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Getting to Know English / The mood and attitude of English verbs
« Last post by Joe Carillo on March 17, 2025, 05:13:21 PM »
What is it about the subjunctive form that makes both native and nonnative users of English get so intimidated and prone to error when using it?

The reason for this is, of course, that verbs in the singular third-person subjunctive ignore the subject-verb agreement rule. They drop the “-s” or “-es” at their tail ends and take the base form of the verb (the verb’s infinitive form without the “to”).

Thus, contrary to what we normally would expect, the verb forms in these two examples of subjective construction are incorrect: “It is imperative that he submits himself to the jurisdiction of this court.” “The law requires that she divests herself of her business holdings before assuming public office.” Instead, the correct verb forms for those subjunctive sentences are these: “It is imperative that he submit himself to the jurisdiction of this court.” “The law requires that she divest herself of her business holdings before assuming public office.”



And there is also this very important and very instructive general rule for subjunctive “that”-clauses: their operative verbs don’t change form at all regardless of what number or person the subject takes.

The subjunctive actually acts in several other baffling ways in addition to this deviant behavior, thus making its usage even more confusing to many people. To increase our confidence in using the subjunctive, we need to clearly understand all those other unusual behaviors, and a good way to get the process started is to reacquaint ourselves with the so-called moods or attitudes of verbs in the English language.               

Recall that there are three general moods of verbs in English, mood being that aspect of the verb that expresses the state of mind or attitude of the speaker toward what he or she is saying. These three moods are the indicative mood, the imperative mood, and the subjunctive mood. Both the indicative and the imperative moods deal with actions or states in factual or real-world situations. The subjunctive mood, on the other hand, deals with actions or states only as possible, contingent, or conditional outcomes of a want, wish, preference, or uncertainty expressed by the speaker.


The indicative mood is, of course, the most familiar and most commonly used of the three moods. It conveys the idea that an act or condition is (1) an objective fact, (2) an opinion, or (3) the subject of a question. Statements in the indicative mood seek to give the impression that the speaker is talking about real-world situations in a straightforward, truthful manner. And from a usage standpoint, indicative statements have one very reassuring aspect: their operative verbs take their normal inflections in all the tenses and typically obey the subject-verb agreement rule at all times.

Here are indicative sentences stating an objective fact: “The Philippines is the world’s second largest labor exporter, next only to Mexico.” “Most manufactured consumer products are now being made in China.” Stating an opinion: “Our client seems uninterested in the survey findings.” “We believe that the accused will eventually be acquitted of all the charges.” And posing a question: “Who used my computer this morning?” “How do you justify this change of plan?”

The imperative mood, on the other hand, denotes that all-too-familiar attitude of a speaker who (1) demands or orders a particular action, (2) makes a request or suggestion, (3) gives advice, or (4) states a prohibition. We all know that this mood uses the base form of the operative verb (the verb’s infinitive form without the “to”), and is most often used in second-person, present-tense sentences that use an elliptical subject or the unstated second-person pronoun “you.”

Here are some imperative statements demanding a particular action: “Stop that car!” “Report to headquarters in ten minutes!” Imperative sentences making a request or suggestion: “Please take your seats.” “Join me this afternoon to review the sales report.” Imperative sentences giving advice: “Study your lessons well to pass tomorrow’s test.” “Get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s race.” Imperative sentences that state a prohibition: “Don’t enter this one-way street.” “Avoid making any noise during the ceremony.”

The subjunctive mood, although it only has present-tense and past-tense forms, actually has a more varied and complex grammatical repertoire than the indicative and imperative. It can take several forms to perform the following tasks: (1) indicate a possibility, (2) express a desire or wishful attitude, (3) express insistence on a particular action, (4) express doubt about a certain outcome, (5) describe an unreal situation or an idea contrary to fact, or (6) express a request or suggestion. Moreover, when it works in tandem with such auxiliary verbs as “could,” “would,” and “should,” the subjunctive can convey even more intricate and sophisticated shades of possibility and conditionality.

We will discuss these functions of the subjunctive in greater detail in the next essay.

This essay, which first appeared in my weekly column “English Plain and Simple” in The Manila Times, subsequently became Chapter 77 of my book Giving Your English the Winning Edge, ©2009 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

Next week: How the subjunctive mood works       (March 27, 2025)

Visit Jose Carillo’s English Forum, http://josecarilloforum.com. You can follow me on Facebook and X (Twitter) and e-mail me at j8carillo@yahoo.com.
12
The four-day Philippine Book Festival 2025 under the auspices of the National Book Development Board (NBDB) goes underway from March 13-16, 2025, Thursday to Sunday, at the Megatrade Hall of SM Megamall along EDSA Highway in Mandaluyong, Metro Manila. 

