THE GRAMMAR OF MANNERS

 “Mind” is a very tricky, very often misused English verb
By Jose A. Carillo

“Mind” is a very tricky English word, probably as deceptive as the statistical practice of equating popularity with fitness for a country's presidency. My dictionary defines “mind” in so many ways. As a noun it is “the seat of awareness, thought, and feeling”; “the intellect”; “memory and remembrance”; “one’s opinion”; and “the focus of one’s thoughts and desires.” As an intransitive verb, it means “to object to”, “to remember,” “to take care of,” “to take charge temporarily,” “to apply or concern oneself with something,” “to be obedient to,” and “to take heed or notice.” With such a profusion of meanings, it is no wonder that “mind” is among the most misused of English words.

    PERIOD PHOTO OF YOUNG PEOPLE PARTYING USED HERE 

    SIMPLY FOR REPRESENTATION PURPOSES ONLY

The most embarrassing misuse of “mind,” I think, happens in the grammar of manners. I remember long, long ago my abysmal ignorance about this when I attended a party in Manila for the very first time, one hosted by an English professor. I was the last to enter her living room among a batch of adolescent guests, and as I did so she called out with quintessential sophistication: “Mr. Carillo, do you mind closing the door? The wind and flies outside are so bothersome.” The remark was so incomprehensible to me that I could only stare at her for several pulse-pounding seconds. Finally I stammered: “Yes, of course, Mrs. Reyes!” And with that I gingerly closed the door.

Then, as I walked towards her to pay my courtesies, I noticed her staring at me as if she had seen a ghost. But she regained her composure quickly and became her professorial self. “Mr. Carillo,” she began gently, “You didn’t answer me right. You should have replied, ‘No, Ms. Reyes, not at all!’ That’s the polite and cultured way of saying that you didn’t object to my request for you to close the door. You see, the verb ‘mind’ in ‘Do you mind closing the door?’ doesn’t mean ‘please.’ It means ‘object,’ as in ‘Do you object to the idea of closing the door?’ It’s not the same as “Could you, please?’, which you can politely answer with a ‘Yes.’ Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Reyes, I understand,” I said, and made a motion to leave.

“Don’t you go yet, Mr. Carillo,” she said, gently taking hold of my wrist, “I’d like to give you a few more lessons in the grammar of manners. The food can wait. When I said that ‘No, not at all’ is the polite reply to ‘Do you mind?’, it doesn’t mean you don’t have the option to say ‘Yes.’ For instance, if I asked, ‘Do you mind not staring at me?’, you actually have the option of saying ‘Yes, I do mind, because I just love staring at you,’ but of course that would be impolite—not the answer, but the act of staring at me. If I asked, ‘Do you mind if I light my cigar?’, you can politely tell me, ‘Yes, Mrs. Reyes, I mind very much—I am terribly allergic to cigar smoke, and I don’t like women who smoke cigars.’ Of course, if the idea of cigar smoke or women doesn’t bother you, you can readily tell me, ‘No, not at all’ or ‘Go right ahead.’ Do you get the drift?”

“Yes, Miss Reyes, I do.”  

“Great, Mr. Carillo! That means we’re off to a good start. You may go now and join the guests for dinner.”  

That terribly humiliating lesson in the grammar of manners sent me on a weeklong search for the other meanings of the treacherous word. In fact, I was to discover so many other slippery idioms using “mind” and set out to internalize all of them: (1) “We’re of the same mind” means we share the same feeling or opinion; (2) “They can’t fool around with me if I just put my mind to it” means they can’t do any hanky-panky if I firmly don’t allow them; (3) “We’re not in our right minds if we elect overtly deceptive people” means we are crazy to do that; (4) “Mind to think out clearly who to trust” means we should remember not to trust the untrustworthy; (5) “Mind to figure out why these politicians are suddenly all over media endorsing commercial products” means we should find out what they really are up to; and finally, (6) “Mind what our conscience tells us” means to obey what we know to be true, ethical, and just.

Now that we have looked closely at the various meanings of “mind,” I’ll ask this question: Do we mind that some pollsters are foisting on us the deceptive art of equating popularity with fitness for the highest post in the gift of the nation? I pray that the answer is “Yes, we do mind and we’ll tell them to go practice their modern witchcraft elsewhere!” I do hope this is our answer, or else God help us all! (July 3, 2003)

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From the weekly column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in The Manila Times, July 3, 2003 issue © 2003 by Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

WATCHING OUT AGAINST GLITTERING OR GLOWING GENERALITIES

When Faulty Logic Overrides
Good Grammar and Semantics
By Jose A. Carillo  

Some seemingly matter-of-fact and grammatically airtight statements often get accepted in everyday discourse despite their faulty logic. Known as glittering or glowing generalities, they strongly appeal to our emotions because of their close association with such highly valued concepts and beliefs as the primacy of family, home and country, the sanctity of religious dogma, and the nobility of teaching as a profession. As such, we take them to be true at face value without examining the rationality of their premises.

