Going Deeper Into Language - 3

Part III:
Watching Out Against the Fallacies of Relevance

We have already taken up the nine most common kinds of material fallacies, so we will now proceed to the second broad category of logical fallacies—the fallacies of relevance, which are arguments that seek to persuade people to accept evidently nonlogical propositions.

In this form of fallacy, the premises and evidence offered are actually irrelevant to the conclusion, but they are couched in language that makes them somehow psychologically or emotionally persuasive. People often have very strong opinions about the issues in fallacies of this kind, so they seldom notice when their attention has been diverted from the real issue.

Indeed, on the strength of one person’s persuasive powers alone, fallacies of relevance are often demonstrably false and can hook in only the unwary, the predisposed, and the gullible. But with the growing sophistication of their purveyors in using the modern mass media, particularly television and radio and the Internet, this form of illogic often acquires enough power to break the rational defenses of even the intellectually sophisticated and astute.

The 13 most common kinds of fallacies of relevance, identified and catalogued as early as 2,600 years ago during Aristotle’s time, are the following: fallacies of irrelevance (ignoratio elenchi), personal ridicule (ad hominem), appeal to the people (ad populum), appeal to authority (ad verecundiam), appeal to ignorance (ad ignorantiam), appeal to pity (ad misericordiam), appeal to force (ad baculum), appeal to money (ad crumenam), emotive language, tu quoque, genetic error, anthropomorphism, and non sequitur.

We will now dissect a few specimens and show why their kind of reasoning can’t stand rigorous logical scrutiny.

Fallacies of irrelevance. Better known as ignoratio elenchi (which means “irrelevant conclusion”), this broad category covers practically all of the fallacies of relevance. They try to establish the truth of a proposition with arguments that support an entirely different conclusion. Example: “I’ve been accused of fathering my secretary’s child, but she actually signed an affidavit that the child is actually the fruit of artificial insemination. Therefore, I couldn’t have possibly fathered that child.”

That the woman had declared under oath that her child was conceived through artificial insemination would seem to clear the man of wrongdoing. However, it really isn’t conclusive proof that he didn’t father that child. What if the woman, out of love or terror or poverty or charity, is simply trying to protect the man’s reputation? The affidavit—that all-purpose device of law to support truth and falsehood alike—doesn’t really settle the biological and parental aspect of the premises. The only thing it proves is that the woman signed it. (Thankfully, modern science has developed the DNA test to scientifically debunk fallacies of this type.)

Personal ridicule (ad hominem). When someone ridicules another rather than directly addresses the premises of his or her argument, one commits the fallacy of personal ridicule. Two examples: “You wouldn’t believe someone of such low social stature, would you?” “She may be right about the country’s economic situation, but don’t you remember that she was outrageously wrong twice during the past 10 years?”

Easily the most popular variety of this fallacy is the so-called “straw man,” the tactic of misrepresenting someone’s argument to make it easier to refute. The trick is to distort an aspect of someone’s premises to make it less credible, attack the now distorted position, and then claim that the whole argument has been refuted.

Take the following conversation as an example: Niece to uncle: “Uncle, I’d like to take up mass communications instead of nursing. I think I’m not really cut out for nursing.” Uncle to niece: “You unthinking moron! Mass communications graduates today are dime a dozen. Nursing is the most in-demand job abroad these days!”)

We are now done with the first two the 13 most common kinds of fallacies of relevance, namely the fallacies of irrelevance (ignoratio elenchi) and personal ridicule (ad hominem). Now we’ll take up the next five: appeal to the people (ad populum), appeal to authority (ad verecundiam), appeal to ignorance (ad ignorantiam), appeal to pity (ad misericordiam), and appeal to force (ad baculum).

Appeal to the people (ad populum). This is the fallacy of using the presumed feelings, actions, and prejudices of the general population to support an invalid argument, as in this assertion: “67.8% of our TV texters say that that high official couldn’t be guilty of corruption. He really must be innocent!” Two insidious varieties of this fallacy are mainstays in product advertising and religious belief: the bandwagon, as in “Nine out of every 10 doctors use X toothpaste. High time you did!”, and appeal to belief: “All of us in this town are true believers. You must be the son of the Devil if you aren’t.”

