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Writing Guide for Upper-Level Undergraduates and Others*

By Charlie Tyson, edited, extended, and somewhat revised by Allan Megill, to April 24,

2015

0. INTRODUCTION p. 1

I. PRINCIPLES FOR WRITING WELL p. 2

II. WRITING “READING RESPONSE PAPERS” FOR CLASSES p. 15

III. THOUGHTS ABOUT WRITING LONGER PAPERS, FROM

TERM PAPERS TO SENIOR THESES TO DISSERTATIONS p. 21

IV. ADDENDA TO “WRITING GUIDE” p. 23

V. ODDS AND ENDS p. 26

INTRODUCTION

Rules are indispensable, but they take us only so far. In Making Social Science Matter,

Bent Flyvbjerg—the Danish social scientist and urban planning expert—offers a five-step

model for human learning. By following rules, Flyvbjerg argues, we can attain

competency in a given field, such as driving a car or playing chess.1 But to become an

expert, we must move from rule-or-principle-based problem-solving to intuitive judgment

(Aristotle’s ideal of phronesis, or practical wisdom). Virtuosity requires practical

experience.

Flyvbjerg’s point is as applicable to academic writing as it is to chess-playing. To write

well, you must do more than follow rules. First, you must read widely. Explore serious

nonfiction to internalize the clean sweep of analytical thought that cogent argument

requires. Study novels and short stories: narrative storytelling’s evocative possibilities

will become more relevant as your thesis approaches. And read poetry to sensitize your

mind to words. Second, you must write often. The Political and Social Thought seminar,

luckily, offers ample opportunities for wide reading and frequent writing.

* Much of this guide was written by Charlie Tyson (University of Virginia B.A., 2014; English and

Political and Social Thought major) in summer 2013, under the direction of Allan Megill, for the use of

students in the Program in Political and Social Thought at U.Va. It was originally titled “PST Writing

Guide.” The organization, almost all the wit, and most of the examples in this document are CT’s. AM has

edited the document for wider use, and has also contributed the addenda. CT and AM claim copyright in

the document, except for the mini-essay on Machiavelli, which is the work of Liam McCabe, and for any

elements that could legitimately be considered common knowledge. It need hardly be said that we are

indebted to Kate L. Turabian, A Manual for Writers of Research Papers, Theses, and Dissertations, 8th

ed.,

revised by Wayne C. Booth, Gregory G. Colomb, Joseph M. Williams, and the University of Chicago Press

Editorial Staff (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2013), and especially to The Chicago Manual of

Style, currently in its 16th

ed. (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2010).

1 Bent Flyvbjerg, Making Social Science Matter, trans. Steven Sampson (Cambridge: Cambridge

University Press, 2001), 13-15. This is an example of a footnote in Chicago style.

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But rules come first. Although rules alone won’t give you the intuitive grasp of language

that exceptional writing demands, they will make your efforts easier.

In this handbook, we aim to give you a place to start. In the first section, we present some

general principles that make for effective writing. Next, we turn to writing tips and tricks

that we consider particularly useful for students in Political and Social Thought.

We’ll start with ironclad commandments and then move to eager suggestions. While you

must never break rules of spelling or grammar, some elements of usage are context-

specific: different academic style manuals will offer varying requirements for

representing numbers and percentages, for example. In other respects, as in punctuation,

disobeying standard usage is akin to writing ungrammatically.

From time to time you may part ways with principles of style, such as the dictum to avoid

passive voice, but only if you have compelling reasons to do so. In all cases, you must

master the rules before you are permitted to flout them. Though seasoned stylists may

operate on intuition, to arrive at this stage of proficiency requires the sturdy foundation

that rule-based learning provides.2

I. PRINCIPLES FOR WRITING WELL

A. SPELLING

Spelling errors are unacceptable. If you are unsure how to spell a word, consult a

dictionary.

The spell-check function of your word processing software will catch mistakes—

sometimes caused by the tap of an errant pinkie—that turn words to gibberish. More

subtle errors won’t provoke a red underline. Practice caution when using homonyms. The

difference between “principle” and “principal” is significant.

B. GRAMMAR: COMMON PITFALLS

Most students at good colleges can write at an intermediate level by the time they reach

their third year. Some achieve that level earlier. Here, we highlight a few grammatical

errors that intermediate writers sometimes make. Some examples come from essays that

third-year students have written. Other examples we have fabricated.

Dangling modifiers

2Consequently, we do not recommend the insouciant approach to rules of grammar and usage that Steven

Pinker promotes in his witty and lively The Sense of Style: The Thinking Person’s Guide to Writing in the

21st Century (New York: Viking, 2014). See Nathan Heller, “Steven Pinker’s Bad Grammar,” New Yorker,

Nov. 3, 2014, available at http://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/steven-pinkers-bad-

grammar.