     IMAGE CREDIT: MICROSOFT CANADA PHOTO IN STRAIGHT.COM/LIFE

A statement like “Being a teacher, she likes children” is a glittering generality

that’s not necessarily true.

These thoughts came rushing to mind when I was asked this innocuous grammar question sometime ago by Forum member Baklis: “Sir, I just want to know the difference between ‘being’ and ‘having been’ in these two sentences: ‘Being a teacher, she likes children.’ ‘Having been a teacher, she likes children.’”

Momentarily stumped by the perfect grammar and semantics yet disarmingly deceptive logic of both sentences, I got back my bearings and came up with this reply to Baklis: 

The difference between the sentences “Being a teacher, she likes children” and “Having been a teacher, she likes children” is clear-cut, but the sense of both has a logical peculiarity that defies a simple, straightforward explanation.

In the sentence “Being a teacher, she likes children,” the use of the present tense “being” in the participial modifying phrase “being a teacher” indicates that the subject “she” is at present a teacher. However, the main clause “she likes children” makes the implication—but it’s not a certainty—that teachers typically like children, and that the teacher in this particular instance is such a teacher who likes children. This implication, of course, makes the logic of the statement debatable even if its grammar is airtight.

On the other hand, the use of the perfect gerund “having been” in the sentence “Having been a teacher, she likes children” indicates that the subject “she” used to be teacher but ceased to be a teacher sometime in the indefinite past. Like the first sentence, however, the main clause of this second sentence makes the implication—and it’s likewise not a certainty—that teachers typically like children, and that the teacher in this particular instance liked children when she was still teaching and that she still likes children even now.

That second sentence has the further implication that the experience of being a teacher or of having been a teacher imbues a liking for children, but the logical justification for that second implication is not made clear. Thus, even if the grammar and semantics of the second sentence are airtight like those of the first sentence, those two unsupported implications make the logic of the second statement even more debatable than that of the first.

Indeed, I told Baklis, those two simple sentences that he presented are semantic conundrums, or statements that raise a question or problem that only has a conjectural answer. Within such statements lurks a fallacy or illogical conclusion so grammatically flawless and beguilingly attractive that the mind encounters great difficulty rejecting it.

Two days later, Baklis came back to me with this more down-to-earth grammar question about those two problematic sentences: “Sir, if we consider only the two participial phrases in those sentences, what would be their use or implication?”

In that case, I told Baklis, here’s what each of those two phrases will denote:

1. “Being a teacher,” a present progressive participial phrase, would mean the current continuing state of teacherhood, meaning that one is a teacher by profession and is practicing it at present; and

2. “Having been a teacher,” a past-perfect progressive participial phrase, would mean that one used to be teacher but ceased to be a teacher sometime in the indefinite past, and has not been a teacher again up to the moment of speaking.

This essay first appeared in the column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in the May 15, 2015 issue of The Manila Times, ©2015 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

GETTING TO KNOW ENGLISH MUCH BETTTER

How do we know if a sentence that uses “were”
is in the indicative or subjunctive mood? 

By Jose A. Carillo 

It won’t be surprising at all if this basic grammar question still stumps not just a few English writers and speakers among us: “How do we know if a sentence that uses ‘were’ is in the indicative or subjunctive mood?” I say this because this happens to be a very-often asked reader’s question in the over 21 years that I’ve been writing my English usage column in The Manila Times.

So let’s demystify this usage once and for all by doing a quick refresher of the uses of “were,” which of course is the familiar past-tense form of the linking verb “be” in the third-person plural. In “The villagers were happy,” for example, “be” takes the form “were” because “villagers”—the subject—is in the third-person plural and the action is in the past tense. But when the subject is in the third-person singular “villager” and the action is in the present tense, “be” takes the normal form “is”: “The villager is happy.”)

Statements like “The villagers were happy” and “The villager is happy” are in the indicative mood, which in English is the mood for conveying the idea that a condition or act is an objective fact, an opinion, or the subject of a question. In such statements, the speaker is talking about real-world situations in a straightforward, truthful manner, and the linking verb “is” takes its normal inflections in all the tenses and obeys the subject-verb agreement rule.

The polar opposite of the indicative mood is the subjunctive mood, which conveys possibility, conditionality, or wishfulness rather than an objective fact or condition. The subjunctive is the mood in these sentences: “If I were the dean of that college, I would have fired that incompetent professor by now.” “They wish that their president were more circumspect in his pronouncements.”

In the first example above, note that “be” is in the plural past-tense form “were” although the subject is the singular first-person noun “I”; in the second, “be” is likewise in the plural past-tense form “were” although the subject is the singular third-person noun “president.”

This is the understandable baffling answer for why subjunctive mood sentences in English use “were.” Always keep in mind that in the subjunctive mood, regardless of the person and number of the subject, the linking verb “be” always takes the plural past-tense form “were” instead of “was” or “is.”

