In Middle School, when we learned what an infinitive was, I don’t recall if we were forbade from splitting it. It is one of those details that has dissipated along with geometry, sewing, and the rules of kickball in an irretrievable recess of my brain labeled “Middle School.” But I imagine that I was taught not to split infinitives, if only because the knowledge of this grammar rule is viewed as a talisman of a proper English grammar education.
Recently I read in Bill Bryson’s The Mother Tongue that the origins of this formerly-hardclad English grammar rule comes from the 19th century, when a few self-proclaimed authoritarians declared that the infinitive should not be split in English because it is impossible to split an infinitive in Latin. Bryson says “there is no logical reason not to split an infinitive,” while himself resisting the urge to gratuitously split.
Think of it: Generations of school children, academics, writers, editors and the general population wasted untold brain power on not splitting infinitives simply because the gone-and-good-riddance Latin language does not have two-word infinitives!
Pretty much every person who cares about this sort of thing knows that the “No Split Infinitive” rule is archaic. Depending on the context and usage, to freely split an infinitive may be correct or not to split may be correct. In terms of pure style and diction, I believe that a majority of the time, splitting an infinitive is not as pleasing. “My eye began to really hurt” is inferior to “My eye really began to hurt.” “To knowingly wink at him” doesn’t have the same rhythm as “To wink knowingly at him.” “I begged him to not eat” is awkward compared to “I begged him not to eat.” But sometimes, split infinitives are stylistically preferable. “She was inclined to not give a shit” is way cooler than “She was inclined not to give a shit.”
