When I was in school, I tried to pay attention to my English teachers. Sadly, I had other things on my mind. I remember having a lesson on split infinitives, though I never really understood what they were or why they were supposedly bad until I started writing for pay twenty-five odd years ago. Now I know exactly what they are and, rather inconveniently, I like them. So to the adverb-deletion purists, a fond and respectful neener neener.
So what is a split infinitive? My favorite example is “to boldly go.” “To go” is the verb, and “boldly” is the adverb that slips neatly between the two parts and causes all the excitement. There is nothing wrong with that. The panic comes from Latin, where the infinitive for “to go” is īre, one compact, indivisible word. Trying to split it would be rather like attempting to put “boldly” between the i and the re. It simply cannot be done without inventing a new language, which, conveniently, is exactly what English turned out to be.
English expresses the infinitive as two words, “to go,” which leaves plenty of room for an adventurous adverb to stride confidently through, hat tight, without violating any grammatical laws, no matter how loudly Latin objects from the balcony. And thus we arrive at “to boldly go,” a phrase that has launched a thousand grammar arguments, several style-guide revisions, and at least two generations of Trekkies who have cheerfully told the purists to take a hike. It’s a fine outcome, really. Grammar survived and one starship was permanently immortalized in the service of English syntax.
Tom Bont's Silver Key 