In this final post in Stage 1, we’ll wrap up our foundation, as I’ve been calling this stage, with a much-closer look at the subject, the predicate’s mate in the main clause (aka independent clause). But, before we get into this “subjective” exploration (and that’s more than a pun, as you will soon see), let’s recap our path to this point.
First and foremost, we’ve seen that every sentence needs a main clause (also called the independent clause). And we’ve learned that this MC consists of two required components: a subject (S) and a predicate (P).
Taking the next step, we’ve identified these two grammatical must-haves as 1) the thing (some noun form) that we’re talking about (that’s the subject) and 2) just what this subject that we’ve named is (according to our sentence) doing, being, or having. (Of course, we include all possible tenses, from past to future.) That’s the predicate, which centers on a verb.
Both subjects and predicates come in two forms: simple and complete. The simple forms of each are usually just one word; the complete forms can run from that same single word (if no others are used) to any length of identifying phrase. For example, “The man with the umbrella . . . invited us all to squeeze under with him.” You get it.
That’s a very basic of summary of our grammatical starting point. Mathematically speaking, S + P = MC. So far, so good, but let’s also remember that we have given this grammatical combination a non-grammatical identity, calling it the essence of a sentence. Now we are rising a bit above the grammatical level. Our sentence not only contains grammatical parts, it comes as a whole; it carries an essence. It’s more than just some namable parts.
Then, in our most recent post (Stage 1-e), we got up close and personal with the predicate, in three ways: grammatically, philosophically, and developmentally. Allow me to summarize.
At the grammatical (I say surface) level, we saw that the one-word simple predicate can be referred to also as the sentence’s main verb. The sentence might contain any number of verbs, but only one of these verbs, the one at the center of the predicate, that is, the simple predicate, holds the distinction as the main verb in the sentence. That’s the grammar level.
At the philosophical level, we speculated — as philosophy does — about the close relationship of S & P, up to and including the possibility that, without its predicate, the subject can’t even exist — the two come as a package deal. Each needs the other to “be.” That’s rather deep — and maybe not essential to even think about, but it does put an interesting light on the subject.
But whether or not the subject’s very existence is predicated upon a certain verb happening (pretty fanciful), one thing’s certain, as this post will explore: there definitely is no subject . . . until we name one and plunk it there. Until we choose and name one, there is no subject (hence no sentence!). There is just this empty space there — and plunk — a subject is born.
To finish up our recap, we further explored the predicate at a third level, which I’ve labeled just above as developmental. “How so?” you may wonder. What got “developed“? The very definition of predicate, that’s what got “developed”! We added a new verb possibility — having, to go with doing (always included in traditional definitions) and being (sometimes included, as I heartily applaud and even emphasize — for reasons I will specify when that issue matters more, in my system’s Stage 3). Unlike those inferior predicates you may have read about elsewhere, our predicate can even have something.
Reader-student, I think that you now understand the basics of . . . the basics. I think you have (see? “have” is not just about owning possessions! — there’s a lot of ways to have something!) a decent handle, now, on the essential ingredients of a sentence and how they interrelate. That might not seem like much, but remember where you started! Did you come onto this site already able to readily answer my starting question about the “one thing a sentence needs”? Now you understand it up and down. Our foundation, on which to build a greatly improved skill set, is almost in place.
With our progress thusly recapped, let’s take a a good close look — as we did at the predicate, at its necessary sentence sibling, the subject.
While we’re on the (shocking) “Subject” . . .
So let’s get back to the idea that, until you “plunk” one down, there “is“ no subject (yet). Now, are you ready for a shocker? Well, ready or not, here it comes.
You’ve heard of “just the facts?” Our legal system certainly has heard of it. It’s more-or-less the duty of officials in that system to present just that, when they write up any/all official reports. And, after they do, whatever they have written becomes a matter of public record. Officially (at least), what they wrote documents what happened.”
And the phrase “just the facts” also anchors the advice of most business-oriented writing books and websites: “Keep your messages as brief as possible. Just relay the essential facts.”
Well, here’s the shocker: As in life, in writing, there’s no such thing as “just the facts.” When I hear that phrase, from people telling me about their writing style (thinking they are somehow bragging), I love to “nuke” (sorry environmentalists) their naive worlds with just two words: “Which facts?”
We can turn that thought straight toward our present focus, “a closer look at the subject.” As I mentioned, just above, until you “plunk” down a subject (for your sentence) there “is” no subject. That is, you “invent” it, yourself. The subject of your sentence is never, somehow, simply “there, for the naming” as some kind of a given. You make it up — and, once you do, you likewise invent some form of “doing, being, or having” as your subject’s predicate. There. You just birthed a main clause. You made up both halves, yourself. And now, your reader gets “the facts”? Hmmm.