There are four grammatical situations that specifically need the subjunctive “were” rather than the indicative “was” or “is”:

1. When the sentence indicates a supposition or possibility. In “if”-clauses indicating a supposition or possibility, the subjunctive “were” is used regardless of whether the doer of the action is singular or plural: “If I were to accept that foreign assignment, I’d have to take my family with me.” “Many legislators would be indicted for graft if the Ombudsman were to apply the law regardless of their party affiliation.”

2. When expressing a desire or wishful attitude. In “that”-clauses that follow main clauses expressing a wish, the subjunctive “were” is used: “I wish (that) she were more amenable to a compromise.” “I wish (that) I were the class president.” The wish or desired outcome is neither a present reality nor a future certainty.

3. When describing the outcome of an unreal situation or idea that’s contrary to fact. Given a hypothetical state or outcome, the subjunctive “were” is used in expressing the condition that’s unreal or contrary-to-fact: “If its polar electromagnetic field were not there, Earth would be devastated by intense solar radiation.” Without “if,” such constructions can sometimes take an inverted syntax: “Were its polar electromagnetic field not there, Earth would be devastated by intense solar radiation.”

4. When expressing doubt about certain appearances or raising a question about an outcome. Statements that cast doubt on observed behavior or raise a question about a presumed  outcome should take the subjunctive “were” form: “Rod acted as if he were the only knowledgeable newspaperman in town.”

I trust that after reading this clarification, the subjunctive “were” will no longer be an exasperating grammar puzzler to any English writer or speaker among us. 

DO MUCH BETTER THAN A CALCULATED GUESS IN HANDLING CONDITIONAL SENTENCES

Mastering the 4 Types of Conditional Sentences 
By Jose A. Carillo

I know for a fact that a lot of writers and editors—including myself when I still didn’t know any better—often draw a blank wall in their grammar when dealing with conditional sentences that have an “if”-clause. For the result clause of such sentences, many of us simply couldn’t be absolutely sure whether to use “will” or “would” plus the base form of the verb…or perhaps just its simple present tense. Somehow the basis for the choice isn’t adequately taught or learned in school, so many of us end up just hazarding a calculated guess that at best only has a 33.33% probability of being correct. 

Check this hypothesis of mine by testing yourself with these three multiple-choice questions:

1. “If water is heated to 100 degrees Centigrade, it (will boil, would boil, boils).”

2. “I (will qualify, would qualify, qualify) for the post if I’m a civil service eligible, but I’m not.”

3. “If you pass the qualifying test, you (will get, would get, get) a full scholarship.”

How did you fare? 

I would consider a score of 66.66% a passing grade. Anyway, to help improve the capability of native and nonnative English users alike in handling conditional sentences, I wrote an essay on the subject, “The four types of conditional sentences,” in my English-usage column in The Manila Times in the middle of last year. I am now posting that essay in this week’s edition of the Forum to provide everybody a firmer and more reliable basis for constructing them. (January 8, 2011)   

THE 4 FOUR TYPES OF CONDITIONAL SENTENCES

One important aspect of English grammar that I don’t recall having discussed fully yet in my English usage columns in The ManilaTimes is the conditional sentence. This is the type of sentence that conveys the idea that the action in the main clause can take place only if the condition in the subordinate clause—the “if”-clause—is fulfilled.

                              IMAGE CREDIT: YOUTUBE.COM   CLUBJAMESSTUDIOS

The simplest form of the conditional sentence has this structure: the “if” clause states the condition in the present simple tense, is followed by a comma, then followed by the result clause in the form “will + base form of the verb,” as in this example: “If you meet your sales quota, we will give you a fat bonus.”

But there are actually four types of conditional sentences, each type indicating the degree of certainty or likelihood that the stated condition will be fulfilled. They are the so-called first conditional or real possibility, the second conditional or unreal possibility, the third conditional or no possibility, and the zero conditional or certainty.

The first conditional (real possibility)

The first conditional talks about a high degree of possibility that a particular condition or situation will happen in the future as a result of a possible future condition. This is the case with the first conditional sentence given earlier: “If you meet your sales quota, we will give you a fat bonus.” As with all types of conditional sentences, of course, the result clause can also be stated ahead of the cause clause, as in this example: “We will give you a fat bonus if you meet your sales quota.”

The second conditional (unreal possibility)

The second conditional talks about a possible but very unlikely result that the stated future condition will be fulfilled; in short, the stated outcome is an unreal possibility. This type of conditional has the following sentence structure: the “if” clause states the future condition in the simple past tense, is followed by a comma, then followed by the future result clause in the form “would + base form of the verb,” as in this example: “If I finished law school, I would be a lawyer.” (“I would be a lawyer if I finished law school.”) The speaker here is talking of an unreal possibility because he didn’t finish school and didn’t become a lawyer.