                                    

Appeal to authority (ad verecundiam). This is the fallacy of supporting dubious or patently false premises with the opinion of a leader, authority, or expert in a field outside the field being discussed: “Our beloved Brother Y got a message from Heaven that M should be our next president. We’ve got no choice but to vote for M.” It may sound ridiculous, but the danger to modern society is that fanaticism of all stripes almost always makes this kind of fallacy work with people of certain persuasions—especially clueless believers.

Appeal to ignorance (ad ignorantiam). This is the fallacy of assuming that a premise is correct because it can’t be disproved. Here’s its basic form: “There’s no proof that what you say is true; therefore, what you say isn’t true.” The same illogic runs in this assertion: “We have no evidence that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe, so no intelligent life must exist elsewhere in the universe.”

The same faulty reasoning props up the “guilty until proven innocent” fallacy, in which police authorities make suspects wear the orange garb of prisoners and then parade them before the broadcast and print media. They score media and political points in doing this, of course, but they are actually engaging in a blatant appeal to ignorance, running roughshod over the legal presumption that someone is “innocent until proven guilty.”

Appeal to pity (ad misericordiam). This is the fallacy of trying to get support for one’s premises not on logical grounds but on compassion. In Philippine parlance this is the “paawa” (“have mercy on me”) effect; elsewhere it is known as the “victim mentality.” This form of illogic marks many court pleadings, as when a defense lawyer asks for leniency towards his self-confessed client: “Your Honor, he may have killed the winning candidate but he is a highly intelligent law graduate whose conviction will forever ruin what could be a most illustrious legal and political career.”

Appeal to force (ad baculum). When the usual means of persuasion fail, some people use threat and intimidation to compel others to accept their argument. This is the most insidious fallacy of all because it marks the end of civility and the beginning of belligerence: “Park here at your own risk.” “If I hear that line from you again, you better start looking for another job.” “If they convict me of treason, the government will have a bigger rebellion in their hands.” “Mr. Senator, you’ve just called me a crook. Say that again without parliamentary immunity and I’ll slap you with a twenty-million-peso libel suit!”

We’ve already discussed seven of the 13 most common kinds of the fallacies of relevance, which are arguments that attempt to persuade people to accept evidently nonlogical propositions. This time we’ll take up the next three: appeal to money (ad crumenam), emotive language (argumentum ad populum), and the “You also” or “You, too” fallacy (tu quoque).

Appeal to money (ad crumenam). This is the fallacy of thinking that money is a reliable standard of correctness, and that the more moneyed one is, is more likely one will be right. Consider the bias in this all-too-common passing motorist’s remark about a car collision along the way: “That Toyota Fortuner is obviously not the aggressor because it’s brand-new and much more expensive than that old Beetle, and it was being driven for that respectable-looking executive. Look, that Beetle’s careless driver isn’t even shaven and is only in a dirty undershirt!”

In the so-called appeal to poverty (argumentum ad lazarum), this fallacy works in reverse: “That Toyota Fortuner is obviously at fault because it’s much sturdier and bigger than that old Beetle. The Fortuner’s driver must have bullied the poor Beetle’s driver and raced him  to the intersection.” Of course, the appeal to money and the appeal to poverty, which together are counted as one type of fallacy, are both illogical ways of looking at the situation, for we know that neither greater wealth nor poverty indicates greater good or truth.

Emotive language (argumentum ad populum). This is the fallacy of using emotionally loaded words to establish a claim without proof; the appeal is neither to reason nor logic but to the beliefs or feeling of the majority of the people towards a particular issue.

One remarkable example of emotive language in history is the response of Spain’s Queen Isabella when Christopher Columbus broached to her in the year 1493 the idea that based on his trans-Atlantic voyage, the Earth must be a sphere. She was recorded to have said: “The Earth must be flat. Millions of people know that it is. Are you trying to tell them that they are all mistaken fools?” (Based on modern scientific knowledge, of course, they were and so was she!)

As we all know, emotive language is likewise the bread-and-butter stuff of political advertising. By using strong emotional rather than rational appeals, political slogans attempt to short-circuit the logical evaluation of the candidate’s fitness for the position by making the candidate’s name resonate positively in the voter’s mind.