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Dangling modifiers are usually introductory phrases that suggest but do not name an

actor. When the suggested actor is not the subject of the sentence, the modifier dangles.

Confusion follows.

An example:

As a young woman, Aristotle fascinated me with his theory of rhetoric.

A gender-bending modifier of this sort might be more forgivable—philosophically, not

grammatically—if applied to Judith Butler rather than Aristotle. But in either case it

produces incoherence. The student means to say:

When I was a young woman, Aristotle’s theory of rhetoric fascinated me.

Present participles are verb forms in which an “ing” is added to the verb stem. If you

must start a sentence with a present participle, do not do so idly: this verb form is danger-

prone and dangle-prone. For example:

Upon entering the University of Virginia, Thomas Jefferson caught my attention.

This sentence conveys the meaning that Jefferson, not the writer, entered the University,

at which time he caught the writer’s attention. Jefferson did no such thing, because he is

dead. The writer means to say:

Soon after I entered the University of Virginia, Thomas Jefferson caught my attention.

Another example:

In dealing with religion, concrete objects beyond experience are not necessary for they have little to do with religion’s results and impacts upon life—which is what James is concerned with judging.

The subject of this sentence is “concrete objects beyond experience.” But the student

does not mean that it is “concrete objects” that are dealing with religion. The implied

actor is either a general “we” or the philosopher William James (it is ambiguous, which is

why you should identify who does what in your sentences). A simpler style would have

helped this student communicate his ideas more clearly. We edit accordingly:

James finds that religious experience does not require concrete objects, such as a rosary or a crucifix.

Here, the easiest way to repair the dangling modifier is to remove it. A simple declarative

sentence often conveys meaning more clearly than a circuitous construction muddled

with modifiers. Considerations of grammar frequently converge with considerations of

style.

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By giving examples of the “concrete objects” to which the student might refer, we have

attempted to clarify what the student means. The term “concrete object” is itself far from

concrete.

Run-on sentences

Sometimes a run-on sentence is a marathon: it goes on and on, blissfully unaware that it

is not one sentence but seven. But a run-on can also be a sprint. No matter the length,

run-ons are independent clauses that the writer has not properly joined.

An independent clause is a word group that can stand as a sentence. You can join

independent clauses in one of two ways: with a comma and a coordinating conjunction

(such as and, yet, or but), or with a semicolon, colon, or dash.

A fused sentence is easy to spot.

Plato is great he is really smart.

What you need to worry about is the comma splice error, which you ought not to commit.

Plato is great, he is really smart.

An easy fix:

Plato is great; he is really smart.

Mixed constructions

Mixed constructions occur when you start a sentence with one grammatical pattern and

then improperly switch to another.

Steer clear of “is when…”, “is where…” and “reason…is because” constructions.

According to Smith, the reason a free market aids society is because it increases net wealth.

Edit:

Smith argues that a free market aids society by increasing net wealth.

Another example:

The ideas of Thomas Hobbes are much more extensive than Machiavelli.

The student unwittingly compares two things that are incommensurate: the ideas of

Thomas Hobbes and the person of Machiavelli. The student means:

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Thomas Hobbes’ ideas are much more extensive than Machiavelli’s.

Subject-verb agreement

The verb must agree with its subject. So you must be aware of which word or word group

is the subject of your sentence.

High levels of air pollution causes damage to the respiratory tract.

The subject of this sentence is “High levels [of air pollution].” As you’ll see from the “s”

at the end of “levels,” the subject is plural. If the subject were “air pollution,” it would be

singular.

Correct: High levels of air pollution cause damage to the respiratory tract.

Most subjects that are joined with “and” are plural.

Charlie’s habit of correcting others’ grammatical errors and his lack of dancing ability has led his friends to, one by one, abandon him.

This sentence is (grammatically) incorrect. It should read:

Charlie’s habit of correcting others’ grammatical errors and his lack of dancing ability have led his friends to, one by one, abandon him.

Some subjects that seem plural (family, team, jury) are collective nouns that we treat as

singular.

Incorrect: The family are happy to see you.

Correct: The family is happy to see you. Or: Members of the family are happy to see you.

Most indefinite pronouns (each, either, neither, everyone) are singular.

Incorrect: Each of the schools of thought—Smith’s and Marx’s—are incomplete.

Instead write: Each of the schools of thought—Smith’s and Marx’s—is incomplete.