As you make these crucial (to your sentence) choices — we might even call them “essential choices” — you do so fueled by (or I might say, steered by) certain situational motivations. We can consider these “motivations” (as far as your S & P choice-making goes) as your biases. Oh, I forgot. You dutifully avoided all “bias” and simply stated “the facts.”
I’m saying that’s not possible. Nobody but Why-oh-YOU! chose and plunked down that subject. And the very same person, you, assigned it its predicate, on which your very subject’s continued viability is now “predicated” — or else the whole thing blows up!
Blame philosophy! I’m just the reporter. This is all your doing. And don’t go blaming some non-existent (in and of themselves) facts!
Do you get the humor there? I hope so, but, if not, here’s a little story that will help — if not to get you smiling, at least to make myself clear. These, certainly, are not “the facts”: they are “the facts” . . . I have chosen, starting with whatever subject I might plunk down, to get the sentence started.
Hmmm. Will I start with the subject, “I“? Will I start with “You“? Will I start with “My students?” Will I start with, “This one student, Jordan“? Hmmm. Which one will serve as most “factual“? Are you smiling yet? I hope so. But, if not, hang in there. It’s coming.
Put yourself in my classroom, on Day One
So you’re sitting there, on Day One of your required writing class (ugh!), and your new prof (the handsome devil) has just finished answering the early question, “Why is there no textbook in the bookstore for this class?” You’re not exactly sure what to make of his answer: “It’s because what you are going to learn in this class isn’t yet available in any book — and it won’t be, unless and until I write it. So I thought I would save you the hundred-plus bucks, for info you could have found online in a thousand places.” Unsurprisingly, you don’t hear any grumbling in the room.
Reader-student, welcome to class. Now, you’re getting the feel. And we’re just getting started. If you want to go and read my public reviews on ratemyprofessors.com, you will find that what happens, after Day One, actually worked out pretty well, for everybody. And it’s not just because I saved them $100+ on a required purchase that’s worth maybe a tenth of that. Big maybe, there. Anyway, back to our scene, first day of class.
So the professor, who, puzzlingly, has not yet bothered to hand out the syllabus (as usually happens during the first few minutes of most initial class meetings), instructs you and your new classmates to “please pull out a sheet of paper and something to write with.”
You and your classmates do so, and the prof continues, “Now, I want you to observe me for just a few seconds and get ready to write down — in just one sentence! — what happened. All I want is for you to report, in your sentence, just the simplest and plainest fact. In one sentence, write down what happened.”
He continues, “It’s just one sentence. You can’t elaborate. Just observe very closely, since it will happen fast, and then write down what happened — just the simplest fact.” (I loved this ritual and began every writing class with it for years, so I can recall my spiel pretty much verbatim.)
So you get out your paper and pen (maybe a pencil, as the prof had recommend, for possible revision), and you watch him walk back over to his seat (I liked to roam around the classroom as I taught), at the head of the long, U-shaped arrangement of tables in the room (as I had set them up, if they weren’t already in that pattern, when I’d first entered the room, before anyone else), and he says, “Now watch very closely.”
Well, what happens next?
Good question! What does “happen next”? Whereas I’d asked that the students record “just the simplest fact of your observation,” what always came back, as I asked the students, going around the room, to read what they had written down, turned into an eye-opening diversity of “just the facts”!
What actually happened before their (various) eyes? What “went down,” in about three seconds, in front of them? Well, that depends on whom you ask. Sure, come common threads would emerge, among their 20 or so impromptu “oral reports,” as we went around the room. But so did a lot of one-of-a-kind subjects and predicates.
As the students, in their turn, recited their sentences, I would track just the Ss and Ps on a simple tally on the chalkboard — the Ss down one column and Ps down another column. I would chalk just the simple Ss and Ps, so I could easily keep up, recording only those two essential words, as they’d there sentence. By the time we’d made it around the room, the chalkboard told quite a tale — or should I say a lot of different tales. Yes, that’s the point of this story.
One brief, physical, and very simple (!) event always produced many different subjects and predicates, among some fairly common choices, of course. That’s why I never abandoned this opening-day ritual, after first trying it, way back when. Other classroom activities that I would try out worked or didn’t, and some came and went. I liked trying new things. But this one, I stayed with till the end. It always set a clear and convincing stage for what I soon would be teaching them for the next four months.
So what actually happened in front of them? Well, if you want my side of it — and the accounts do vary — I would say that I picked up the travel-mug on my desk, held it in front of me and flipped open the tab with my thumb, brought the mug to my lips, then reacted with a very sour face and quickly pulled it away from my nose, as if disgusted.
That’s “what really happened.” And I should know. I was there (ha ha). The joke? So was everyone else “reporting at the scene.” And the chalkboard filled up with quite a telling variety of “just the facts.”