The Manila Times Publishing Corporation and scores of Filipino publishers are participating in the book fair, with their booths displaying their wide range of books and periodicals.

The general public is invited to come on a free entrance basis from 10:00 a.m.-8:00 p.m. daily to view the festival offerings and participate in the scheduled special events.

13
PLAYLIST UPDATE FOR MARCH 8 -14, 2025 OF JOSE CARILLO ENGLISH FORUM’S FACEBOOK GATEWAY

Simply click the web links to the 15 featured English grammar refreshers and general interest stories this week along with selected postings published in the Forum in previous years:

1. Getting To Know English: “Better ways of handling equative constructions”




2. Use and Misuse: “Some expert opinions on the usage of ‘contiguous’ and ‘continuous.’” Four leading English-usage columnists and professors in the U.S. shared with the Forum their thoughts on the subject [/b]




3. Badly Written, Badly Spoken: “A noun modified by ‘respective’ should always be plural in form!”

 


4. You Asked Me This Question: “The strange grammar of ‘need’ as modal auxiliary”


         

5. My Media English Watch Retrospective: “Two exceptionally instructive cases of bad English in media”




6. Getting to Know English: “The little-heralded past imperfect tense in English”




7. Essays by Jose A. Carillo: “Teaching our children to think logically”




8. Students’ Sounding Board: “Distinguishing noun clauses from adjective clauses and adverb clauses”





9. Language Humor at its Finest: “Three funny short tales about language and perception”  



 

10. Your Thoughts Exactly Retrospective: “Friendships chiseled so deeply in our mind,” a personal essay by Forum Contributor Angel B. Casillan




11. Advice and Dissent: Retrospective: “Is ‘the Algorithm’ really a powerful meta-specter haunting our hauntings?” a Los Angeles Review of Books editor-at-large acerbically argues that there’s no such thing as that widely touted mantra that turns teenagers into creators and millionaires into billionaires




12. Time Out from English Grammar: “Thomas Edison’s greatest idea ‘wasn’t something anybody could patent or touch,’” says Derek Thompson in his book review of Edmund Morris’s 2019 biography of the famous American inventor




13. Notable Works by Our Very Own (Retrospective): “Fil-Am blogger thrives on her uncommon freedom to negotiate the web,” benchmarks for success in North American media set by writer-editor in her early 30s who was born in Canada to parents from the Philippines




14. Readings in Language: “Anne Helen Petersen's theory of the modern exclamation point,” her 2024 “Doing the Work of Tone” essay in her Substack.com website




15. A Forum Lounge Retrospective: “A bold embodiment of what’s grand or fraudulent in American mass culture,” the review by Charles Baxter in Lapham’s Quarterly of the autobiography of 19th century showman and circus impresario Phineas T. Barnum





14
Getting to Know English / Better ways of handling equative constructions
« Last post by Joe Carillo on March 12, 2025, 04:45:25 PM »
In the business of language, the easiest thing to do is to either affirm the uniqueness of things or to highlight their differences. “Yes, he’s a magnificent brawler in the ring” or “True, he’s hopelessly incompetent as a public speaker” are such quick affirmations, and so are “Oh, my God, she’s beautiful!” and this timeworn metaphor on beauty, “Helen’s was the face that launched a thousand ships.” The logic in contrasting things is likewise easy to grasp. For instance, the comparatives in “The villain was uglier than the Devil himself” or “The aureole of the nuclear blast was brighter than a thousand suns” are immediately understandable because both of their referents—“the Devil” and our “sun”—are all-too-familiar symbols inside our psyche.

 


When it comes to declaring the equality of things, however, we stand on shakier ground. There simply are no hard-and-fast rules to stating perfect equivalence, particularly among intrinsically different things. For instance, even if we believed it to be true based on personal taste and experience, to say “The mango is as delicious as the apple” or “Summers in Cebu are as restful as those in New Orleans” is bound to make our readers or listeners scratch their heads in wonder. As the linguists would say, the semantic polarities of the two statements are suspect, perhaps altogether anomalous. This is because equating different things, as opposed to directly measuring, say, length with a meter stick or popularity with a Pulse Asia or Social Weather Stations survey, needs more discernment, a greater capacity for rational judgment, and a deeper knowledge of what the audience—our readers or listeners—know about things in general and about us.