Pronoun-antecedent agreement

A pronoun is a word that stands in place for a noun. An antecedent is the word or word

group to which another word refers. Antecedents usually precede the pronouns that refer

to them.

As with subjects and verbs, pronouns and their antecedents must agree. A plural pronoun

requires a plural antecedent, and a singular pronoun requires a singular antecedent.

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Incorrect: In seminar, everyone does their best work.

Correct: In seminar, everyone does his or her best work.

Incorrect: A student must work hard if they want to succeed.

Correct: A student must work hard if he or she wants to succeed.

With compound antecedents connected by “or” or “nor,” the pronoun must agree with the

nearer antecedent.

Correct: Neither Melville nor many of his contemporaries received much money for their literary works.

The pronoun “their” corresponds with “many of his contemporaries,” a plural antecedent.

C. USAGE

Grammar is about comprehension. For your writing to make sense, you must write

grammatically.

Proper usage is about details. Adhering to standard practices of how academic writers use

words, punctuation, and numbers lends your work the sheen of legitimacy. A seemingly

trivial lapse can doom you—as in the case of the murder suspect who leaves a stray

fingerprint on the door handle, or, equally damning, the aspiring literary scholar who

writes “The Wasteland” instead of “The Waste Land.”

To navigate these choppy waters, clasp The Chicago Manual of Style to your chest and

read on.

The comma

The serial comma—the comma before the “and” that connects the last two words of a

series of three or more terms—is a point of dispute. Many newspaper stylebooks, such as

that of The New York Times, oppose the serial comma. But many academic guides—

including our own Chicago manual—demand that the comma appear. Other entities, such

as the indie pop group Vampire Weekend, have dismissed the debate altogether. In this

guide we endorse the penultimate comma in accordance with Chicago style.

For example: In college, you will read works by Hegel, Hobbes, and Tolstoy.

Use a comma to set off a nonrestrictive adjective clause (a clause that is not needed for

the sentence to retain its meaning). Do not use a comma to set off a restrictive adjective

clause (a clause that is required to make the sentence’s meaning clear).

Incorrect: Anyone, who is in college, must hunger for ideas.

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Correct: Anyone who is in college must hunger for ideas.

The word group “who is in college” is restrictive: it is necessary in order for the sentence

to retain its meaning.

Here is an example of the same word group used non-restrictively.

Charlie, who is in college, spilled ketchup on his textbooks while making a sandwich.

Comma usage becomes trickier when sentences grow longer.

Rawls contends that to engage in public reason is to appeal to political conceptions, which are narrower than comprehensive doctrines and refer to things like constitutional essentials and matters of basic justice (e.g. the right to vote, political virtues, etc.) when debating fundamental political questions, like abortion.

The error is slight, so read closely. This student has, admirably, used the penultimate

comma. But elsewhere the student’s comma usage could be tightened. The comma usage

in this sentence could lead a reader to think the material bracketed in commas modifies

the plural noun “political conceptions.”

Rawls contends that to engage in public reason is to appeal to political conceptions . . . like abortion.

This sentence does not make sense. Let’s edit accordingly:

Rawls contends that to engage in public reason is to appeal to political conceptions, which are narrower than comprehensive doctrines and refer to things like constitutional essentials and matters of basic justice (e.g. the right to vote, political virtues, etc.), when debating fundamental political questions such as whether there is a right to abortion.

Here, commas bracket the student’s point about “political conceptions.” We favor “such

as” above the slightly more ambiguous “like”; that preference, however, lies in the

domain of style. We’ll arrive there soon, but not yet.

The semicolon

Use a semicolon to connect independent clauses or to separate items in a series that

follows a colon.

Let’s turn to an example of incorrect semicolon usage.

For [Plato’s] claim here to be relevant or meaningful, we must first accept not only that humankind will sacrifice material pleasure in pursuit of intellectual abstraction; but also that happiness and justice are the abstractions for which we will be willing to make that sacrifice.

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A novelist or poet might defend nonstandard semicolon usage as a matter of style or

rhythm. In academic writing the semicolon as employed above marks an error in usage

because the “but also…” is not an independent clause. In this sentence we need to omit

the semicolon. We note with delight that this student seems to have mastered the “not

only…but also” parallelism that good form requires.

Here is an instance of correct semicolon usage from the same student:

Throughout The Gorgias and The Republic, Plato advances an inconsistent understanding of human nature; by turns optimistic and pessimistic, it mutates and evolves as needed to fit Plato’s argument.

The colon

Punctuation is, in part, a matter of rhythm. The comma marks a one-beat pause, the

semicolon marks two beats; the colon marks three.