Consider these slogans of the presidential candidates in the 2016 Philippine national elections: Rodrigo Duterte: “Tapang at Malasakit” (“Fearlessness and Compassion”); Manuel “Mar” Araneta Roxas II: “Ituloy ang Daang Matuwid” (“Continue the Straight Path”); Grace Poe Llamanzares: “Gobyernong May Puso” (“Government with a Heart”); Jejomar Binay: “Competence and Experience: Only Binay”) and the late Miriam Defensor Santiago: “Si Miriam and Sagot!” (“Miriam is the Answer!”). Regardless of their truthfulness or validity, only in retrospect would we know if these slogans actually work in getting a candidate elected.  

“You also” or “You, too” fallacy (tu quoque). This is the fallacy of demolishing someone’s position by presenting evidence that his or her past actions or beliefs are inconsistent with the position or view he or she is presenting now. A very common example in Philippine elections is this argument: “Your party cheated heavily to win in the last elections, so why is your party advocating honesty now and condemning my party for preparing to do what you did in the coming elections?” It’s the obnoxious tit-for-tat mentality that bedevils supposedly free and democratic elections.

We’ve already taken up 10 of the 13 most common kinds of the fallacies of relevance, which are arguments that attempt to persuade people to accept nonlogical propositions. Now we’ll now discuss the last three: genetic error fallacy, anthropomorphism (pathetic fallacy); and non sequitur (Latin for “it doesn’t follow”).

Genetic error. A variation of the ad hominem (personal ridicule), this fallacy doesn’t necessarily attack the person directly; instead, it attacks the origins of the position that person is proposing. This fallacy is termed “genetic” because it’s based on the notion that the original source of an idea is a reliable basis for evaluating its truth or reasonableness.

One example of the this fallacy is this argument: “You believe that that there are measurable differences in IQ among the different human races? You must be a despicable racist then!” This highly emotional diatribe is often raised against scientists who, based on their objective and dispassionate researches, as much as privately and quietly raise such a possibility.

Understandably, people of any race will find that view horrid and patently unacceptable, but this belief has no bearing on whether such IQ differences do, in fact, exist. Indeed, in an honest-to-goodness effort to establish logical proof, where an argument comes from is irrelevant.

Anthropomorphism (pathetic fallacy). This type of fallacy treats animals or inanimate objects as if they had human feelings, thoughts, or sensations. Although using the pathetic fallacy can be a good way to make complex concepts or difficult ideas more easily understood, it can be carried to unreasonable, illogical extremes.

One useful pathetic fallacy is this personification of the behavior of gases: “Air hates to be crowded, and when compressed it will try to escape to an area of lower pressure.” Being inanimate, air is obviously incapable of hating and of trying to escape; it just behaves according to natural law. Still, attributing human traits to air makes its behavior more comprehensible.  

But anthropomorphism can take this much less useful and more odious form: superstition. For example, growing a fortune plant right outside the door of the house is supposed to bring good luck to the homeowner. However, when the fortune plant doesn’t grow well despite adequate care, it is anthropomorphism to conclude that the fortune plant detests the homeowner and won’t bring good luck. Conversely, it is also anthropomorphism to believe that the fortune plant’s robust growth will bring great fortune to the homeowner. In reality, regardless of whether its owner has good or bad luck, the fortune plant will grow largely on its own accord, depending only on the care it gets.

Non sequitur (Latin for “it doesn’t follow”). In formal logic, a non sequitur is any argument whose conclusion doesn’t follow from its premises. The conclusion may either be true or false, but the fallacy in the argument arises from a disconnect between the premise and the conclusion. Indeed, all of the formal fallacies we’ve taken up are special cases of non sequitur.

The campaign trail for national elections is invariably littered with non sequiturs, as in these very instructive election slogans in 2010: “Kung Walang Corrupt, Walang Mahirap” (If No One’s Corrupt, No One will Be Poor); “Para sa Mabilis na Pag-aahon” (For Quick Recovery); “Pagbabago Sigurado” (Change for Sure); “Ipagpatuloy ang Magandang Simula” (Let’s Continue Our Beautiful Beginning).

Scrutiny of each of these slogans will quickly show that the conclusion doesn’t follow from the premise; in short, the statement is a fallacy, often unrealistic and logically indefensible. They are simply attention-getters and rallying cries.

This ends our discussion of the 13 most common kinds of fallacies of relevance. We’ll take up next and for last the verbal fallacies, or the false statements or conclusions that result from the improper or ambiguous use of words.