The third conditional (no possibility)

The third conditional talks about a condition in the past that didn’t happen, thus making it impossible for a wished-for result to have happened. This type of sentence has the following structure: the “if” clause states the impossible past condition using the past perfect tense “had + past participle of the verb,” is followed by a comma, then followed by the impossible past result in the form “would have + past participle of the verb,” as in this example: “If I had saved enough money, I would have bought that house.” (“I would have bought that house if I had saved enough money.”) The speaker here is talking of an impossible situation because he had not saved enough money and has not bought that house.

Third conditionals could sometimes also use the modal forms “should have,” “could have,” and “might have,” as in these modal variants of the example above: “If I had saved enough money, I should have bought that house.” “If I had saved enough money, I could have bought that house.” “If I had saved enough money, I might have bought that house.” In all three cases, of course, none of the wished-for situations in the past had taken place.

The zero conditional (certainty)

Finally, the zero conditional or certainty talks about a condition whose result is always true and always the same, like a scientific fact. It has the following sentence structure: the “if” clause states the condition in the simple present tense, is followed by a comma, then followed by the result clause also in the simple present tense, as in this example: “If people don’t drink water, they get dehydrated.” (“People get dehydrated if they don’t drink water.”) (June 12, 2010)

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From the weekly column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in The Manila Times, July 10, 2010 © 2010 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

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ANSWERS TO MULTIPLE CHOICE QUESTIONS ABOVE:

1. “boils” - certainty: zero conditional
2. “would qualify” - unreal possibility: second conditional
3. “will get” - real possibility: first conditional

ANSWER TO QUIKQUIZ ON FACEBOOK AND TWITTER:
“If water is heated to 100 degrees Centigrade, it (will boil, would boil, boils).”
Answer: “boils” - certainty: zero conditional

STEELING OURSELVES AGAINST UNCEASING MASSIVE DISINFORMATION

Exercising caution in times of reasonable doubt 
By Jose A. Carillo

Once upon a time the spread of false information took a much slower and largely linear path. A jealous or enraged person concocts a lie against a perceived enemy, whispers the lie to a neighbor’s ear ostensibly in the strictest of confidence but certain that in no time at all, that neighbor will break that confidence and whisper the same lie to another neighbor, who, in turn, can be expected to ensure that the process gets repeated ad infinitum. The lie then acquires an attractive reality of its own. Still, there was a downside to the process. Word of mouth was relatively slow, so even the most resourceful prevaricator needed at least a few days or weeks to fan the tiny flame of a lie to a major conflagration.

Modern communications technology has changed all that. These days, radio and TV, the daily papers, landline and mobile telephony, e-mail, the Internet and now even the mechanisms of the law itself make disinformation as fast as blabbering a sound-bite over the broadcast networks, punching the “Send” key of a cellular phone or computer keyboard, or filing fabricated charges against one’s target in a fiscal’s office. Organized deception has become a thriving industry, ruthlessly exploiting the inherent vulnerabilities of the very same mechanisms that make democracy possible.

This is clearly manifest in current election campaigns. Every seeker of public office is a prime target. Both the good and the bad are fair game for political demolition. Each of them—whether a true leader, visionary, zealot, crackpot, or nincompoop—is prey to the dangerous phenomenon described by the British psychologist R. H. Thouless in his “Law of Certainty”: “If statements are made again and again in a confident manner, then their hearers will tend to believe them quite independently of their soundness and of the presence or absence of evidence for their truth.”

Thouless has pinned down one fundamental flaw of the human psyche: its profound tendency to believe statements based on repetition instead of actual evidence. Of course, few would take pleasure in the notion that even the intelligent and more discerning among us can be so gullible, but other investigators have validated the “Law of Certainty” and have come up with even more disturbing corollaries: (1) The exposure effect, demonstrated by Borstein in 1989, which states that repeated exposure of people to a stimulus results in the enhancement of their attitude toward it; (2) The twin repetition-validity effect and the frequency-validity effect, established by Brown and Nix in 1996, the first confirming that belief in a supposed truth increases with repeated exposure to it, and the second, that the rated truth of a stimulus is determined by how often it is repeated; and (3) The truth effect, demonstrated by Schwartz in 1982, which states that when messages of questionable truth value are repeated, their repetition tends to move their truth-value ratings toward the truer end of the scale.

The “Law of Certainty” and its corollaries are, of course, the principal tools of ideologues, religious extremists, and political propagandists in foisting untruths in the minds of their targets. They know that by sheer repetition, the feeble resistance of rationality soon caves in and crumbles. This is why in every election campaign season, practically all of the communication channels in our midst bristle with deceptive messages. Their financiers and practitioners have no time to lose and everything to gain, and can take comfort in the fact that the effort costs so little and that the laws against it are so weak and inutile.

Now, the big question we have to ask ourselves is this: Shall we be sitting ducks to these blatant deceptions? What is our defense against the syndicated lie and half-truth? Thouless gave us what I think is a sound course of action: be thoughtful and skeptical, and adopt a position of caution when there’s reasonable cause for doubt about a particular assertion. In plainer terms, we should never, ever make a fool of ourselves by taking scurrilous political messages at their face value.