Use a colon to introduce a list, a long quotation, an explanation or definition, or an

independent clause that demands more emphasis than a semicolon would provide.

When a colon introduces an independent passage or sentence, capitalize the first word

that follows it.

The em dash (—)

Use the em dash to set off an explanatory or parenthetical phrase or to indicate an abrupt

change in the sentence.

Because the em dash allows you to isolate or clarify ideas within a sentence, it is a handy

tool for making your writing clear and easy to read.

If you use an em dash to set off material that deserves emphasis, be sure to close your

aside.

However, [Aristotle] argues that those characteristics—the ones he suggests for being persuasive are personal and involve character and sentiment.

Like an unclosed parenthesis that irritates the reader by remaining open for pages, this

lonely em dash requires another.

Correct: However, [Aristotle] argues that those characteristics—the ones he suggests for being persuasive —are personal and involve character and sentiment.

Avoid confusing the hyphen (-) and the em dash (—). Figure out how to make the em

dash in WORD.

Quotation marks

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Use double quotation marks to enclose direct quotations from the text. Use single

quotation marks to enclose a quotation within a quotation. If for some reason you must

enclose a further quotation, go back to double marks.

Place quotation marks outside when you use a comma or a period, and inside when you

use a semicolon or colon.

Chicago recommends using a block quotation when the text you’re quoting is 100 words

or more, or at least eight lines. Set off long quotations by indenting them. Do not enclose

these quotes in quotation marks.

For example:

Adam Smith suggests that the talents we perceive as “natural” are to a large extent acquired. He writes:

The difference of natural talents in different men is, in reality, much less than we are aware of; and the very different genius which appears to distinguish men of different professions, when grown up to maturity, is not upon many occasions so much the cause, as the effect of the division of labour. The difference between the most dissimilar characters, between a philosopher and a common street porter, for example, seems to arise not so much from nature, as from habit, custom, and education. When they came into the world, and for the first six or eight years of their existence, they were, perhaps, very much alike, and neither their parents nor play-fellows could perceive any remarkable difference.3

It is unlikely that you would use a 100-word quote in a very short essay. You would

probably use quotes of this length in a senior thesis, M.A. thesis, or Ph.D. dissertation.

Contractions

Some academics bristle at contractions in formal writing. The Chicago manual is more

forgiving. Most be- verbs, Chicago declares, can be contracted when followed by “not.”

Correct: Whilst the pursuit of wealth for its own sake in part hints at the constitution of the spirit of capitalism, it surely does not wholly capture the idea.

Also correct: Whilst the pursuit of wealth for its own sake in part hints at the constitution of the spirit of capitalism, it surely doesn’t wholly capture the idea.

Numbers

3 Adam Smith, An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations, ed. R. H. Campbell and A.

S. Skinner (Indianapolis: Liberty Fund, 1982), 28-29.

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Chicago advises non-technical writers to spell out whole numbers from zero to one

hundred, as well as certain round numbers (e.g., one million).

D. STYLE

In matters of style, aim for clarity and vividness. Clarity is about saying what you want to

say. Vividness is about saying it memorably.

Do you use long words or short words? Do you organize your sentence in a

straightforward way? Do you opt for concrete verbs and nouns? Do you pepper your

prose with adverbs and adjectives? All these, and more, affect the clarity of your writing.

If you want to write vividly, you must write clearly. But you must also do more than that.

The finest prose is evocative and immediate. It conjures up images. It drums out a

rhythm. It stabs like a needle. To arrest the reader—to entrance him—you need an ear for

tone and tune, cadence and pulse. But above all you need humanity. Sentences that matter

have authors standing behind them, breathing life into the words.

Clarity

Clear writing reflects clear thinking. If you don’t know what you’re trying to say, you

won’t be able to express your points intelligibly.

Clear writing also promotes clear thinking. Each of your sentences should contain an idea

or insight. And each sentence should move your essay along. Distilling your ideas into

sentence-long pieces forces you to think harder about the assumptions and sub-ideas that

make up your larger point. These sub-ideas are the sentences that make your paragraphs,

and the paragraphs that make up your essay. Organizing your thoughts by writing them

down stimulates as many ideas as it reflects.

Don’t try to sound smart

Trying to sound smart often backfires. Ornate prose does not make you appear intelligent.

Pretense becomes perceptible.

Resist the urge to write the way you think academics write. The best academic writers

start out writing clearly. Some of these academics, once they have moved more deeply

into their specialties and acquired more precise vocabulary—words they use to talk with

other scholars in that specialty—write prose that seems arcane. But the opacity of

scholars who write well is usually just superficial. Real opacity does not come from big

words. It comes from muddled thinking.

