Let him that is without syntax...

I'm not sure how this works with blog etiquette. I've been following what Mr. Verb has been saying lately about peevologists and I've been thinking about prescriptivism more broadly lately. I left a comment on one of his posts and I realized that this is becoming my cherished issue lately. I believe deeply in what I said (notice how important that "in" is to the statement") so I'm going to include it in this post with some minor changes. I ask you to pardon me for recycling.

According to Mr. Verb peevologist was coined by The Word's Jan Freeman. It is now an emerging term for those to whom we've long given other labels. Grammar Nazis, Grammar Police, Language Mavens (who are little more than picky pundits)...These are the people who try to make you believe that your natural and comfortable and best-known spoken language is false language--broken language--lazy and stubborn and destructive. The heaviest billy-clubs are swung by army of elitists who believe they can judge you into submission.

Vee haf vays of making you talk correctly.

What label works best for these people? There are some who work to teach and convince. We'll call them English teachers. They don't often complain about usage but they point out their students' mistakes. They usually work to indoctrinate their students into a new pattern of writing. The ambitious ones look to change their students' speech.

But there are others who simply like to complain. I would argue that they like being part of an remnant that uses 'correct' language and they rarely suggest methods by which a uniform change in speech can be accomplished. They call attention to those forms that annoy them and they simply call them bad and tell us what they prefer. Sometimes they try to support their views by logic or efficiency. But they don't value instruction. They believe a word to the wise is sufficient--which of course makes all who persist 'unwise.' How convenient. They don't care how language--real language--works.

I like that peevologist captures the intention of 'these people' to dwell on their peeves and constantly talk about them.

Now I start feeling like a nag when I call attention to claims about usage that disagree with me. And when any fact is asserted that I haven't accepted I feel an odd duty to my belief to speak up. Human nature. And don't their arguments deserve as as much attention as mine?

The distinction as I see it is in the object of intended influence. I hope to share (defend?) the view of language as a system that always has been and always will be dynamic. The view. I'm not defending language because it doesn't need my puny fists. It'll take care of itself.

I know plenty of copy editors that are fully aware of their role as menders of one text at a time and who don't claim to be guardians of language. They are not peevologists. They don't feel attacked by mistakes and they don't hope to change all language into one register. They respect decorum and they trust that most users do so as well as they do.

The peevologists are looking to change something that will not change. They seek a power that is not theirs and they express frustration based on a sense of entitlement that is not only arrogant but irrational. They hope to change the rotation of the earth and live with that constant frustration, throwing stones at every sunrise and sunset.

I'm now planning the syllabus for the history of the English language course that I will be teaching this fall. My objective: convince my students to put down the rocks and enjoy the colours.

Facts of the Apostles

I was recently reading the J-h-v-h's Witnesses textbook/handbook/manifesto Reasoning From the Scriptures. It's a fascinating look at one group's rhetorical strategies. The book instructs the evangelist on techniques for broaching the subject of belief and faith with people who may fall into one or several of various categories: Those who don't believe in a god, those who believe in a different god, those who have a negative view of the J-h-v-h's Witnesses, those who are receptive, those who say they are busy, those who believe they have already dealt with and shooed the Witnesses away...

Well I've been thinking and reading about disagreements lately. I love a good verbal navigation through the eddies and tides of different opinions. And if the discussion gets heated and the volume starts to rise I'm still happy to forge on.

But why do I brace myself when religion surfaces? Several weeks ago I exchanged ideas regarding the salvation doctrine in Christianity. It was a short discussion that very quickly veered off course and ended abruptly. As I think back on it, what happened was a simple realization that our accepted facts are different.

Is it possible to continue a discussion when the accepted facts are avowedly different? I would say so - but it requires a brief window argument - an argument within an argument to clarify terms and premises - then a return to see where the views are discurrent. To abandon this strategy too early leads to the Bill O'Reilly habit of "Well - I say you're wrong so I guess we'll have to agree to disagree." It's a cop-out.

This form of retreat ignores one vital concern of any discussion - the belief of the implications of the facts. The Socratic method of trapping your opponent is brutally aware of the importance of implicative - or "thus" formulation. You get the other to agree that if X then Y. And you can best lure them in by saying "Okay - Y is not likely. You don't believe Y. But is there any way that you will accept Y? Oh - you'll accept Y if X? Well then . . ."

Anticipating this loophole the adroit arguer effectively asserts X. The other has already promised to agree. Because of the implication of a fact.

The J-h-v-h's Witnesses obviously believe there is a key implication to fact regarding the shape of the structure on which Jesus was hung to die. They believe there is a key implication of the fact that birthday celebrations are never mentioned in a positive light in the Bible.

Last week I also read The Marked Bible by Charles L Taylor. This novel-ish book claims to tell a story of a young rebel who leaves home then finds a Bible marked by his mother. And he turns back to a life of goodness.

No plot. No character development. Nothing but a set of pawnish players whose changes come about through epiphany, and the preachers who answer their questions - questions that are very obviously planted by an author with an agenda.

I'm also bothered by the assumption of what the argued facts implicate. It begins with a portrait of a young man who rejects his parents' teachings. And the young man is evil because of what he rejects. I almost have to give this author credit for making sure that the young man is really evil - he doesn't rely on mere apostacy; he stresses that the young man has become a drunkard a gambler and a criminal. I refrain from commendation because I'm tired of the post hoc ergo propter hoc argument so common in religious upbringing.

This book assumes from the very beginning several implications of facts and goes through in a very systematic way to argue and defeat challenges to the final claims about the Seventh-day Adventist religion. The greatest disservice that a book like this does is to ignore any challenges to the primary assumptions.

And here I find I'm bracing myself because of how I believe many of my acquaintances would view me if they knew my accepted facts. A friend of mine recently "came out" religiously (no jokes about being on his knees people - he just revealed some agnosticism about common and fundamental church beliefs). His coming out was received just like it is in its more usual context. Some were supportive. Some asked questions at arms distance. Some were upset and worried. I imagine their various thoughts would have sounded like this:

"Has he always been agnostic?"
"What was he thinking when we had that discussion in the locker room that one time?"
"Can I trust him now? Will his skepticism rub off on me?"
"To be honest I think we're all skeptical to a degree."
"What's important is that he knows we'll always love him."

Each of these thoughts focuses on a fear or an assurance about what can now be predicted. And for some people, more important than the entire history of the friendship is the new future they see simply because of cherished and rejected facts.