why a ‘split infinitive’ does not compare (yet does compare) to a so-called "dangling modifier."

Popper might not.

Grice might _also_ wonder if there can be a *general* theory of the dangling modifier. 

Consider the cancellation of the implicature, generated by the dangling modifier in:

i.                    Born in Japan, Ishiguro’s family moved to the UK when he was five.

from “The Guardian”.

ii.                Born in Japan, Ishiguro’s family moved to the UK when he was five, leaving the child under the care of his maternal grandmother, who decided to stay. 

A "dangling modifier," so-called, is, if we may aim at a conceptual analysis of this, an ambiguously interpretable utterance-part (as Grice would have it), whereby, as the term of art has it, a “modifier” can be mis-interpreted as being associated with an expression OTHER THAN the one m-intended (as Grice would have it – “m” stands for ‘meaning’), or, worse, with no particular expression at all.

For example, an utterer may have meant to modify the subject, but the syntax -- where syntax is referred to as per system Ghp -- a hopeable powerful version of Myro's System G -- makes the modifier seem to modify an object instead.

Such ambiguity can lead to unintentional humour or, more boringly, a difficulty in understanding the utterance (and attending implicature) in some conversational contexts (One of Grice’s conversational maxims is ‘avoid ambiguity’, under the super-maxim, ‘Be perspicuous.’)

A typical example of a dangling modifier is illustrated by:

iii.                A: Turning the corner, a very handsome building appeared.

  B: Amazing.

The modifying clause “turning the corner” is supposed to describe the behaviour of the utterer (or other observer).

But, syntactically, it may be claimed to apply to nothing in particular -- or, if you want to laugh -- to the building! (Hence the ‘Amazing,’ in B’s ironic cooperative reply).

Similarly, in:

iv.                A: At the age of eight, my family finally bought a Yorkshire terrier.

B: About time.

Here, the modifier “at the age of eight” “dangles,” as the term of art has it, not attaching to the subject of the main clause (and possibly implying or as Grice would prefer IMPLICATING) that the whole family was eight years old (is that a categorial mistake?) when it (the family, that is) bought the Yorkshire terrier, or even that the Yorkshire terrier was eight when it was bought, rather than the intended meaning of giving the narrator's -- or utterer's -- age at the time.

The “About time," in B's reply (where "B" stands for Grice) possibly dangles, too.

As an adjunct, a modifier clause is normally at the beginning (as in “The Guardian” example, (i) above), or the end of the utterance, and usually attached to the subject of the main clause, as in:

v.                  Walking down St. Giles, Grice saw the beautiful streets.

vi.                 Walking down St. Giles (clause), Grice (subject) saw the beautiful trees (object).

However, when the subject is missing, or the clause attaches itself to *another* object in the utterance, the clause is seemingly "hanging" on nothing or on an entirely inappropriate noun.

The clause thus "dangles", as in:

vii.              A: Walking down St. Giles, the trees were beautiful. Reaching the station, the sun came out, too!

B: Amazing.

In the first utterance, the adjunct clause -- "walking down St. Giles" -- may at first appear to modify "the trees", the subject of the utterance.

However, it actually modifies the utterer of the utterance, who is not explicitly mentioned (It might have been Grice – or Popper -- or Strawson. You name him.)

In the second utterance, the adjunct at first appears to modify "the sun", the subject of the sentence.

Presumably, there is another, human subject (Strawson?) that did reach the station and observed the sun coming out, and thought this worth informing to his tutor (who happened to be Grice).

But since this subject (Strawson, let's assume) is not mentioned in the utterance, the intended meaning is obscured, and therefore this kind of utterance has been dubbed “incorrect” in standard Oxonian (cfr. Spooner).

Strunk and White's The Elements of Style (White lived on a New-England coastal town between Nova Scotia and Cuba) provides another kind of example, a misplaced modifier (another participle):

viii.            A: I saw the trailer peeking through the window.

  B: Amazing.

This means, presumably, that the *utterer* was peeking through the window.

But the placement of the clause "peeking through the window" makes it sound as though the trailer were doing so! (It might be argued that this is a categorial mistake in that trailers don't have eyes -- vide Grice, "Some remarks about vision"). 

The utterance can be re-cast as:

ix.                Peeking through the window, I saw the trailer.

Similarly, in

x.                  A: She left the room fuming.

  B: Amazing.

it is conceivably _the room_, rather than "she" (Mrs. Strawson?), that was fuming, though it is unlikely that anybody – other than Grice in one of his wicked days -- would interpret it this way, and only to tease Sir Peter Strawson, mind. Or Lady Anne Strawson, as the case might be.

Strunk and White describe as "ludicrous" another of their examples:

xi.                A: Being in a dilapidated condition, I was able to buy the cottage very cheap.

  B: Not amazing.

The utterer obviously means the cottage was dilapidated. The construction, however, suggests, or the utterer by uttering it, implicates -- that he (the utterer, identified as "I" – vide Grice, “Peresonal Identity”) was dilapidated.