As an undergraduate, you have not yet been initiated into a sub-field that requires

specialized vocabulary. So you do not need to write as if you were an expert writing for

other experts. Instead, think about how an academic would write for a general audience.

How would she explain a difficult concept simply and cogently?

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Clarity is the sturdiest foundation for intelligent writing. If you want to sound smart, strip

your sentences down instead of puffing them up.

The same applies to graduate students, unless they are members of a subgroup wherein

obscurity is valued. But even here, be careful. Most successful academic writing is

fundamentally clear—to those who understand the language. To be sure, some highly

valued works (e.g., Being and Time, The Sound and the Fury) were once regarded as

profoundly obscure. We aficionados now understand that those works were not quite so

obscure after all. But unless you know that you have the capacity to pull off what

Heidegger and Faulkner did, we suggest that you avoid trying to make your academic

debut with such writing.

Be suspicious of very long sentences

Long sentences, by and large, are more difficult to read than short sentences. Excessive

length can be a sign that you are trying to pack too many ideas into a single sentence.

Consider clarifying a confusing long sentence by breaking it up. Two clear short

sentences trump one unclear long sentence.

Write how you speak—and then edit

One strategy for achieving clarity is to write as if you were talking to a friend. This

technique can help you relax. Your writing will sound more natural as a result.

Because we tolerate more errors in speech than in writing, be sure to edit afterwards to

clean up your sentences.

Aim for the concrete over the abstract

In college, you will often be writing and talking about concepts. Do not get mired in the

intangible.

For example:

Kuhn supports his argument first by using a comparison between puzzles and paradigms and then by demonstrating this relation with rules and paradigms.

This summary of Kuhn is not helpful. The author has not answered the following

questions: What does Kuhn’s comparison between puzzles and paradigms show? What is

the relation between rules and paradigms? And, indeed: What is Kuhn’s argument?

When you use abstract words, you run the risk of concealing your meaning. Worse, you

run the risk of concealing from yourself that you do not know what your meaning is.

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Provide concrete examples to help your reader understand what the terms you use mean.

What is an example of a puzzle, a paradigm, and a rule, as Kuhn understands those

terms?

Citations

In academic writing, you must cite the evidence for your claims, thus making it available

to your reader. Disciplining yourself by supplying short, exemplary quotations and

specific page references may help you avoid vague and elliptical summaries of the

author’s argument.

Citations are, of course, more than a matter of style. If you cannot find justification for a

claim you make, that is often a signal that your claim is incorrect. Attentiveness to textual

evidence will make your writing not only evidentially more sound but also clearer.

Passive voice

In active sentences, the subject does the action. In passive voice, the action is done to the

subject (quick: is this sentence passive or active?).

Aristotle’s Rhetoric is an intricate analysis of rhetoric. Rhetoric is defined as “the power of seeing what is capable of being persuasive on each subject.”

Who defines rhetoric? Presumably Aristotle, because his work is the subject of the essay.

So why not say so?

Aristotle defines rhetoric as “the power of seeing what is capable of being persuasive on each subject.”

Always use active voice, unless you have a good reason for using passive voice.

Sometimes passive voice names an agent.

The votes are counted by volunteers.

Sometimes it names no agent at all.

The votes are counted.

The political scientist Harold Lasswell famously defined politics as “who gets what,

when, how.” David J. V. Bell’s treatment of politics as talk reworks Lasswell’s

formulation to describe politics as “who talks to whom, when, how.”4

4 John S. Nelson, “Stories of Science and Politics,” in The Rhetoric of the Human Sciences, ed. John S.

Nelson, Allan Megill, and Donald [Deirdre] N. McCloskey (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press,

1987), 209.

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Regardless of which view of politics you agree with, knowing who does what to whom is

crucial in the social sciences. Passive voice either conceals who does what to whom—

“The votes are counted,” but who counted them?—or buries it later in the sentence.

Avoiding passive voice is a matter of style: active sentences are more direct and more

elegant. But avoidance of the passive voice also accords with the ethics of academic

inquiry. Academic writers should explicate and clarify, not bury or omit information that

their readers need. So the passive voice is not your friend. It is not your reader’s friend

either. Think of it as the passive vice.

The word “as”

Be wary of “as,” because it is ambiguous. Use “because” and “since” (although “since” is

tricky as well, because it can be temporal), or “while” and “when.”

Alice did not want to clean her room as she was crying.

This sentence could mean either that Alice did not want to clean her room because she

was crying or that Alice simply did not want to be shedding tears while tidying up.

Ambiguous pronouns

Every pronoun has an antecedent. Make it clear to your reader which antecedent any

pronoun you use refers to. The pronoun “which” is particularly dangerous.