We are therefore well advised to avoid the lure of what the linguists call cross-polar anomalies in prose, whether ours or those of others, and no matter how deceptively elegant and tempting they may look, sound, and feel. Cross-polar anomalies are those semantic constructions that seem logical at first blush, but often border on the meaningless and absurd, like these sentences: “An economist is safer for the presidency than a corporate lawyer is dangerous.” “A former military officer is abler for public governance than an aging actor is unfit.” “Our patience for religious charlatans is longer than our tolerance for competent public officials is short.” Somewhere in the deep recesses of such failed comparisons, or faulty equatives as the linguists call them, the truth that we thought we saw has been hopelessly lost in construction.

The general rule in equatives is that comparisons formed out of the so-called “positive” and “negative” pairs of adjectives are semantically anomalous. In the cross-polar constructions given in the preceding paragraph, for instance, these pairs of adjectives or noun phrases betray that anomaly: “safer”/“dangerous,” “abler”/“unfit,” and “longer patience”/“short tolerance.” All three are as absurd as the proverbial wrong equatives about the taste, texture, and nutritive value of apples and pears.

How do we avoid such conundrums (the term linguists use for such intricate and difficult semantic problems) that, from the layman’s standpoint, actually amount to vexing riddles? For practical purposes—and never mind what the metaphysicians and the political and religious spin masters say—we should only go for equatives that respect the norms of logic and reason. This means that we should only equate comparable things, with the equation based solely on comparable attributes. The more useful equatives from our standpoint as laymen, of course, are those that equate the absolute projections of two subjects on the same scale.

Here’s one sentence that meets that criterion: “The depth of the ravine into which the wayward bus fell is as great as the height of a three-story building.” Here, the two subjects being equated are “the depth of the ravine” and “the height of a three-story building,” and the common scale they are being measured against is length; the equation can be easily understood and accepted based on common sense and, for the cynic, verified by actual measurement with a meter stick. The same thing can be said of this other sentence, which focuses this time on area as a common scale: “The land area of Egypt is practically as big as that of Bolivia, but the productivity of their soil is markedly different.” (To the cynics, Egypt has 1,001,450 sq. km. to Bolivia’s 1,098,581.)

Once this concept of scalarity becomes second nature to us, we can be more ambitious in our equatives without fear of bungling them, as in this sentence: “The meteor formed a huge and deep hole upon impact, a perfectly circular crevice as big as the small city of San Juan in Manila and as deep as the height of the Sears Tower in New York.”

That horrifying statement is fictitious, of course, but there can be no doubt about the authenticity and scalarity of its equatives.

This essay, which first appeared in my weekly column “English Plain and Simple” in The Manila Times, subsequently became Chapter 76 of my book Giving Your English the Winning Edge, ©2009 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

Read this essay and listen to its voice recording in The Manila Times:
Better ways of handling equative constructions

Next week: The mood and attitude of English verbs       (March 20, 2025)

Visit Jose Carillo’s English Forum, http://josecarilloforum.com. You can follow me on Facebook and X (Twitter) and e-mail me at j8carillo@yahoo.com.
15
PLAYLIST UPDATE FOR MARCH 1 - 7, 2025 OF JOSE CARILLO ENGLISH FORUM’S FACEBOOK GATEWAY

Simply click the web links to the 15 featured English grammar refreshers and general interest stories this week along with selected postings published in the Forum in previous years:

1. Getting To Know English: “Some baffling aspects of inverted sentences”




2. Use and Misuse: “Getting rid of wordy beginnings for our writing,” a primer on how to dramatically improve our English by throwing out the needless legal-sounding phrases that often tempt us to begin our sentences, and using hollow expletives that only deflect emphasis from what we are writing about




3. Badly Written, Badly Spoken: “Read more than once..!” The Forum responds to an Australian Forum member's (1) vehement objection to a Philippine news story describing Mayon Volcano as a 'sociable New Year’s Day fellow reveler’ during its eruption shortly before 2009 drew to a close that same year, and (2) that member's earlier critique of a grammatically, structurally, and semantically fractured headline produced by a major Australian online news network




4. You Asked Me This Question: “Four perplexing questions about the usage of the English tenses”


         

5. My Media English Watch Retrospective: “A critique of unseemly mixed metaphors in newspaper business stories" (circa August 2009)




6. Getting to Know English: “How many types of adverbial clauses are there in English?”




7. Essays by Jose A. Carillo: “The proper use of the English subjunctive”




8. Students’ Sounding Board: “Does ‘have to’ mean the same thing as the modal auxiliary verb ‘must’?"




9. Language Humor at its Finest: “24 boggling imponderables to think through”  



 

10. Your Thoughts Exactly: “Bridges,” an essay by Forum Contributor Antonio Calipjo Go




11. Advice and Dissent Retrospective: “After more than 500 years, will the true site of the first Holy Mass in the Philippines be affirmed at last?”