Next: Watching out against the verbal fallacies       September 7, 2023  

Going Deeper Into Language - 2

Part II:  
Watching out against the material fallacies - 1

Practically every language textbook cautions us against the logical fallacies, which have bedeviled mankind from the very beginning and even long after Aristotle had painstakingly classified them and had cautioned us against them over 2,400 years ago. Logical fallacies are those errors in our judgment that often result from fuzzy thinking, errors that—on hindsight—we sometimes can correct not long after. For political ends, however, some propaganda practitioners have developed the art of using language to deceive and to deliberately trap us into making such judgment errors. This is the danger that logical fallacies foist on our everyday lives. 

Logical fallacies are of three broad categories: material or informal fallacies, fallacies of relevance, and verbal fallacies. Let’s see how they operate to befuddle the minds of even supposedly rational thinkers, including ourselves.

Like that paper clip linking the steel chain above, a logical fallacy
 is an illogical statement that weakens an argument

Material or informal fallacies        

We present an argument through two basic tools of language: premises and presuppositions. Our premises are what we start our arguments with; to be believable, of course, these arguments must be self-evident or already part of so-called “common knowledge.” For instance, everybody accepts as true—as a “given”—that the sun rises from the east. What we should be wary about such presuppositions is that we often take them for granted based on blind faith alone. They generally cannot be proved or disproved at the moment they are presented.

Take this sweeping statement: “More people die in cities than anywhere else. Therefore, living in the city will hasten your death.” The material fallacy here is assuming that one outcome is caused by another just because one happens after the other, but the two outcomes could be both caused by another event, or, as in this case, they could be totally unrelated. Indeed, a conclusion isn’t adequately proven when the premises of an argument contain wrong presuppositions—a wrongness that could be artfully obscured by astute propagandists or by well-versed academic debaters.

Taking these caveats into account, let’s now formally look into nine of the most common kinds of material or informal fallacies: false cause, hasty generalization, misapplied generalization, false dilemma, compound question, false analogy, contradictory premises, circular reasoning, and insufficient or suppressed evidence.

COMMON EXAMPLES OF MATERIAL OR INFORMAL FALLACIES

False cause. The first example of material fallacy given above is of this kind—it assumes that an event is caused by another event simply because it happens after the latter: “More people die in cities than anywhere else. Therefore, living in the city will hasten your death.” Statistically, because of the denser populations of cities, more people do die in cities than in the countrysides. However, this is only because there are much more numerous city dwellers than countryside dwellers who will eventually die whether from natural or other causes. It doesn’t follow though that living in the city will hasten your death. For instance, if you are a sickly person, the modern medical facilities of city hospitals could very well prolong your life rather than hasten your demise.

The most common false-cause fallacies are superstitions. Despite being well-educated, for instance, many people fall prey to this absurd false-cause belief: “Never proceed on your way when a black cat crosses your path. It is bad luck and many people actually died when they ignored that omen.” It just could have happened that sometime in the past, perhaps one or two people died from one cause or another after proceeding when a black cat crossed their path, but this doesn’t mean that this is a sure outcome of that eventuality.

Also common is the false-cause fallacy of chain letters like this one: “Juan de la Cruz didn’t forward his copy of this particular e-mail to three other people, and three days later Juan died.” Who among us has not been taken in by this veiled threat?

Part II:
Watching out against the material fallacies - 2

We first took up false cause as among the nine most common kinds of material fallacies. The fallacy of false cause wrongly assumes that one outcome is caused by another just because one happens after the other, when the two outcomes could be both caused by another event, or they could be totally unrelated. This time we’ll discuss the fallacies of hasty generalization, misapplied generalization, false dilemma, and compound question.

Hasty generalization. We fall victim to this fallacy when we make a general rule based on only a few examples, or on examples that are really exceptions. Take this statement: “His parents were great public administrators; therefore, he will be a great administrator, too.” The hasty generalization here is presuming that the traits and skills for good public administration can be passed on genetically to one’s offsprings without fail. If this were true, then all a country needs to do to be administered well perpetually is to breed a family—nay, a dynasty—of genetically excellent public administrators. We all know that this remains a pipe dream for all nations all over the world.