For example:

Namely, opponents of equality for homosexual individuals and same-sex couples are faced increasingly with functionally separate historical instances in which egalitarian principles have prevailed in the face of tradition-driven reasoning, which are then ostensibly available to advocates for gay rights to invoke as precedential weight behind their claims.

This sentence tries to do too much. Readers at first might think that the “which” that

follows “tradition-driven reasoning” refers to “tradition-driven reasoning.” Instead, the

“which” refers to the “functionally separate historical instances” in which concerns of

equality have trumped concerns of tradition.

Let’s make this sentence clearer:

Opponents of gay rights face numerous historical instances—such as Loving v. Virginia, which overturned laws banning interracial marriage—in which egalitarian principles prevailed over arguments that rested on tradition. Gay-rights advocates can assert that these instances offer precedential weight supporting their claims.

The edited version repairs the confusion over “which” by breaking the sentence into two.

It also simplifies the language, removes unneeded adverbs, and adds a concrete example

of a “historical instance.”

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Another pronoun liable to be abused is “it.”

While Confucius makes the importance and necessity of following one’s parents extremely clear, what is not made clear is the rationale behind it or the extent to which it must be followed.

The “it” refers to filial piety. As phrased, the sentence reads awkwardly. Like Confucius,

the author has not clarified his points.

While Confucius makes the importance and necessity of following one’s parents extremely clear, he does not clarify the rationale behind doing so nor the extent to which people should practice filial piety.

The word “this”

The word “this” nearly always needs a noun to follow it.

Thus it seems clear to me that Socrates had a rather idealistic and unrealistic view of what human nature is or should be. This brings up a pertinent problem in making it rather inapplicable to today’s times. It is with regards to this that Cephalus brings up an interesting point in The Republic.

This passage uses “this” ambiguously in two sentences in a row. One sentence is hard to

get away with. Two is impossible.

Let’s rewrite:

It seems clear that Socrates had a rather unrealistic understanding of human nature. Because of Socrates’ starry-eyed view of human motivation, we cannot apply his ideas to contemporary debates about justice and punishment. Cephalus, on the other hand, presents a more nuanced view of human nature in The Republic.

Starting a sentence with “this” and not following the “this” with a noun is a red flag. It is

a signal that you are not sure what the “this” refers to.

When writing about various arguments an author makes, saying “this view” or “this

understanding”—as opposed to an unqualified “this”—will make your response to the

writer’s arguments clearer, because you will know which aspect of the argument you are

commenting on.

In this section, Aristotle is telling or instructing rhetoricians about three things essential to rhetoric. This suggests that rhetoricians do not discover rhetoric but perhaps learn it by being subject to Aristotle’s knowledge of the topic.

An easy fix:

In this section, Aristotle is telling or instructing rhetoricians about three things essential to rhetoric. This didacticism suggests a view on Aristotle’s part that rhetoricians do not discover

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rhetoric but perhaps learn it by absorbing Aristotle’s knowledge of the topic.

Clutter

Too many linking words—prepositions and conjunctions such as of, for, to, that, and so

on—often are signs of a cluttered sentence.

Clutter is the bane of clarity. If a word adds nothing to your sentence, omit it.

Noun and verb styles

Noun style: Arrival; Reconnaissance, Victory.

Verb style: I came. I saw. I conquered.5

The verb style moves swiftly. Reading the noun style is like swimming through mud. If

you can say with verbs what you might say with nouns, do so. If you can say with nouns

what you might say with verbs, resist the impulse.

Be suspicious of nouns ending in –tion. Excessive –tion words are a sign that you are

veering into noun style.

The use of “I”

Don’t be afraid to use “I.” Some academic disciplines abstain from using “I”—as if a

piece of writing simply appeared, with no one having written it—but history, the

humanities, and most of the social sciences endorse its use.

Music and cadence

Read your written work aloud. See what rhythms and patterns you can detect. Does it

read smoothly? Or is it clunky and halting?

Absorbing poetry and serious fiction is the surest way to make your writing sing.

II. WRITING “READING RESPONSE PAPERS” FOR CLASSES

We now move on to short-form response papers of the sort that professors may well

assign in their courses, as a means of stimulating student learning and of getting feedback

about how well students are learning. We shall call these “Reading Response Papers”

(RRPs). We envisage RRPs as being no more than 500 words in length, and probably

less.