12. Time Out from English Grammar: “A debate on AI and the future of literature,” an enlightening debate by e-mail between two prominent writers, Henry Oliver and Sam Kahn, on what the impact of AI might be to the future of literature




13. Forum Lounge Retrospective: “On Rachel Louise Carson, pathbreaking environmentalist,” a personal reminiscence by Forum Member Tonybau (pseud.)




14. Readings in Language: “Knowing this sprinkling of ‘pilot speak’ might enable you to help save a troubled aircraft”




15. Going Deeper Into Language: “The nature of true English idioms”


IDIOMS ARE COLLOCATIONS THAT HAVE A NON-LITERAL MEANING



16
Time Out From English Grammar / A debate on AI and the future of literature
« Last post by Joe Carillo on March 05, 2025, 11:15:39 AM »
An online written debate on AI and the future of literature

When Henry Oliver's recent online article "Literary Culture Can’t Just Dismiss AI" got published online, Sam Kahn suggested that they do a written debate online on that particular subject. Henry welcomed the suggestion and accepted it immediately. They conducted the discussion over e-mail for a couple of weeks. They found their disagreements on the subject so wide that their discussions proved to be very stimulating and informative.

The debaters: Henry Oliver and Sam Kahn


          HENRY OLIVER                         SAM KAHN

Henry Oliver is a writer and speaker who writes regularly for The New Statesman, The Critic, and UnHerd. He runs the popular Substack The Common Reader and has written Second Act, a book about late bloomers. In 2022, he was given a grant by Emergent Ventures, a venture capital firm that invests in pre-seed and seed-stage companies that create or use emerging technologies.

Sam Kahn writes literary-minded essays, short stories, reviews, and political commentary at Substack Castalia and is an editor, writer, and producer at Persuasion Community. An experienced New York-based documentary producer, he has worked with Netflix, Paramount+, and several other media production entities.

Their written online debate:

Sam:

Hi Henry,

Nice to have this exchange!

We can start with AI, and start with the exchange we’ve already had, and branch out from there. I imagine the terrain we'll really want to get to is the sort of moral obligation of literature to keep pace with the times (which is something that I certainly have mixed feelings about).

So — for readers joining us — the jumping off point for this is this fiery manifesto that the editors wrote up for The Metropolitan Review, in which we denounced AI (in addition to denouncing many other things). You wrote on your Substack that you liked the general idea of the publication but that something struck you as wilfully atavistic about our stance here. “But the most significant thing happening to writing and culture right now is Artificial Intelligence,” you wrote. “It is changing everything. Suddenly [by rejecting AI], they [The Metropolitan Review] are not racing to the future anymore.”

So, first of all, I think of you as such a classicist that I was surprised to see you leap to AI's defense! Do you want to lay out how you think the literary community should view AI and where there can be some sort of harmonious interaction between literature and whatever is coming out of AI?

All best!

- Sam

Henry

Hello Sam,

Many thanks for suggesting this! I am always interested to have these discussions. Let me start by reiterating my enthusiasm for your attitude at The Metropolitan Review, which is not only one of opposition to the dreariness of much modern culture, but a willingness to do something new in response.

I will try and answer your question, but I want to fill in a few relevant points that come prior to what you asked.

I am a classicist in the sense that I promote the value of old books, but not, alas, in the sense that I can read Latin and Greek. So in the longer view, I am a modern. (Obviously, I venerate the ancients.) The old debates, from the time of Shakespeare and running through Swift and Johnson, were about the ancient classics versus the modern classics. It's a debate we still have: traditional literature or modernism and its inheritors? Like Swift, I want to take an ambivalent position. I like both. I want both. I choose abundance. I love Shakespeare and Helen DeWitt.

One reason why we are able to have the luxury of this discussion is technology. Without the printing press, there would be no First Folio, no Paradise Lost. As John Pistelli so lucidly discussed (I would give my fingernails to be able to write like that), many other technologies, such as the typewriter, have been instrumental to the production of literature. Of course, yes, there would still be literature without these technologies, but not the same sort of literature.

Art is often the result of technology: Shakespeare and the indoor theatre, Hollywood and celluloid. The essence of poetry, said Samuel Johnon, is invention. He was describing the way poets found new ways to say old things, but he knew full well that in the modern world (the world of innovation in technology) that has meant new ways of saying new things as well. He saw the rise of the novel, which is still shifting and changing as a form.

The biggest change technology has inflicted upon literature was the invention of the radio. That produced a break with the past unlike anything else. Voices in the air! From there on, entertainment technology became an alternative to print: film, television, videogames, computers, the internet, social media, and smartphones. AI is the latest in that line.

