Split Happens: Boldly Going Where Other Writers Fear to Tread

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The Myth That Wouldn’t Die

Some writing myths just won’t go away. They linger like an old superstition passed down from generation to generation. One of the most persistent? The so-called rule that you should never split an infinitive. As in, never insert a word between the word to and the verb it accompanies.

To boldly go?

Absolutely not, the purists often say.

But we say: nonsense. That’s bunk.

What’s an Infinitive—and What’s a Split One?

Let’s first make sure we know what we’re dealing with. An infinitive is the basic form of a verb, usually preceded by the word to. In my courses, I define it this way:

“An infinitive is the verb word you’d look up in the dictionary.” You wouldn’t look up written, you’d look up write. That’s the infinitive. Not sang, but sing. That’s the infinitive. Not learning, but learn. That’s the infinitive.

Then put the word 'to' in front and you’ve got the expression we call an infinitive.

Examples:

• to write

• to sing

• to learn.

A split infinitive occurs when another word (usually an adverb) is placed between to and the verb.

• to boldly go 

Hey Trekkies, Mr. Spock got it right!

• to truly understand

• to gently rock

Critics of this construction have long warned writers to avoid it. Why? The answer has more to do with 19th-century Latin envy than with clarity.

Where Did the "No-Split" Rule Come From?

This myth was born in the 1800s, when grammarians attempted to make English behave like Latin. In Latin, you cannot split an infinitive. Why? Because in Latin, it’s just one word. So Latin-based stylists insisted that English follow suit—even though English, unlike Latin, uses two words to write the infinitive form of a verb.

Examples:

• amare (Latin form of “to love”)

• to love (English form of “to love”)

It gets worse. By the early 20th century, this made-up rule had found its way into schoolbooks and was taught as gospel. Writers began contorting their sentences to obey this imaginary constraint. The result? Clunky writing.

The OED Weighs In

The OED? That’s The Oxford English Dictionary, often called “the last word on words.”

In 1998, the OED announced the publication of its Oxford American Desk Dictionary. In the press release, an OED editor said that rules of grammar do not forbid the splitting of an infinitive.

All hell broke loose.

Loftus Jestin, the head of the English department at Central Connecticut State University, quipped:

• "Hearing split infinitives is like listening to Mozart when the pianist keeps hitting all the wrong notes.”

And Samuel Pickering, the inspiration for the teacher in the movie Dead Poets Society, added:

• "I do not dine with those who split infinitives.”

The OED isn’t alone. Language experts—from H.W. Fowler to Bryan Garner—agree: there’s no grammatical reason to avoid splitting an infinitive.

So why do so many writers cower in a corner when faced with modifying an infinitive with an adverb?

Why Writers Still Fear the Split

Old habits die hard. And myths that once carried the weight of authority still hold psychological sway. Many people worry that a grammar pedant might scoff at their prose if they split an infinitive.

Having taught effective writing to thousands of people all over the world, I can tell you that many either (1) firmly believe that splitting an infinitive is a grotesque grammatical mistake or (2) work for someone who, well, someone who does not dine with those who split.

Here, we’re talking about bone-chilling fear.

But consider the truth: when clarity, emphasis, or rhythm calls for it, splitting the infinitive is not only acceptable but preferable. Forcing your adverb to migrate before the to or after the verb often results in a sentence that’s either clumsy or misleading.

Compare:

• She decided to gradually let go of her past.

Preferred.

• She decided gradually to let go of her past.

Ambiguous. Did she “gradually decide” or “gradually let go”?

• She decided to let go gradually of her past.

Awkward.

The first version communicates most clearly. The second and third will win no awards. When we split the infinitive, we put the adverb exactly where it belongs: right before the verb it modifies.

A Few Classic Examples

Let’s not forget Star Trek’s iconic phrase: “to boldly go where no man has gone before.”

Imagine the alternatives:

• to go boldly?

• boldly to go?

Neither lands with the same power. The split infinitive carries the rhythm and punch that made the line so memorable.

Here’s another:

• We aim to clearly communicate our mission.

Try rewriting that to avoid the split. You end up with either:

• We aim clearly to communicate our mission.

• We aim to communicate our mission clearly.

Both versions are grammatically fine. But the first has immediacy. It puts the adverb—clearly—exactly where it does the most good.

Split Happens in Style: Watch What Great Writers Do

Check out these examples of great writers cheerfully ignoring the no-split rule.

• Lord Byron

“To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene ….”

In his poem Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, Lord Byron uses the adverb slowly to enhance the mood and pacing.

• F. Scott Fitzgerald

“He wanted to really believe in something.

"The split adds emotional weight to the verb believe.

• Elizabeth Barrett Browning

“To truly love is to risk everything.

”The adverb truly intensifies the sentiment of love.

• Benjamin Franklin

“To more than double the output ….

”A practical use that’s hard to rephrase without losing clarity.

• Daniel Defoe

“To entirely forget the past….

”The adverb entirely makes the act of forgetting feel absolute.

These examples show that split infinitives aren’t just acceptable: they often provide the best way to convey nuance, rhythm, or emphasis.

When Not to Split

Sometimes you should avoid splitting an infinitive. If the split sounds awkward, disrupts rhythm, or draws attention to itself, it’s better to rephrase.

Examples:

• She tried to completely and irrevocably forget the past.

Here the double-adverb split makes the sentence heavy. Instead, we might write:

• She tried to forget the past completely and irrevocably.

Use your ear. If the split helps, keep it. If it hurts, rewrite.

What My Course Teaches

In Section 3.04(a) of Write Better Right Now, you’ll find a thorough, and I hope entertaining, discussion of this issue, complete with examples, exercises, and myth-busting history. We don’t just say “Go ahead and split.” We show you how, when, and why it works.

And because my course focuses on clear, plain English, you’ll walk away with the confidence to split an infinitive without fearing the wrath of English professors who deign to balk at the “last word on words” … the OED.

Final Thought: Don’t Let the Bunk Stop You

We need to debunk the bunk. The Grammar Dude, the persona I’ve adopted in the Rap Dee-Bunk da Bunk, is portrayed as a sharp and worthy King —but he doesn’t traffic in myths. He rules the roost by making our meaning clear, not by forcing us to obey rules imported from a dead language.

Split happens. And when it does, let it serve your sentence, not mangle it.

Ready to Write Better Right Now?

To learn more about common writing myths (and how to bust them), check out my online course at WriteCorrectly.com. You’ll learn how to spot the real rules, reject the phony ones, and become the kind of writer whose style gets noticed—in a good way.

Because good writing isn’t about fear. It’s about clarity.

To boldly go?

Yes.

Without doubt.