Since this present post (among the six that comprise this foundational Stage 1 of my system) focuses closely on “the subject,” let me share a few of the simple subjects that I would hear (just the one central noun — so, in “the mysterious professor,” just “professor,” remember?). Most were fairly common, from one student to the next and one group to the next. A few, I might have heard only once — ever. Isn’t that interesting?
Doesn’t it make you admire (or, at least, wonder about) the person who would observe a scene likewise observed by hundreds but whose report, at its essence — not the details, its essential make-up — matched no other? By sheer definition, that person thereby becomes exceptional. Some might label the person weird. Others might say crazy. Others might say brilliant. Reports will vary; they usually do.
But “usually” must not be confused (as it often is!) with “always.” Sometimes “reports” do align pretty well, especially when reduced to their essence: subject and predicate. Since our focus right now is on the subject, let me share with you a few I would regularly hear. Remember, the subject centers on a noun, which means a name. The reporter thusly names the subject.
(Here’s a quick “aside” — just food for thought: Do you think that the act of naming reveals many things about the namer? Well, when they’re all naming the same act, an act intentionally kept simple, it surely does! In fact, that’s the very kind thing that interests analysts with my type of training, that is, discourse analysts. What does the naming say about the namer?)
And the winner is . . .
From clear memory, the most common “subject” came as a noun type called the pronoun: in this case, the “second person, subjective” pronoun. (I will present, in the nearby blog subcategory Essential Additions, a full lesson on pronouns.) Can you guess which pronoun counts as the “second-person, subjective”? Well, that’s just a fancy name for “you.” So the most common subject that these students would record and, when asked, report, came in, by a good margin, as you: “You . . .” did such and such (fill in predicate).
Boy, I could write a whole book about these responses and their implications. Of course, for that, I would need a better record of “the data” than just my memory. Some graduate student (or professor/researcher) could replicate what I am now reporting and make quite a fertile study of the data! Me? I’m retired (from that stuff, anyway). Now, I’m focused on you!
So that’s the second-person pronoun, and by “second person,” I mean that they are addressing the listener directly: You did such and such. That might seem a natural choice for the student/reporter, but I could ask, “Who invited you to address me, in my higher position of authority, directly. In some cultures, the lower status “offender” might get slapped in the face for addressing the “higher-up”as “you”! I’m just making a point. (See how we discourse analysts think? We start with what the words say and then move onto what the words do.)
Anyway, in other common instances, the subject (in their main clauses) would not be characterized with a pronoun but with a name: “The professor . . .” or “The teacher . . . ” or, interestingly, “The man . . . .” Wouldn’t have been funny if some student dared to name the complete subject, “The fool with the cheap-ass travel mug” (simple subject, “fool“)? How we name our subjects does say a lot about us! That may be cute example, depending upon whom you ask (our whole point here!). So now let me make another point, again invoking pronouns.
On rare occasions — not even once every class — in response to “just write down what happened,” a student would begin not the second-person pronoun (You) nor the third-person (He), but the first-person (I): “I saw the professor pick up his cup and . . . .” Now that, to this reporter (me), most accurately expresses “what happened”! A student saw X, Y, or Z.
Boy, on the “validity/truth” scale, that person rules! Who (by whatever name) did what (however described) can always be debated on both counts. But nobody can argue with the sentence essence or — if you remember back — the sentence kernel: I saw.
You see, Reader-student, I would perform and conduct this Day-One classroom demonstration mainly to demonstrate the importance — and power — of subjects and predicates. But I also wanted to use the demonstration to initiate another central theme of the course: you should choose your Ss and Ps wisely, especially when you have time to consider alternatives!
And I want to impress upon you, in sharing this story and even trying to put you into the scene, that people usually do have time to consider their essential sentence alternatives, especially when not speaking live, but when writing. So I will end my instructive tale by bringing in the so-far missing element, the reported predicates.
Above, where I gave you my account of “what happened,” my brief description told only one side of the tale — let’s call it the outside or observable side. I picked up my mug, etc. As I wrap up this “instructive tale,” I will point out that not one student ever reported what really “happened” — according to me, the “act-or,” anyway. That is, never did I hear, among the reports, “You, as professor on Day One, performed some odd stunt, the point of which is anybody’s guess, but yours” (kernel, You performed.)
So what have we learned about subjects?
Well, I hope that my fondly recalled classroom scenario succeeds in showing you the subject in a new light. Now, moving on, we can connect the grammatical term, subject — which, itself, is a noun — to a different usage of the grammatical term — this time, as an adjective.
With the proper suffix added, our term becomes “subject-ive,” which we’ve always known as somehow dependent upon the viewer‘s perspective and biases. That’s what subjective means: basically, “It depends . . .” on who is doing the reporting — and why (and the idea of motive returns!).