EXAMPLE OF HASTY GENERALIZATION

Misapplied generalization. When we misapply a certain generalization to a specific case that’s actually an exception to the rule, that generalization becomes materially fallacious. Look at this generalization: “Vegetables are nutritious; therefore, this piece of cabbage must be nutritious.” Cabbage is nutritious, of course, but maybe that particular cabbage you’d like to cook may already be rotten and no longer edible—hence, no longer nutritious.

Here’s an even more scalding generalization: “The graduates of X University have not worked hard and made a genuine effort in college, so they cannot keep any of their appointments and present carelessly written papers.” The fallacy here is that while the accusation may be true of certain students, it may not apply with respect to all the students of X University in general. It would have been fairer and more accurate to specifically address the accusation to—and rebuke—the students who were actually guilty of such academic transgressions.

False dilemma. Who has not been fascinated by the sensuous sell? “I allow only X [bathing soap, body lotion, intimate ointment] to touch my skin.” “I wear Y [briefs, panties, jeans] or nothing at all.” This materially fallacious argument prods us to overlook alternative possibilities, thus creating a false dilemma for us.

The false dilemma is also called the “either-or fallacy”—the choice is made to look like a dilemma when there are actually other viable alternatives. For example, someone respectable may have demonstrated an apparent skill in correctly predicting the outcome of horse races. Can the following statement then be made about that person? “Either that man’s a fraud or he’s psychic. Since it’s obvious he’s not a fraud, he must be truly psychic.” This is committing the fallacy of false dilemma, however, for it’s also possible that he’s a respectable person demonstrating psychic powers fraudulently, or he’s a fraudulent person who truly possesses psychic powers.

Compound question. Who has not yet encountered aggressive door-to-door preachers who, when politely told that you’re too busy, would tell you this in an aggrieved, mildly threatening tone: “You mean to say that you dare refuse God to enter your house?” This is the classic compound question, otherwise called the complex question or loaded question, devilishly phrased to limit the possibilities of one’s answer. Its simpler variation is the so-called persuasive definition, which deceptively fashions the terms of the argument to support the conclusion.

Also called “poisoning the well,” the compound question is designed to prevent or avoid any opposing arguments and incriminates the answerer regardless of the response he or she gives. This is because any answer would admit the preliminary conclusions built into the question.

Part II: 
Watching out against the material fallacies - 3

We’ve already discussed five of the most common kinds of material fallacies—false cause, hasty generalizations, misapplied generalizations, false dilemma, and compound generalization—so we’ll now proceed to the remaining four: false analogy, contradictory premises, circular reasoning, and insufficient or suppressed evidence.

False analogy. When an analogy is drawn between dissimilar or totally unrelated objects or ideas, the result is the false, unreliable analogy that’s better known as the mangoes-and-bananas comparison: “Bananas are as delicious and tasty as mangoes.” But here’s a more complex, deceiving example: “Minds, like rivers, can be broad. The broader the river, the shallower it is. Therefore, the broader the mind, the shallower it is.” On closer scrutiny, we find this analogy to be false because minds (abstract) and rivers (physical) are actually totally dissimilar and unrelated objects.

We all know how powerful an analogy could be. It can persuade us to transfer the feeling of certainty we have about one subject to another subject that we may not have an opinion yet. But we must be extremely cautious with such analogies because they rely on the questionable principle that because two things are similar in some respects, they’d be similar in some other respects. Indeed, when relevant differences outweigh relevant similarities, a false analogy results.

Contradictory premises. A basic rule in logic is that a conclusion is valid only when its premises don’t contradict one another; thus, an argument with conflicting or inconsistent premises is automatically invalid, as in this classical question: “What will happen if an irresistible force meets an immovable object?” The fallacy here is that in a universe where an irresistible force exists, no immovable object could also exist because it would negate the existence of that irresistible force.

Two more of these brain-bending fallacies: “Into what shape of a slot would a rectangular circle fit?” “If God is all-powerful, can he create a rock so huge and so heavy that He cannot lift it?” The premises of both of these questions can’t be valid, so there’s really no way of logically answering them.

Circular reasoning. This material fallacy results when the assertion to be proved is later used in the argument as an already-proven fact. Also known as “begging the question” (petitio principii in Latin), circular reasoning is common even among the intelligent; people just have a natural predisposition to it.

We sometimes engage in varying degrees of self-deception to keep our self-respect or massage our egos: “I must be good-looking because I really think so.” “Although I take bribes as a government official, I’m a man of integrity because I treat people well and give generously to charity.” (Clearly, though, charity and kindness of this type don’t prove integrity.)