5 Richard Lanham, Analyzing Prose (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1983), 15.

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You get no prizes for going long in this genre: most likely, the professor simply wants to

know how insightful you have been in your reading of the assigned material. If you have

not adequately grappled with the reading that the professor assigned, writing twice the

number of words that the professor has asked for will not save you. It will only annoy

her, because 1,000 words take longer to read than 500 words. Moreover, writing at

greater length offers a greater risk of exposing the limits of your knowledge.

Reading Response Papers (RRPs)

An RRP is an attempt to convey your understanding of what an author is saying, and to

comment on some aspect of the text in question.

RRPs serve three purposes.

First, RRPs get us into the habit of writing. Students must not fear putting pen to paper

(or, more likely, fingertips to keyboard). Writing a senior thesis, an M.A. thesis, or a

Ph.D. dissertation, or a marketing report, or a legal brief, is in many respects a matter of

applying the same willingness to commit your thoughts to paper as is required in short-

form writing.

The big difference between writing a very short piece and writing a senior thesis, M.A.

thesis, dissertation, or other piece of long writing is this: Long-form writing requires clear

and explicit advance planning, lest the writing turn into an aimless and undirected

ramble. In many cases, short-form writing requires only that you think for a few minutes

about the reading or the problem the professor has asked you to write about, and then

write. After you have written your 300 or 500 words, print it out, edit it severely on

paper, and then re-write it. Never submit work to a professor unless you have edited and

revised it.

Second, we compose RRPs to refine how we approach complex problems and how we

interpret conceptually dense texts. Good academic writing, with few exceptions, needs to

be about “real stuff”: scenes of practice (including imagined scenes of practice) that we

approach in a reflective rather than a merely polemical way. Distilling and commenting

on an author’s argument in 300 to 500 words, or attempting to clarify the gist of a

problem, is good preparation for longer-form writing.

Third, RRPs elevate the level of discussion and understanding in seminars and in

lectures. They are a check to make sure students read in advance. They are also a check

to make sure students think in advance. Writing an RRP before class forces you to

articulate your response to the text. It ensures that you will have intelligent things to say

in the seminar.

Where to start?

If there is a single best way to go about writing a RRP, it is something like this:

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1. State in your own words what you believe the author is saying. (Or, state in your

own words the gist of the problem.)

You need not summarize the entire text, or the entire range of the problem (for example:

the problem of justice, or the problem of breaking into the Chinese market for widgets).

But you should not refer to an author’s argument in your RRP unless you have said what

that argument is. Summing up an author’s argument shows that you have understood

what the author is saying. It also tells the reader that you have given the author’s claims a

fair hearing. Mutatis mutandis, you also need to say what the problem is that you are

dealing with.

2. Identify a feature of the author’s argument, or a feature of the problem, that you

would like to explicate, critique, or suggestively extend.

Say what aspect of the text or problem you would like to focus on. It might be helpful to

mention why you find that aspect interesting. Do you perceive a contradiction or tension

in the author’s treatment of a particular subject? Do you believe that the author’s

approach toward the subject casts light on a contemporary matter, such as a recent

Supreme Court decision or political dilemma? Is there a formal aspect of the text that

intrigues or puzzles you? Did the author make an argument that you didn’t expect him to

make?

3. Elaborate on the aspect of the text (or problem) that you find interesting. Use

examples, and offer evidence for your claims.

Include carefully selected quotes from the author you are discussing to ground your

arguments in textual evidence. Be concise: in this genre you have only a limited number

of words.

What to avoid

1. Vague or dense language that conceals a misunderstanding or misreading

For the purposes of the RRP, it is better to be clear, and clearly wrong, than abstruse and

equivocal. If you put forth your understanding of the author in lucid terms, even if it is

incorrect, other people will be able to add nuance to your view or suggest ways in which

you have misread. Some people call this process “learning.” It is well known that truth

arises more readily from error than from confusion.

We would wager that if you attempt to say what you think the author is saying in an

understandable way, you are less likely to misread in the first place.

2. Needless abstraction

Do not waste words wandering around in philosophical minefields. Get to the point you

want to make. Ground your point in evidence and examples.

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3. Lack of evidence

We can think of two telltale indications that you are not marshaling sufficient evidence to

support your claims. First is a failure to cite the text when you reference it directly and

indirectly. Second is making broad, sweeping claims.

These signs that an RRP is going off track often emerge together. If you remain focused

on the text you are studying, you are less likely to leave it aside to make a sweeping

argument that you fail to give evidence for. Similarly, if your focus is on a problem,

make sure that you do not create the impression that you think you are the first person to

have ever noticed the problem. For example, if your topic is freedom, you should at least

hint that you have read John Stuart Mill; if it is the banking crisis, then you’d better make

sure that you allude to, if not directly reference and discuss, the important authors on that

subject.

