Warning: a lengthy and occasionally pedantic gripe about a language usage peeve follows immediately.
I’ll get right to it: I truly despise hearing the phrase “The proof is in the pudding,” especially from otherwise careful or erudite users of English. It makes no sense, people. Now, I understand that many speakers are not in the habit of listening to their own words; years of getting blank looks after asking students to clean up their language has taught me that lesson. But if you consider English to be a precision tool (as I do), then you can understand how I see the use of this phrase as tantamount to using a blender in place of a wrench. It’s almost surreal.
Does a phrase have to make sense? Could it be that this is just a relic or fossil that once had a clear meaning, but has since outlived its vernacular? There is certainly precedent for this. I doubt that one person in ten who uses the seemingly random grouping “by and large” is aware that the phrase began as a nautical term, referring to a particular way to trim sails in relation to the wind. We take a lot for granted when we employ–or deploy–our language every day.
The linguistic evolution that produced this particular specimen is not hard to trace. (Am I overthinking the issue? You bet I am, and so are you for reading this. Deal with it and continue with me.) The original phrase runs thusly: “The proof of the pudding is in the eating.” The meaning is clear if you keep in mind that “proof” here cleaves to its older sense of “test.” We still see this meaning in phrases like “proving ground” or “the exception that proves the rule.” (Does the latter now make more sense to you than it did ten seconds ago? You’re welcome.) At some time, undocumented in history, a few words were pared from the hackneyed original, leaving in its stead a truncated-but-nonetheless-hackneyed landmine for English language learners. I don’t begrudge linguistic trimming; it’s a time-honored tradition, and over the centuries the process has given us regular verb forms, implied subjects, contractions, acronyms, ellipsis… Yes, like that. As our ideas became more complex and the language expanded to accommodate them, we found that shortcuts were desirable to keep us from running out of time and breath.
But a cause is not an excuse.
It’s one thing to lose bulk through exercise; it’s yet another to waste away by atrophy. One process lends the language agility and manageability, while the other zaps its potency, drains confidence, and practically begs to get sand kicked into its face. Yes, I’m evoking Charles Atlas here, and yes, I’ll stop.
Having said all this, I hasten to add that I do not expect at all to win this battle. “The proof is in the pudding” is but one isolated phrase in what could be a trend, a movement, an evolutionary wave. Doubtless somewhere, buried deep in a defended-then-abandoned doctoral thesis, a name for this phenomenon has already been coined in sparkling Latin. I’d propose reductio ad absurdum, but the rhetoriticians have claimed that bauble. And we’ll let Mrs. Malaprop keep her vintage eponym.
In the spirit of joining “‘em” when I cannot beat “‘em,” I now suggest a challenge: let us create some other phrases for common use, derived from familiar adages, proverbs, or other old soldiers of the Language Corps. In so doing, we must extract or alter two or more words, leaving behind a phrase that retains an air of timeless wisdom, while revealing at even modest inspection to have its life drained away.
Hmm. Perhaps we could call these “embalmed expressions.” I’ll begin:
• No use spilling milk.
• A stitch saves time.
• Don’t count your hatches.
• All ends in the well.
• Faulty stars lie in ourselves. (Nay, not even Shakespeare is immune!)
Forward the devolution!
At your best, Guy! I enjoyed reading this essay. I remember you pointed out one or two of these habits in my own speech many years ago. Then I began hearing them everywhere, including from my mother–ah, ha! A cause but not an excuse.