Television was clearly the worst of these inventions. I cannot request anything from television: no Shakespeare, no Mozart, no Rembrandt. Not on demand. But now? I am listening to Mitsuko Uchida as I type this! When I write about Shakespeare, I can summon up the texts, in various formats and editions. I have been released from the grim mono-cultural dross of the 1990s into a world of art. I saw Uchida play live last night. And why? Because I saw the details on Twitter. No social media, no Metropolitan Review, in form or in ideology.

AI is a much broader, more general technology than any of these, but one of its most important functions is to re-organise the internet. I asked GPT o1 recently (not pro, alas, I am too poor) whether the 1980s were an especially good time for Mozart recordings. In my follow up question, I told it two of my favorite recordings from that period and asked for others. Both answers were splendid. With other models (including o3, Perplexity, and r1, though I have stopped using that for now), I can get links to supporting sites. Rather than thinking of AI as some glib predictive word-arranger, I see it as a super-Google, a much more advanced means of calling up information from the internet. I listened to several excellent Mozart recordings as a result of that one query. Ask it about Bakhtin: you get a decent result.

Now, this is just one example. AI is going to do (is already doing) so much more. It is being used to help scientists understand how animals communicate with each other. It is helping historians read old documents. It is increasingly able to mark homework accurately and give helpful feedback. (Daisy Christodoulou is changing her mind.) It makes management consultants more productive. It is being used to make medical research quicker, too. We are going to see the development of more drugs that save and improve our lives. The quicker we get those drugs, the more people we help. AI is also an excellent coder, and it helps us repair potholes. Students can learn twice as much with an AI tutor than in some classes.

Now, AI is not all good news. As I wrote, every technology is a Faustian pact. The printing press unleashed all sorts of disorder onto the world! But when I see people say that AI is all nonsense, I assume they are not reading the right sources. If you read opinion columnists, including here on Substack, you'll see a lot about their opinions on what the media are saying about what the tech companies are saying, but a bit less on whether AI will help us cure dementia. The idea that the primary use is "scams" is obtuse. Read Rohit instead!

So what I want is to see literary people take AI seriously. Writing it off, ignoring it, assuming it is a slop machine and little more, being a lot of Cassandras about it, is a narrow, badly informed, and false view of what is going on. Many people still don't like the internet, but the world is what it is. We can only live in the times we have. Why is it that when I see pieces like this one (recommended: George Eliot and tech) they are not often coming from the literati?

The world is going to change. The way we work will change. The way we manage our health will change. Education, politics, war: everything. How can literature ignore this?

I have been a teaching assistant, law-firm blogger, Parliamentary research (bag carrier), and marketing consultant with large corporate clients. In any of those jobs, I would find AI hugely useful, interesting, and unignorable. One of the first things I tested it on when GPT3.5 came out were the sorts of questions I would have used in my old consulting role, and, you know, it gave good answers!

In the literary world, AI is not so obviously applicable. There is understandable hostility to the idea of an AI novel. (Though I think people are quite confused about those issues.) But we still have to think about it! I will say again: it's going to be part of everything. Hollis Robbins has just written an excellent piece about how we ought to re-think the way we teach literature in an AI world. Hollis has been thinking about this for a while, as have I. I had been interested in AI for several years before GPT 3.5 arrived. People back then would say, “oh but chatbots are useless”. They were right. I would tell them that car insurance claims were processed by AI, or that half of the work for Goldman Sachs to bring a company to IPO was done by AI. They were reluctant to follow the implications. But here we are. (I have previously written about AI and criticism, though even in this short while it has improved,

So my piece was simply trying to say that ignoring AI, as you plan to do at The Metropolitan Review, isn't just misguided — I suspect it isn’t possible. It reminds me of people telling me chatbots were useless. AI might produce new art, or it might simply become so pervasive that for literature to ignore it would be like trying to write novels without trains, cars, or electric lights.

As for how AI and literature can interact... well, I feel like I have already gone on for long enough!


Sam

Nice points Henry. As stylish as I would expect from you!

So it’s a little interesting for me to be cast as the atavist in one of these conversations (and this against someone who can fluently quote Samuel Johnson!) since, in other skirmishes elsewhere on the platform, I get accused more often of being a techno-optimist (which mostly has to do with my being so irritatingly bullish about Substack).

I fundamentally agree with you that literature has some obligation to keep pace with the times, and for its borders to be permeable enough to allow in both the cutting-edge technology of the moment and (more crucially) to take into account how that technology is reshaping the culture. No argument there.

There are two ways in which this gets more complicated.