So the next time we see a derogatory blind item in the mass media, a slanderous e-mail in our electronic mailbox, or a poison text message on our cellular phone, we should not honor it even with a single thought. We should resist the temptation to pass it on. We should stop it on its tracks by skipping it or by zapping it with the “Delete” button. That’s the only way we can run the character assassins out of business. If we don’t, who knows, they just might succeed in getting us to elect people who will send this country further down the road to perdition.

From the weekly column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in The Manila Times, March 27, 2004 issue © 2004 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

ESSAYS BY JOSE A. CARILLO

The great importance of parallel construction in presenting ideas   
By Jose A. Carillo

Apart from the usefulness of the information or the power of the ideas being presented, what distinguishes good writing from insipid, so-so writing is parallelism in grammar along with symmetry in sentence construction. Parallelism and symmetry are actually mutually reinforcing attributes of exposition; by emphasizing the likeness or similarity between two or more ideas at both the sentence and paragraph levels, they promote clarity of expression and make the language more forceful and readable.

But precisely how do we achieve parallelism and symmetry in our own writing?

To shed some light to this question, I wrote a four-part essay, “Presenting ideas in parallel,” for my English-usage column in The Manila Times in 2006. Part I took up the basic rule for parallel construction: never mix grammatical forms when presenting similar or related ideas. Part II discussed another very important parallel construction rule: a parallel structure that begins with a clause should sustain that pattern all the way. Part III presented specific applications of the two parallelism rules taken up in Parts I and II. Finally, Part IV demonstrated how to achieve structural balance for sentences by using parallel structure for adjectives and adverbs as well as for two or more grammatical elements serving as complements.

That four-part essay now forms part of my book Give Your English the Winning Edge (Manila Times Publishing, 486 pages), and parts of that essay have already appeared in Jose Carillo's English Forum at different times. Having seen not just a few violations (and apparent misunderstanding) of the parallelism rule in media on several occasions, however, I decided to post all parts of the essay in full in this Forum retrospective. I am confident that by taking to heart that essay’s prescriptions for achieving parallelism, Forum members (and the occasional media writers who drop by at the Forum) will see a dramatic improvement in both their written and spoken English. (November 15, 2018)

Part I – Presenting ideas in parallel

Parallel construction is one of our most powerful tools for organizing and presenting ideas. It cannot be overemphasized that making our sentences grammatically and semantically correct is simply not enough. We should also ensure that each of their grammatical structures that are alike in function follows the same pattern. In fact, observance of this basic stylistic rule very often spells the difference between good and bad writing.

IMAGE CREDIT: SLIDEPLAYER.COM

To give us a better idea of the power of parallel construction, let us first examine the following simple sentence: 

“Alberto likes reading, jogging, and to play computer games.”

We will find that it is structurally disjointed and does not read well because not all of its serial elements follow the same pattern. Although the first two elements, “reading” and “jogging,” are in parallel because both are gerunds (“-ing” noun forms), the third, “to play computer games,” ruins the parallelism because it is in the infinitive form (“to” + the verb stem).

One quick way to fix this structural problem is to put the third element also in gerund form, “playing computer games,” so that the sentence reads as follows: 

“Alberto likes reading, jogging, and playing computer games.” 

It is now grammatical balanced and no longer sounds stilted.

Another way for the original sentence to achieve parallelism is to make all three of its serial elements take the infinitive form: 

“Alberto likes to read, to jog, and to play computer games.” 

This sentence, of course, can be streamlined even further by using “to” only once right before the first of the all-infinitive parallel elements: 

“Alberto likes to read, jog, and play computer games.”

IMAGE CREDIT: SLIDEPLAYER.COM

In actual practice, we have to put in parallel not only single words or short phrases but much more complicated grammatical structures such as extended phrases and clauses as well as long serial lists. However, the basic rule for parallel construction remains the same: never mix grammatical forms. We have to choose the most appropriate form for the similar or related ideas, then stick to the same pattern all the way.

Consider the following sentence with three extended elements that are not all in parallel:

“The chief executive decided to terminate the advertising manager because he rarely managed to come up with the company’s TV commercials on time, approved the publication of several major print advertising with serious grammar errors, and his relations with both his staff and the advertising agencies were very bad.”

The first subordinate clause, “he rarely managed to come up with the company’s TV commercials on time,” is in parallel with the second subordinate clause, “(he) approved the publication of several major print advertising with serious grammar errors,” because both of them are active verb forms using “he” (the advertising manager) as the subject. However, the third subordinate clause, “his human relations with both his staff and the advertising agencies were very poor,” disrupts the parallelism because it is in the passive verb form and takes for its subject not “he” but another noun form, “his relations with both his staff and the advertising agencies.”

See how much better the sentence reads when the third element is modified so it becomes parallel with the first two:

“The chief executive decided to terminate the advertising manager because he rarely managed to come up with the company’s TV commercials on time, allowed the publication of several major print advertising with serious grammar errors, and related very badly with both his staff and the advertising agencies.”