Bernstein offers another allegedly ludicrous example:

xii.              A: Roaring down the track at seventy miles an hour, the stalled car was smashed by the           train.

B: Amazing.

The adjunct is meant to modify “train.” 

It is the train that is roaring down the track.

But the subject of the main clause is "the stalled car"!

The utterer is suggesting (or implicating) that the stalled car, which really is not moving at all!, is roaring down the track! (And they say Leibniz uttered logical contradictions?)

The utterance could be re-uttered more felicitously (‘felicity’ was one of Austin’s favourite concepts):

xiii.            A: Roaring down the track at seventy miles an hour, the train smashed the stalled car.

Or:

xiv.            The stalled car was smashed by the train, roaring down the track at seventy miles an hour."

Follett, another Oxonian, provides yet another ludicrous example:

xv.              A: Leaping to the saddle, his horse bolted.

B: Amazing.

But who or what leaped? 

Presumably the horse-man – certainly not the horse, which was wearing the saddle, in any case (vide Grice, "Try to make your contribution one that is true.")

In this example, the noun or pronoun intended to be modified is not even in the utterance. 

Unproblematic:

xvi.            Leaping to the saddle, Grice made his horse bolt forward.

or

xvii.          As he leaped into the saddle, Grice's horse bolted.

In the latter, the non-finite adjunct clause is replaced by a finite subordinate clause.

What all these Oxonian examples do is just illustrate a Griceian principle that dangling participles violate.

Grice states the principle thus:

"In my system G, a participle at the head of an utterance 
automatically affixes itself to the subject of the following verb 
– in effect a requirement that the utterer either make 
his [syntactic] subject consistent with the participle 
or discard the participle for some other construction."

Or:

"A participle phrase at the beginning of 
an utterance must refer to the syntactic subject."

Dangling participles should not be confused with clauses in absolute constructions, which are considered _okay_ -- by Grice, and even the neo-Griceians (the palaeo-Griceians are never clear). 

Because the participle phrase in an absolute construction is NOT semantically attached to any single element in the sentence, it is easily confused with a dangling participle, though. (Strawson did so, once -- and was appropriately reprimanded).

The difference is that a participle phrase is intended to modify a particular noun or pronoun. 

However, it is, instead, erroneously attached to a different noun, whereas as an absolute clause is not intended to modify any noun at all. 

An example of a so-called "absolute construction" may be:

xviii.        The weather being beautiful, the wife and I plan to go to the beach today.

Where "the wife" is colloquial for Grice's wife.

Non-participial modifiers that dangle can however be troublesome in the implicatures they may generate in violation with Griceian principles of conversational benevolence and self-love. Consider:

xix.              Derek Grice: After years of being lost under a pile of dust, Father found all the old records of the Harborne Lions Club.

Herbert Paul Grice: Amazing.

The above utterance suggests that it is the subject of the sentence, "my father," -- Herbert Grice -- who was buried under a pile of dust, and not the records of the Harborne Lions Club. 

And while this is not impossible, it is not ‘conversationally expectable,’ or 'hopable', as Grice would have it. 

It is the prepositional phrase "after years of being lost under a pile of dust" which ‘dangles,’ to use Grice’s slang.

This example illustrates the kind of Griceian ambiguity (in terms of the implicatures the utterance invites) that can result from a dangling modifier.

In the film “Mary Poppins,” Mr. Dawes Sr. dies of laughter after hearing the following joke:

xx.              A: I know a man with a wooden leg, called "Smith."

B: What was the name of his *other* leg, if I may ask?

A: Nowell, of course.

This is an insider joke, Grice knowing that Strawson knew that Nowell-Smith's name was not strictly Nowell-Smith.

In the case of this joke, the placement of the phrase "called "Smith"" implicates that it is the leg that is named "Smith," rather than the man with the wooden (unnamed) leg.

Another example of this humorous effect is by Groucho Marx as Captain Jeffrey T. Spaulding in the film, Animal Crackers:

xxi.            One foggy morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How he got into my pajamas I'll probably never know.

Though under the most plausible Griceian interpretation of the first utterance-part, Spaulding would have been wearing the pajamas, the utterance plays on the physical possibility that, instead, it was the elephant who was wearing Spaulding’s pajamas -- “Odd, but not phsyically impossible, for an elephant, you know," as Grice would have it.

Grice gives another example:

xxii.          A: As a mother of five, and with another on the way, my ironing board is always up.

B: Amazing.

Is the ironing board (syntactic subject) really the mother of five? 

Mmm. Don't think so, and neither does Grice.

Less ambiguous, and more conversationally 'in order':

xxiii.        As the mother of five, and with another on the way, I always keep my ironing board up.

Or, if you mustn't:

xxiv.        My ironing board is always up, because I am the mother of five, with another on the way.

To complicate Griceian pragmatics (only), participial modifiers can sometimes be m-intended to describe the attitude or mood of the utterer, even when the utterer is not part of the utterance!

Some such modifiers are standard and are NOT considered, by Grice, dangling modifiers, though -- but neo-Griceians disagree -- Palaeo-Griceians are never clear. 