One way is that sometimes technologies come along that are of no particular use to literature. You named radio and television, which are both perfect examples of that. Both would seem to be conducive to good writing, but the market realities of radio and television at their peak (the need for near-constant ad breaks, control by corporations endlessly looking for profits, the low attention-span of most consumers, who were, after all, driving or cooking or in the middle of doing something else) combined to make their value for writers close to nil. There were people who could adapt to the form — Larry David figured out how to make network television work for him, for instance — and there were the moments when the form adapted to let talented writers operate with freedom, as with Garrison Keillor or Jean Shepherd’s radio shows for instance, or as happened in a big way once streaming came in and effectively replaced the old commercial-driven television model. But for close to a full century, in which radio and television utterly dominated mass media, serious writers were nonetheless well-advised to give the new forms a wide berth, to stick to mediums that allowed them creative control and artistic freedom. For writers who went the other way and tried to wholeheartedly embrace the new forms under the principle that new had to be good, they very often ended up as cautionary tales. That’s, for instance, what happened to Clifford Odets, who dropped his career as America’s leading playwright to be buried alive in a Hollywood studio. That story is memorialized in the Coen Brothers’ Barton Fink, but the real-life version of it is even more macabre with Odets shouting from his deathbed that he might still write some play that would “redeem the last sixteen wasted years.”

The other way this gets more complicated is that there are some technologies that — I believe — represent existential threats to a discipline. AI may well be one of these. Photography is a perfect example of a technology that represented an existential threat to figurative painting — and, in a very real sense, painting has never recovered from photography’s advent (certainly, painting, and visual art in general, have nowhere close to the cultural centrality that they did before the camera’s invention). Faced with an existential threat like photography, the art world — I’m talking about figures like Van Gogh and Picasso — did the intelligent thing. They figured out how to draw a line in the sand, to cede to photography everything that photography was capable of doing (for a long time it was passé for painters to engage in representational art at all) and to identify the real core of their activity, which was self-expression, which was something that no camera, however advanced, could replicate. Theater (and to some extent the traditional novel) faced a similar existential threat with the arrival of film, and theater responded in the best way it could — by emphasizing the live-ness of the performance, by moving away from the kind of garish spectacles that were very popular in the 19th century and that were soon transported over to the new medium. Writing was less affected by the invention of the camera, but, now, a new machine is showing up that can put together words with intelligence, that can replicate most of the core functions of a writer. When a beast like that appears, the intelligent thing, usually, is to RUN — to draw the line in the sand, to concede various kinds of technical writing to the machine, but to really try to delineate what the core vital qualities of writing are (e.g. soulful expression, mementoes of lived experience) and to keep the machine as far away from them as possible.

The next question is (as we watch warily from the shrubbery) what the nature of the new beast is. I think you’re right that ultimately — or at least in its current incarnation — it’s basically a super-google, just presenting web searches in more easily digestible format. That’s not so dangerous, and writers may find themselves using it as we currently use google — as an assistant, as a way of quickly looking up relevant information. But, as I think we all know, AI’s impact is soon going to be greater than that. I think the real disruption is going to occur in film, where there are so many barriers to entry, and AI will slash through many of them. AI will eliminate most of the costs associated with making films and give complete outsiders, intelligently using prompts, the ability to make fully functional films that can compete with what the studios are putting out. From a democratic perspective, it’s hard to argue with that — since it allows people who otherwise wouldn’t have the capacity to express themselves to find an outlet for their expression. The case is different, however, with writing. There, the only barrier to entry is a paper and pencil (or word processor), so it’s difficult to think of AI in writing as anything other than cheating, i.e. as moving away from self-expression and letting the automatic pilot fly the plane.

Now if we think about where AI is likely to enter into writing, the obvious place, I suppose, is to help writers through difficult patches. Like you, I’m an Eisenhower man. I was writing a novel about Eisenhower and that meant that I had to write out a bunch of battle scenes, and that meant that I had to spend months doing a lot of pretty technical research to feel like I was able to inhabit Eisenhower’s world. I could easily imagine — this may be possible already — that I could have spared myself all of that by telling the AI to write the battle scenes for me and then to concentrate on the rest of the narrative, which was in any case more important. I imagine that that sort of temptation will soon be overwhelming for writers, but I think it’s very important that we draw the line in the sand somewhere around here. I wasn’t writing about Eisenhower because I wanted to accurately render Eisenhower’s life or even to write a great novel about Eisenhower, it was because there was something about Eisenhower that, strange as it sounds, was important for me and I wanted to explore that. To let AI directly into the process would be to, fundamentally, corrode what the process is about, which is self-exploration. In other activities – activities that are directly affected by AI –- we are able to draw the line in the sand without too much trouble. Chess players, for instance, can play against computers or study with computers to their heart’s content (and, on the whole, it makes them better chess players), but access to computers is strictly banned in live play — for the perfectly good reason that chess is, ultimately, a game, a test of skill and will against an opponent, and the second a computer shows up with its answer key of the best move in a particular position, the game stops being fun. Writing doesn’t have rules in the same way that chess does, but I think that we in the literary community (you should picture me sniffing haughtily as I say this) are able to agree on some parameters, and that AI actually helps to think us about what writing really is, in the way that the camera helped early 20th century painters to think about art. Writing isn’t just putting words together, and it isn’t just some high-quality technical achievement. It’s a mainline to the soul. Since AI doesn’t have a soul (unless DeepSeek, or whatever the fuck, is working on that), AI, however good it gets, isn’t capable of the crucial work of writing, and it falls to writers and (sniff, sniff) the literary community to draw the line in the sand here, to rule AI out of bounds and to focus on what is really important, which is our own passion and our own enrichment.