Note that the three elements are now all active-voice verb phrases—“rarely managed…”, “allowed the publication…”, and “related very badly…”—that are perfectly parallel in form.

We will go deeper into the various ways of achieving parallelism in the next essay. (May 29, 2006)

Part II – Presenting ideas in parallel

As emphasized in Part I of this essay, the basic rule for parallel construction is to never mix grammatical forms when presenting similar or related ideas. A sentence that presents two or more serial elements should stick to the same pattern all throughout—all noun forms, all gerund forms, all infinitive forms, or all verb forms as the case may be. When serial elements all take the same form, ideas come across much more clearly and cohesively.

We will discuss another very important parallel construction rule this time: A parallel structure that begins with a clause should sustain that pattern all the way. Recall now that a clause is a group of words that contains a subject and a predicate (and can thus function as a sentence in its own right, as in “we should obey the law”), as opposed to a phrase, which is a group of words that doesn’t have them (and thus can’t function as a sentence by itself, as in “to obey the law” or “obeying the law”). When the sentence doesn’t sustain the clause pattern, or when any of the clauses shifts from the active to the passive voice or the other way around, the parallelism falls apart. The result is a disjointed sentence that doesn’t read well.

Take this sentence that contains three serial grammatical elements:

“The English professor told the students that they should aim for perfect attendance, that they should always do their assigned homework, and to submit their term papers on time.”

The parallelism of this sentence breaks down because while the first two elements—“they should aim for perfect attendance” and “they should always do their assigned homework”—are both clauses, the third element—“to submit their term papers on time”—is not a clause but an infinitive phrase.

We need to make this third element also a clause—“they should submit their term papers on time”—so the sentence can become perfectly parallel and more readable:

“The English professor told the students that they should aim for perfect attendance, that they should do their assigned homework regularly, and that they should submit their term papers on time.”

Of course, a more concise but less emphatic way to construct this serial-clause sentence is to use the imperative “that they should” only once before the first clause:

“The English professor told the students that they should aim for perfect attendance, do their assigned homework regularly, and submit their term papers on time.”

(Be forewarned, though, that such streamlining can obscure the meaning in more complicated constructions.)

The parallel structure of a sentence with serial clauses can also be ruined when any of the clauses takes a different voice, say the passive from active:

“The president anticipated that majority of the lower house would welcome the planned Charter change, that most of the senators would fiercely oppose it, and that a vicious demolition job would be mounted against it by her political detractors.”

Here, the first two clauses—“majority of the lower house would welcome the planned charter change” and “most of the senators would fiercely oppose it”—are in the active voice, but the third clause—“a vicious demolition job would be mounted against it by her political detractors”—is in the passive voice, thus disrupting the pattern.

To make the construction parallel all throughout, we should make the third clause also take the active voice—“her political detractors would mount a vicious demolition job against it.” This results in a more forceful sentence:

“The president anticipated that majority of the lower house would welcome the planned charter change, that most of the senators would fiercely oppose it, and that her political detractors would mount a vicious demolition job against it.”

(June 5, 2006)

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From the weekly column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in The Manila Times, May 29 and June 5, 2006 © 2010 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

Part III – Presenting ideas in parallel

We have already taken up the two basic rules for parallel construction, namely that a sentence that presents two or more serial elements should stick to the same pattern all throughout, and that a parallel structure that begins with a clause should sustain that pattern all the way. We saw that we can build much clearer and more forceful sentences by consistently observing these rules.

Now we need to refamiliarize ourselves with four specific applications of these two parallelism rules: (1) that all of the elements being enumerated in a list should take the same grammatical form, (2) that elements being compared should take the same grammatical form, (3) that elements joined by a linking verb or a verb of being should take the same grammatical form, and (4) that elements joined by a correlative conjunction should take the same grammatical form.

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All elements in a list should have a parallel structure. We can make our written compositions better organized and more readable by using the same grammatical form for all the elements we are enumerating in a list. The elements should all be noun forms, verb forms, infinitive phrases, gerund phrases, or participial phrases, whichever is most appropriate. When we allow any of the elements to take a different form, the rhythm of the enumeration is broken and the reader’s train of thought is needlessly disrupted.

Consider the following not-so-well-thought-out list:

“At present, our club has: (1) no formal charter, (2) subsisting without a long-term organizational goal, (3) a seriously declining membership, (4) a large budgetary deficit, and (5) to collect a large amount of past-due membership fees.”

The list looks awfully craggy and reads very badly for an obvious reason: its elements don’t follow a consistent grammatical form. Items 1, 3, and 4 are noun phrases, but Item 2 is a verb phrase in the progressive form and Item 5 is an infinitive phrase.