Circular reasoning becomes dangerous when large sectors of the population actively pursue it as a way of life and as communal pastime: “He will be a good president because he’s already extremely wealthy and will have no more motivation to pocket public funds.”

Insufficient or suppressed evidence. This is the material fallacy that (1) uses as proof only the facts that support the predetermined conclusion, or (2) disregards or ignores all other pertinent facts. A loyal handmaiden of circular reasoning, this form of illogic gently prods people to close their minds to contrary evidence and decide solely on gut-feel.

Take these two examples: “This buffoon makes me laugh so I’ll vote for him as president; he has no public service experience, but he’s a fast learner so I’m sure he’ll learn to govern fast enough.” “We’ve had bright lawyer-presidents who just misgoverned our country terribly, so this time I’m voting for any trustworthy nonlawyer even with low IQ.”

We’ll move on next time to the second broad category of logical fallacies—the fallacies of relevance.

Next: Watching out against the fallacies of relevance     September 1, 2023

Going Deeper Into Language -1

Part I - The need for logical thinking in our everyday life

As an introduction to the need for logical thinking in our everyday life, I’d like to relate how over breakfast in mid-2003, my wife Leonor wagged the front page of the morning newspaper at me and said: “Look at this headline at the very top of the paper. It says ‘State of public education: 1 doctor per 90,000 studes.’ I can’t say exactly what the problem is, but I think something’s terribly wrong here.” 

I stared at the headline and blinked: “‘State of public education: 1 doctor per 90,000 students’? Mmm... I think the headline-writer really meant ‘State of school health care: 1 doctor per 90,000 studes.’ The poor guy must have missed a lot of sleep. That there’s only one doctor per 90,000 students in the public schools certainly couldn’t be a measure of the state of public education. The state of literacy and quality of instruction perhaps, but just one doctor attending to them? That’s really weird!”

“So why do they make a headline like that?” Leonor asked.

“Well, love, in formal logic, that headline would be called a fallacy of irrelevance, which is better known by its Latin name ignoratio elenchi, meaning ‘irrelevant conclusion.’ This type of fallacy tries to establish the truth of a proposition with arguments that support an entirely different conclusion.”

“You mean the guys putting out this newspaper didn’t know that? Don’t they teach formal logic in mass communication or journalism?”

“Of course they do! Formal logic is a college requirement, but sometimes, when mental fatigue sets in, even the best minds fall for fallacies of irrelevance. The worst case is the non sequitur, another Latin term that literally means ‘it doesn’t follow.’ Non sequiturs are arguments that fail to establish a connection between their premises and their conclusion. And then there are the so-called verbal fallacies, those false conclusions people make when words are used improperly or ambiguously. If I’m not mistaken, that headline is also a classic case of the verbal fallacy of abstraction. That’s the logical error of focusing on only one aspect of reality and then pronouncing it to be the whole truth.”

“Well, I’m sure our Education officials can just require schools to teach logic better. It’s scary. If this newspaper can be this illogical right on the front page, I can’t imagine how it will be with the lesser ones.”

“It’s really scary, Leonor, but I’m not very sure if our Education officials are even aware of the problem,” I said. “It looks like they have the same problem with English and logic—probably even worse. Just yesterday, while passing by their central offices along Meralco Avenue in Pasig City, I saw a big billboard of theirs that almost made my eyes pop out.”

“Why?” she asked, sipping her coffee. “What did the billboard say?”

“Well, the billboard had something to do with iodized salt. It said it was a joint project of the LGU, DEC, DOH, Kiwanis, and UNICEF—the big guns in development, you might say. But you wouldn’t believe the slogan they had on that billboard. It said: ‘Be Intelligent. Use Iodized Salt Every Day.’”

“So what’s wrong with that? Seems to me like sensible nutritional advice.”

“My love,” I chided her, “don’t you see? That slogan is actually a very serious verbal fallacy. It’s the fallacy of equivocation. It uses the word ‘intelligent’ in more than one sense, yet gives the impression that only one is meant. The first fallacy is that you can make yourself intelligent simply by an act of will. The second is that using iodized salt every day will make you intelligent. They are a double non sequitur, a double absurdity. Both childish oversimplifications—and dangerous.”

“I see what you mean. You’re right, and now that really scares me like hell!”