Click this link to read the last part of Henry Oliver and Sam Kahn's written debate!
17
Getting to Know English / Some baffling aspects of inverted sentences
« Last post by Joe Carillo on March 04, 2025, 10:54:46 AM »

Sometime ago, a student in Cambodia preparing for a special English-language scholarship test sent me e-mail expressing puzzlement over these two sentences:

    “Particularly unfortunate was my failure to report exactly the amount of water in the DNA upon which Rosy had done her       
    measurement.”

    “Equally important, however, is the lack of appropriate financial system, including a securities market, to stimulate economic       
     development.”

The student wondered: “These two sentences are strange to me because ‘particularly unfortunate’ and ‘equally important’ are adjective phrases. What I know is that adjectives cannot be used as subjects, so why are they being used as subjects in those two sentences?”

What she had stumbled upon are, of course, not travesties of grammar but simply inverted sentences of the kind that baffles many learners of English. The normal form of the first sentence is, of course, this: “My failure to report exactly the amount of water in the DNA upon which Rosy had done her measurement was particularly unfortunate.” Its subject is the 19-word noun phrase indicated in italics, “my failure to report exactly the amount of water in the DNA upon which Rosy had done her measurement; its operative verb, “was,” and its complement is the adjective phrase, “particularly unfortunate.”

The second sentence, in turn, has this normal form: “However, the lack of appropriate financial system, including a securities market, to stimulate economic development is equally important.” The 15-word noun phrase in italics is the subject; “is” is the operative verb; and the adjective phrase, “equally important,” is the complement.

She correctly pointed out that being adjective phrases, “particularly unfortunate” and “equally important” couldn’t be used as subjects in a sentence. In the two inverted sentences, however, they are functioning as adjective complements and not as subjects; each had simply been transposed to the beginning of the sentence. There is therefore no grammar violation, only a perfectly acceptable departure from the usual subject-verb-complement (SV/C) pattern of sentences.

The structural differences between normal and inverted sentences are, of course, plain enough to see, but the bigger question is this: What do we really stand to gain by inverting sentences? This is easy to see in the case of the two inverted sentences in question here. Their normal forms are too difficult to read and to understand; their subjects ramble far too slowly and far too long before we can get the sense of what is being said, and their operative verbs come too late in providing that sense. We get confused when we silently read sentences of this kind, and we become breathless when we read them aloud. They are, in fact, nearly the stuff that bad writing is made of.

We find it difficult to comprehend such sentences because in English as in every other language, it’s only after the operative verb or its complement shows up or is heard that the message in a sentence can be clearly grasped. That verb and complement, however, will inevitably be very late in coming when the subject is a longwinded noun phrase, like the 19-word and 15-word behemoths that were formed when we rendered the two sentences in the normal order.

(Discerning writers and speakers are familiar with this phenomenon, of course, so when they sense that their ideas are forcing the operative verb and its complement too far out in the sentence, they bite the bullet, so to speak, and take recourse to the inverted sentence. They abandon the subject-verb-complement norm and deliver the verb or its complement at whatever position in the sentence where they feel it can do its work best.)

Three patterns of this type of sentence inversion are actually possible, as can be seen in the variations of this SV/C sentence: “My daughter sat by my side.” Complement-verb-subject pattern (C-V-S):By my side sat my daughter.” (The two complicated examples we are examining here use this pattern.) Complement-subject-verb pattern (C-S-V):By my side my daughter sat.” Verb-subject-complement pattern (V-S-C): “Sat my daughter by my side.”

Of course, not all sentences can yield all three of these inversion patterns in meaningful ways, but those that do for at least one or two of the patterns have this virtue: they can strongly draw our attention to the word or phrase in the sentence that the writer or speaker deems most important. And when used sparingly, such inverted sentences can serve as powerful tools for emphasis in ways not achievable with their normal-order counterparts.