Now see how smoothly and cohesively the list reads when its elements all take the same grammatical form, in this case as verb phrases:

“At present, our club: (1) lacks a formal charter, (2) subsists without a long-term organizational goal, (3) suffers from a seriously declining membership, (4) carries a large budgetary deficit, and (5) needs to collect a large amount of past-due membership fees.”

Elements being compared should use a parallel structure. In constructions that use the form “X is better than/more than Y,” we have to make sure that the elements being compared have the same grammatical structure. Unparallel (gerund/infinitive): “She enjoys jogging better than to run.” Parallel (gerund/gerund): “She enjoys jogging better than running.”

Elements joined by a linking verb or a verb of being should use a parallel structure. When we use “is” as a verb of being that links two elements, we have to make sure that the elements have the same grammatical structure. Unparallel (infinitive/gerund): “To make that impossible demand is declaring open hostilities.” Parallel (infinitive/infinitive): “To make that impossible demand is to declare open hostilities.”

Elements joined by a correlative conjunction should use a parallel structure. When we use the correlative conjunctions “either . . .  or,” “neither . . . nor,” “not only . . . but also,” “both . . . and . . .”, and “whether . . . or,” we have to make sure that the elements being correlated have the same grammatical structure.

Unparallel (gerund/infinitive): “For you to get to Manila on time, we suggest either taking the morning flight tomorrow or to drive overnight right now.” Parallel (gerund/gerund): “For you to get to Manila on time, we suggest either taking the morning flight tomorrow or driving overnight right now.”

Unparallel: “They not only demand very short installment periods but also huge down payments.” Parallel: “They demand not only very short installment periods but also huge down payments.” Also parallel: “They not only demand very short installment periods but also demand huge down payments.”

We will take up some more fine points about parallelism in Part IV of this essay. (June 12, 2006)

Part IV – Presenting ideas in parallel

We saw in the first three parts of this essay that the consistent use of parallel structures is the key to more readable, more forceful, and more polished sentences. We also learned that for clearer and more cohesive sentences, we should always use parallel structures when presenting various elements in a list, when comparing elements, when joining elements with a linking verb or a verb or being, and when joining elements with correlative conjunctions.

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Before winding up our discussions on parallel construction, we will take up two more techniques for harnessing parallelism to give structural balance and better rhythm to our sentences. We will discover that these techniques can dramatically improve our writing and give it a distinctive sense of style.

Use parallel structure for adjectives and adverbs. We should also aim for parallel patterns when using adjectives and adverbs in our sentences, seeking structural balance for them in much the same way as we do for noun forms, verb forms, infinitives, and gerunds.

Unparallel construction: “She danced gracefully, with confidence and as if exerting no effort at all.” Here, we have a stilted sentence because the modifiers of the verb “danced” have taken different grammatical forms: “gracefully” (adverb), “with confidence” (adjective introduced by a preposition), and “as if exerting no effort at all” (adverbial phrase).

Parallel construction: “She danced gracefully, confidently, effortlessly.” The consistent adverb/adverb/adverb pattern gives the sentence a strong sense of unity and drama.

Unparallel construction: “The gang attempted an audacious bank robbery that was marked by lightning speed and done in a commando manner.” The sentence reads badly because the three modifiers of “bank robbery” are grammatically different: “audacious” (adjective), “marked by lightning speed” (participial phrase), and “done in a commando manner” (another participial phrase).

Parallel construction: “The gang attempted an audacious, lightning-swift, commando-type bank robbery.” The sentence reads much more forcefully because of its consistent adjective-adjective-adjective pattern for all of the modifiers of “bank robbery.”

Use parallel structure for several elements serving as complements of a sentence. For more cohesive and forceful sentences, we should always look for a suitable common pattern for their complements. Recall that a complement is an added word or expression that completes the predicate of a sentence. For instance, in the sentence “They included Albert in their soccer lineup,” the phrase “in their soccer lineup” is the complement.

Unparallel construction: “We basked in the kindness of our gracious hosts, walking leisurely in the benign morning sunshine, and the palm trees would rustle pleasantly when we napped in the lazy afternoons.” Here, we have a confusing construction because the three elements serving as complements don’t have a common grammatical pattern: “the kindness of our hosts” (noun phrase), “walking leisurely in the benign morning sunshine” (progressive verb form), and “the palm trees would rustle pleasantly when we napped in the lazy afternoons” (clause).

Parallel construction: “We basked in the kindness of our gracious hosts, in the benign sunshine during our early morning walks, and in the pleasant rustle of the palm trees when we napped in the lazy afternoons.” The sentence reads much, much better this time because the three complements are now all noun phrases in parallel—“in the kindness of our gracious hosts,” “in the benign morning sunshine during our early morning walks,” and “in the pleasant rustle of the palm trees when we napped in the lazy afternoons.” Note that all three have been made to work as adverbial phrase modifiers of the verb “basked.”

In actual writing, of course, the need to use parallel structures in our sentences will not always be apparent at first. As we develop our compositions, however, we should always look for opportunities for parallel construction, choose the most suitable grammatical pattern for them, then pursue that pattern consistently. Together with good grammar, this is actually the great secret to good writing that many of us have been looking for all along.