This essay, 1048th  of a series, appeared in the weekly column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in the Education Section of The Manila Times, July 13, 2017 issue (print edition only), © 2017 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

Next: Part II - Watching out against the material fallacies     August 28, 2023

When Educators Use Befuddling English

When Educators Befuddle
By Jose A. Carillo

My son Eduardo, who was then in third year high, got befuddled one day by a source material he wanted to use for his school report on Philippine culture. He had chanced upon it on the op-ed page of one of the leading newspapers.

“Dad, I found a very impressive report on the effect of culture on globalization,” he said. “The only problem is that I can’t seem to understand what it’s saying. Can you help me? Listen:

“Basically, globalization indicates a qualitative deepening of the internationalization process, strengthening the functional and weakening the territorial dimension of development.”


You always told me that I’m good in English, but I just can’t seem to understand that one!”

“Let me take a look,” I said, getting the paper and quickly running through the passage. “Oh, no wonder! It’s those educators speaking again, with their imprecise and obtuse English. Well, son, what they probably meant was this: ‘Globalization is a deeper form of internationalization, one where a nation’s drive for development becomes more important than its territorial size.’ In even simpler English, a nation can be small but it can become a major world economic power.”

“That certainly makes sense,” he said, “but why do these educators say it the way they do? They are writing not only for English experts but also for people like me, aren’t they? Why then use such fuzzy words as ‘qualitative deepening’ and ‘territorial dimension of development’? Why even use them in a newspaper like this?”

“Son, this article was not written for you. It was probably done with the best intentions for their fellow educators and higher-ups, but somehow it landed on this newspaper without being adapted for readers like us. In any case, don’t ever think that anyone should use an ‘English for experts’ only. Linguists perhaps, but these educators, no. They should have used English that newspaper readers like us can understand.”

“So why publish at all if they couldn’t be understood anyway?”

“Well, son, in academic circles there’s a jaded saying: ‘Publish or perish!’ You must publish your work no matter how trivial or badly written, or you don’t count for anything. You are dead fish. So in some countries—ours included— there has evolved something called vanity publishing. It’s a growing industry that aims to meet this need—and also to massage some big people’s egos. Every now and then, of course, some good ideas with social value get across somehow through this mode, but more often they don’t, as in this case.”

“I see. But, Dad, here’s a great passage that seems to be clear enough for my school report. Listen:

“The Philippine national culture is rooted in the people, their land, and their experience. From these develop their way of seeing and living, their systems of thought and values, their customs and traditions, their crafts and arts, their problems and their triumphs, that which they dream of and aspire for, and ultimately the national culture that they recognize in consensus and commitment.”

Impressive! Do you think I can use it?”

“I’m not too sure, son. That sounds suspiciously trivial, more like a piled up definition of culture in general, but the authors just seem to have made it look like it was unique to Philippine culture in particular. You can apply the same thing to Kenya and Tobago and Palau and it will still be correct. In their own circles it’s called ‘rank tautology,’ a needless repetition of an idea in different words. In fact, they could have reduced all of those 62 words into the words ‘Philippine culture’ and nothing would have been lost.”

“Tough luck then! Now I’ll have to look for some other source material for my report,” he said, almost wailing. “But wait, Dad, here’s something that I’m sure will impress my teacher. Listen:

“The third posits that education paves the way towards the designated type of society—which, to our belief, is a modern and humane society characterized by a comfortable quality of life in a peaceful, global and multicultural connection demonstrating adaptability and flexibility of a people without necessarily vitiating the core values that they hold or which define their culture.”

Isn’t it great English? I’ll probably get a 95 for my paper if I used it!”

“Hold it, son, hold it! That sentence may sound nice but it actually says almost nothing. No new insight whatsoever. Notice how all of the 59 words are straining and groaning to define what needs no definition, because everybody already knows it deeply in his heart: that society needs good education to prosper. Don’t tell me that you still don’t know that!”

“You’re right, dad,” he said dolefully, “of course I already know that. But aargh! I guess I’ll just have to look elsewhere for something more substantial and readable for my school report.” (2004)

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This essay in conversation form, which first appeared in my English-usage column in The Manila Times in 2004 and subsequently formed Chapter 142 of my book Give Your English the Winning Edge, is part of a collection of my personal essays from 2003 to 2007.