If you think of items on an exam in school, subjective items offer some wiggle room in answering. Their obvious opposites are the objective items, which offer no grey area — where the answer is black or white, right or wrong. At least on the subjective test items, you get to make your case.
In fact, at the heart of what I am trying for, as the central goal of this whole website (enlightening and energizing your authenticity — what makes you different, even special), let me note that, even on the “objective” exam items, nothing (except yourself) prevents you from “making your case” after the fact (maybe up at the prof’s desk), even on the so-called objective items!
“True or false, Prof ??? You say, “true,” but here’s why “false” also works . . . .” Maybe once, out of five tries, I would win that debate — so not the best odds, I admit. But, assuming I pitched my case with clear respect shown, what did it cost me? Nothing. In fact, just as sometimes in sports, we protest the call not expecting it to be overturned. . . but for next time! Get it? I want the “make-up call,” on the next close one, to go my way. It’s only fair. 🙂
Who (besides Einstein) would have thought?
Who is your collegiate four-oh! repeater? I am. It sometimes took a little “authenticity” — in fact, it always did! That’s why I majored in the social sciences — ha ha. Even the profs, in social science disciplines, at least, have to admit to some subject-ivity! Everything in social science depends on a lot! In fact, if you believe in Einstein’s theory of relativity, the same is even true in the physical sciences. Apart from Albert Einstein, who would have thought that?
I know who — and get ready for a laugh. It’s those philosophers we made fun of (for their BS!) back when we were considering how the predicate might, somehow “make” the subject! You remember the philosophers who proposed that the very existence of our subject — which we now more clearly see as subject–ive — was “predicated” on outside forces, namely its predicate . . . as subjectively assigned by, well . . . it depends!
You got all that? Sure you do. I mean, really, you do. It wasn’t BS, after all. We make up (or we can say invent, or create or maybe construct — or even construe!) the subject, and then we hand it its predicate, and they combine to comprise a main clause, which represents not the facts, but our “facts” — in, I will add, a context, with other sentences coming before and more sentences to come after.
I’ll tell you who “wouldn’t have thought” — or, should I say, “couldn’t have thought” — that both subject and predicate are subjective. I refer to anyone (or institution) that operates on the assumption that there is such a thing as “just the facts.” We can’t even know one fact, for sure (!), without acknowledging the subjectivity built into every subject we “name” and every predicate we assign, in every sentence we write or even utter.
That’s what we’ve learned about the subject. And to think, our online grammar guide (all zillion of them) defines the subject for us very simply, in one fairly brief (at least, compared to mine!) sentence. As I presently type on my laptop, I am reading straight from my phone. I’ve asked my search engine, “What is a grammatical subject?”
The answer that came up is not identified as AI-written (sometimes, such is duly noted), but, from the oddly thrown-in word in parentheses, I smell something rotten — yes, to me, AI stinks. I want a real human’s voice! Anyway, here is the “just ask AI” definition of the grammatical subject. Maybe we can call this, “just the facts“:
“A grammatical subject is the part of the sentence or clause–typically a noun, pronoun, or noun phrase–that performs the action (agent) or exists in the state of being described by the verb.” (See how “(agent)” comes in awkwardly? That’s the smell of AI, to me.)
Well, there you have it: the grammatical subject defined. Simple as that. Who needed my whole post, above, including my fond classroom remembrance?
Well, I think we did. At least we do, if we want to understand the term subject, such that it can help us to actually write — and with exceptional clarity, precision, validity, correctness, style, and personal authenticity. Is that asking too much, Reader-student?
I don’t think so. Not when you are now learning a whole system for understanding what you are doing, essentially. With every sentence we write, we subjectively name a subject, and then we assign it something, in our continued subjectivity, to do, be or have.
I will provide some further nuances of subjects and predicates in Stage 2 — coming next — where we look at the prospect of including, in our sentence, more than one main clause and look a little closer at other “add-ins” we might include in our sentences, including how and where we might include them. Doesn’t that sound like fun? (Lie if you have to. Just kidding. Kinda.)
The first stage, now complete
Well, you’ve now made it all the way through Stage 1 of my system of “Activated Writing.” Every bit of what you’ve just learned will come into even greater clarity and importance in the next two stages. I hope you are proud of yourself, for reading — and striving to understand — all that I have presented so far. Now, I wouldn’t call my now-concluded Stage 1 as “just the facts,” but I am proudly calling what you have read in these six posts, “my facts.”
Owing to the power of authenticity — which I want from you and, therefore, am trying to model for you — only right here, on Up-Wordz.com, can you read my perspective, presented my way. You are not reading the same ol’, same ol’ “stuff” you could have read on Grammarly or any other “writer’s resource.” Instead, I have shown you a new way of thinking about how you speak and, especially write . . . everything.
Authenticity? You can get there from here. Stages 2 — and then 3 — await your attention and learning.