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From the weekly column “English Plain and Simple” by Jose A. Carillo in The Manila Times, June 12 and 19, 2006 ©2006 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

A POWERFUL TALE ON THE NEED FOR SUASIVE DICTION

Giving a Touch of Authority to Our Prose
By Jose A. Carillo 

“What a pair we make,” whispered the Prince of Wales to the pilloried presumptive royal knight William in the riotously charming 2001 film A Knight’s Tale, “both trying hard to hide who we are, both unable to do so.”

For those who have not seen the movie, the prince was constrained to shed off his disguise as a monk among the lynching mob to save the disgraced knight, who a few days earlier had spared him from the ignominy of certain defeat by refusing to joust with him in a tournament. The knight, through the machinations of a villainous duke, was thereafter unmasked as a lowly thatcher’s* son masquerading as a member of royalty, thus leading to his arrest and humiliation on the pillory.

This medieval morality tale gives a powerful insight into the crucial need to speak and act in keeping with who we think, presume, or pretend we are. When we write, in particular, we must use language that conveys our thoughts in ways that validate and support our own self-concept or projection of ourselves. The wife of the Caesar must not only be chaste but must look and sound chaste. The professor must really look and sound professorial. The presidentiable** must really look and sound presidentiable. To fail to do this in both civilized and uncivilized society—or not to have the wisdom or guile to at least sustain the charade—is to invite catastrophe, which is precisely what brought the presumptive knight to the pillory for public lynching.

Be that as it may, our most potent tool for becoming credible is what the linguists call suasive diction. This is using language to persuasively convey facts and the speaker’s feelings toward those facts. No instrument is more potent for doing that, of course, than the writer’s or speaker’s vocabulary. Our words define us. Whether armed with excellent research or dubious information, whether motivated by good or bad intentions, we can turn off the audience with awkward or leaden words, or hold it in thrall with engaging words and well-turned phrases. It is largely through word choice, in fact, that we establish our credibility and rapport with our audience. Short of coercion or the force of arms, rarely can persuasive communication take place without this credibility and rapport.

The most basic technique for suasive diction is the proper use of the pronouns of power, namely “we,” “us,” “our,” “they,” and “them.” These innocent-looking pronouns can confer a sense of authority—the illusion of authority, if you may—to our written or spoken statements far beyond what the first-person singular can give. The first-person “I” and “me” speak only for the solitary communicator; on the other hand, the collective “we” and “us” speak for an entire group or institution, which people normally take for granted as less fallible and less prone to vainglory than the individual—hence presumed to be more credible, more authoritative.

This, for instance, is why newspaper editorials routinely use the institutional “we” although they may have been crafted by a solitary writer not so high on the paper’s editorial totem pole; it’s also why tyrants and despots of every stripe and persuasion always invoke “the right vested in me by God/ law/ the sovereign people” to seize power or hold on to it, and why candidates of paltry qualification and virtue invariably invoke “the people’s great desire for change” or “divine signs in the sky” as their passport to public office.

Of course, “we,” “us,” “our,” “they,” and “them” work just as well as pronouns of solidarity. They foster a stronger sense of closeness and intimacy with the audience, and can more easily put audiences at ease with what the speaker has to say. In contrast, the first person “I” often comes across as too one-sided and self-serving, particularly in writing, while the second person “you” can sound too pedantic and intimidating. We stand a much greater chance of getting a fair hearing from those antagonistic to our position by making them think that we are actually on their side.

Even if we are good at using the pronouns of power and solidarity, however, we must not for a minute believe that they are all we need to achieve suasive diction. The facts supporting our contention must be substantial and accurate. Our opinions must be truly informed, not half-baked, and our logic must be sound and beyond reproach. Otherwise, we may have to put on an act like that of the seemingly enlightened prince in A Knight’s Tale, lying to the lynching mob about the parentage of William the thatcher’s son, then justifying that lie by nonchalantly invoking royal infallibility: “He may appear to be of humble origins, but my personal historians have discovered that he is descended from an ancient royal line. This is my word, and as such is beyond contestation.”

A big lie indeed, but said with the confidence of a true royal. (March 2004)

This essay first appeared in my weekly column “English Plain and Simple” in March 16, 2004 issue of The Manila Times, © 2004 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

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*Thatcher – A thatch is a sheltering cover, as a house roof, made of straw, grass, or—in our domestic usage—nipa or buri. A thatcher would therefore be someone whose occupation is to install a thatch or that kind of roofing. Of course, the name “Thatcher” became a media mainstay in the UK for many years when the feisty Margaret Hilda Thatcher was Britain’s prime minister for 12 years from 1979 to 1990.

**I use the term “presidentiable” here with some strong misgivings, for it is not even recognized in any respectable dictionary. But during every national election season, it forms part of the Philippine journalistic and political vocabulary much too strongly to be completely ignored.