For example:

xxv.          Speaking of [topic]

and

xxvi.        Trusting that this will put things into perspective

are commonly used to transition from one topic to a related one, or for adding a conclusion to a speech.

Controversy has arisen over the proper usage of the adverb "hopefully," too.

Some Griceians object to constructions such as

xxvii.      Hopefully, the sun will be shining tomorrow.

The complaint of these Griceians is that, in terms of logical form ("which is all that matters"), the term "hopefully" ‘dangles,’ and can be understood to describe either the utterer’s state of mind or the manner in which the sun will shine.

"Hopefully" no longer modifies just a verb, an adjective or another adverb, but instead modifies the whole utterance to convey the attitude of the utterer.

"Hopefully" used in this way is a disjunct (cf. "admittedly", "mercifully", "oddly").

Disjuncts (also called "utterance adverbs") are useful in colloquial conversation for the concision they permit.

No other word expresses that thought, Frege thought. 

In a single word we can say it is _regrettable_ that (regrettably) or it is fortunate that (fortunately) or it is lucky that (luckily).

It WOULD be very comforting if there were such a word as “hopably” or, as suggested by Grice, “hopingly,” but, alas, there is not – cfr. Grice, “How unclever language can get!."

In this instance nothing is to be lost – the word would not be destroyed in its primary meaning – and a useful, nay necessary term is to be gained.

What had been expressed in lengthy adverbial constructions, such as "it is regrettable that ..." or "it is fortunate that ...", had of course always been shortened to the adverbs "regrettably" or "fortunately". 

Bill Bryson says that those utterers who scrupulously avoid 'hopefully' in such constructions do not hesitate to use at least a dozen other words – 'apparently', 'presumably', 'happily', 'sadly', 'mercifully', 'thankfully', and so on – in precisely the same way.

Bryson finds this funny.

What has changed, however, in the controversy over "hopefully" being used for "he was hoping that ..." or "she was full of hope that ..." is that the *original* clause is transferred from the utterer, as a kind of short-hand to the subject itself, as though "it" had expressed the hope. 

("Hopefully, the sun will be shining.")

Although this still expressed the utterer’s hope, i.e. "that the sun will be shining", it may have caused a certain 'conversational' disorientation on the part of the co-conversationalist, as to who was expressing what when it first appeared.

As time passes, this controversy may fade as the Wittgensteinian usage becomes increasingly accepted, especially since adverbs such as "mercifully", "gratefully", and "thankfully" are similarly used. (Witters did it in Austrian). 

Merriam-Webster gives a usage note on its entry for “hopefully," that Grice said, "it might hopably help you understand its disimplicatures."

The editors point out that the disjunct "usage" of the word dates to the early 18th century and has been in widespread use since.

Objection to this usage of the word only became widespread in the 1960s -- the heyday of Ordinary language philosophy!

The editors maintain that this usage is "entirely standard," but they haven't been to The Dreaming Spires!

Yet the choice of "regrettably" above as a Popperian counte-rexample points out an additional problem. 

At the time that objection to "hopefully" became publicised, syntax books relentlessly point out the distinction between "regrettably" and "regretfully".

The latter is not to be used as an utterance adverb, they state. 

It must refer to the subject of the sentence. 

The misuse of "regretfully" produces worse undesired results than "hopefully", possibly contributing to disdain for the latter. 

The counterpart “hopably” was never added to the language – although Grice used it thrice. 

See also: Double entendre, Garden path sentence.

References

1.      McArthur, Tom, ed. "The Oxford Companion to the English Language." Oxford University Press. The dangling modifier or participle

2.      Merriam Webster's dictionary of English Usage p. 315, Merriam-Webster.

3.      The Least You Should Know about English p. 134, Wilson and Glazier, Cengage Learning.

4.      Theodore M. Bernstein, The Careful Writer: A Modern Guide to English Usage (New York: Atheneum), 128.

5.      Wilson Follett, Modern American Usage: A Guide (New York: Hill and Wang), 117.

6.      The American Heritage Book of English Usage: A Practical and Authoritative Guide to Contemporary English. Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. p. 1.

7.      Bangor Daily News 20 Jan 1978. Reprinted with discussion in Merriam-Webster's Dictionary of English Usage p. 315.

8.      Encarta Book of Quotations. St. Martin's Press, New York. p. 616.

9.      Kahn, John Ellison and Robert Ilson, Eds. The Right Word at the Right Time: A Guide to the English Language and How to Use It, pp. 27–29. London: The Reader's Digest Association Limited. http://www.emory.edu/marketing/docs/creative_group/Style%20Manual.pdf

10.  Bernstein, Theodore M. Miss Thistlebottom's Hobgoblins, p. 51. The Noonday Press, New York.

11.  Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words, Bill Bryson, p. 99, Broadway Books, New York.

12.  "hopefully." Merriam-Webster Dictionary.

13.  http://www.wsu.edu/~brians/errors/regretfully.html

14.   Hopefully fails to modify sentence elements. Originally citing Bryson's Dictionary of Troublesome Words.
Categories: disputes in syntax, syntactic entities.