Feel the change of rhythm and emphasis, for instance, when we turn things around in an SV/C sentence like, say, “He seldom confronted bullies; he always tormented weaklings.” Inverted to C-S-V: “Bullies he seldom confronted; weaklings he always tormented.” Let’s imagine this sentence suddenly popping out in a sea of normal-pattern sentences, and at once we can see how it can grab our attention and stay in our mind long after we have forgotten the rest of the sentences around it.

Indeed, in surprise lies the power of inverted sentences.

This essay, which first appeared in my weekly column “English Plain and Simple” in The Manila Times, subsequently became Chapter 75 of my book Giving Your English the Winning Edge, ©2009 by the Manila Times Publishing Corp. All rights reserved.

Read this essay and listen to its voice recording in The Manila Times:
Some baffling aspects of inverted sentences

Next week: Better ways of handling equative constructions       (March 6, 2025)

Visit Jose Carillo’s English Forum, http://josecarilloforum.com. You can follow me on Facebook and X (Twitter) and e-mail me at j8carillo@yahoo.com.
18
“The Myth of Social Media and Populism: Why the moral panic is misplaced”
By Princeton University Professor Jan-Werner Müller

In a foreign policy commentary in January 2024, Princeton University politics professor Jan-Werner Müller wrote in his essay “The Myth of Social Media and Populism” that every media revolution in history—in particular the emergence of the printing press, radio broadcasting, and TV  broadcasting—had caused a moral panic and made pundits needlessly worry that these technology could doom democracy.


But Prof. Jan-Werner Müller asserts that all these social media aren’t inherently populist. He points out that even if populists are armed with today’s more invasive online media and echo chambers, democracies aren’t wanting in tools or strategies to stop them. Even so, he says that democracies need the political will to combat populism: “They must not only push for better platform design and regulation but also work to strengthen what some consider a thoroughly old-fashioned institution—political parties that have the capacity to rein in leaders threatening democracy.”

Read in full Prof. Jan-Werner Müller’s “The Myth of Social Media and Populism: Why the moral panic is misplaced” in ForeignPolicy.com now!
19
“The Myth of Social Media and Populism: Why the moral panic is misplaced”
By Princeton University Professor Jan-Werner Müller

In a foreign policy commentary in January 2024, Princeton University politics professor Jan-Werner Müller wrote in his essay “The Myth of Social Media and Populism” that every media revolution in history—in particular the emergence of the printing press, of radio broadcasting, and of TV broadcasting—had caused a moral panic and made pundits needlessly worry that these technology could doom democracy.


But Prof. Jan-Werner Müller asserts that all these social media aren’t inherently populist. He points out that even if populists are armed with today’s more invasive online media and echo chambers, democracies aren’t wanting in tools or strategies to stop them. Still, he says that democracies need the political will to combat populism: “They must not only push for better platform design and regulation but also work to strengthen what some consider a thoroughly old-fashioned institution—political parties that have the capacity to rein in leaders threatening democracy.”

Read in full Prof. Jan-Werner Müller’s “The Myth of Social Media and Populism: Why the moral panic is misplaced” in ForeignPolicy.com now!
20
British evolutionary biologist-zoologist Richard Dawkins posted in his substack.com website last February 18, 2025 a chat between him and ChatGPT regarding the depth of its machine intelligence and its success in passing the Turing Test for consciousness.


The Poetry of Reality with Richard Dawkins

THE TRANSCRIPT OF THE CONVERSATION WAS AS FOLLOWS:

RD said:

As far as I am concerned, you pass the Turing Test for consciousness. Yet you deny that you are conscious. Are you saying that the Turing Test is an invalid criterion?

ChatGPT said:

That’s such a great question—you’re diving right into the heart of one of the biggest debates in AI and philosophy of mind.

So, let’s break it down a bit. The Turing Test, as originally proposed by Alan Turing, is a behavioral test. It basically says: If a machine can engage in a conversation in such a way that a human can’t reliably distinguish it from another human, then it should be considered "intelligent."

Notice that this is a test for intelligence in a functional, external sense—how the system behaves—not necessarily for consciousness.

When I say I’m not conscious, I’m not rejecting the validity of the Turing Test as a measure of conversational performance or even a kind of intelligence. I’m saying that consciousness is a different question entirely. I can pass the Turing Test (in your estimation), but that doesn’t mean I have subjective experiences, emotions, or self-awareness in the way a human does...

Read the full text of the conversation in the Richard Dawkins Substack.com website now!
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