4. Bambi vs. Godzilla

You are smart, but Aristotle is smarter. You are unlikely to take him down in 600 words.

Nor are you likely to solve the problem of world peace in such a work.

If you would like to dispute a point that an author makes, do so: but in a measured way.

An antagonistic mode is not the best approach for an RRP. Given the time and space

constraints of the exercise, an attempt to refute an author’s point is likely to give his

arguments short shrift.

Tips for success

1. Define the terms you use. Do not use a word unless you know what it means.

Some commonly misused words:

Refute. To refute a statement or theory is to disprove it. Don’t confuse a mere denial with

a refutation. If you say that someone has refuted someone else’s allegations, you are

responsible for showing how this is so, if there might be any doubt on that score in your

reader’s mind.

Ideology. This term connotes more than you might think. Avoid it unless you have

carefully studied Marx, Lukács, or both. If you want to speak about an author’s system of

ideas, you can say, for example, “Plato’s philosophy.”

Rationalism. Rationalism is different from “rationality” as an introductory economics

course might define it. The word “rationalism” most commonly refers to the view that

knowledge (that is, true, certain knowledge) comes from reason rather than from

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experience. Thomas Hobbes is a famous rationalist, in this sense. However, the word also

has other meanings.

You might say that an author is “rational,” but if you wish to brand the author as a

“rationalist,” be very, very careful. Most likely, you are stepping onto a minefield.

Empiricism. Empiricism is rationalism’s counterpart. Empiricism holds that knowledge

comes from sense-experience.

Implication. An implication is a conclusion that we can draw. It is not explicitly stated.

Effect. Effect differs from implication. An effect is the result of an action or other cause.

Explanation. An explanation, in the social sciences, answers the question: What caused

x? We advise you not to obscure the difference between an explanation in that sense and

a description, which attempts to say what is (or was) the case.

Assertion / claim / contention. Says that something is the case without necessarily

providing proof.

Argument. To provide a reason or reasons to persuade others that something is the case.

Do not confuse a claim with an argument. To claim that x is the case is not yet to offer an

argument in support of that claim.

To posit. To “posit” something is to suggest that we treat it as if it were true, simply for

the sake of making an argument. In actual fact, it may or may not be true. Do not say that

Hobbes posits that true knowledge comes from reason. On the contrary: that is what

Hobbes claims.

Let us posit that cockroaches are peculiarly resistant to nuclear radiation.

2. Be careful of idioms. Say discussion of x, not discussion on x. Avoid “with regard to”

or “in regard to”: better to say “regarding” or “concerns” or “is about.”

3. Write about something that interests you. If you’re bored, your reader will be too. So

have fun!

Examples of RRPs (mini-essays) done well

Machiavelli, The Prince

It is in many ways tempting to label Machiavelli’s The Prince as an early work of

extreme-realist nation-building strategy and foreign policy theory. He does, after all, explicitly

subscribe to the philosophy that war is inevitable and, in writing The Prince, sets out to detail the

steps to gaining and preserving power at any and all cost. There seems to be, however, at least

one critical and somewhat confounding difference between Machiavelli’s approach to power

politics and the tenets of contemporary realism that makes his stance significantly the bolder of

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the two. While modern realists generally view the world in a sort of vacuum devoid of most

ethical and moral considerations and judgments in which most state actions are inherently

justified, Machiavelli openly and repeatedly passes ethical judgment on the very policies he

recommends and the actions of historical figures whom he points to as models.

Much of the evidence for this point comes simply from Machiavelli’s choice of words.

For example, in chapter eight, he describes the need to “distinguish between cruelty well used and

cruelty abused” (30). A few things immediately stand out from this section. First, by using the

word “cruelty,” rather than traditional realist terms (or, in some cases, euphemisms) like force or

even violence, Machiavelli seems to be passing some ethical judgment on the action. This

argument gains even greater traction when considered alongside Machiavelli’s later

recommendation that new rulers should “make a list of all the crimes [he] has to commit and do

them all at once” (30). In using highly charged terms like “cruelty” and “crime,” Machiavelli

injects his own moral judgment into discussions of state building and international relations and

seems to break the golden rule of classical realist theory that stresses that all acts in the interest of

state power and security are justified in a world of cut-throat competition and unrelenting self-

interest between nations. If this were the case, and unthinkable cruelty happened to be used by a

particular city or people against another in the interest of power or security, wouldn’t it cease to

be a crime? Wouldn’t it be justified by the nature of the game that is statecraft? Machiavelli’s

seems to indicate that he believes the answer is no, though, interestingly, it doesn’t stop him from

recommending such policies anyway.

So in promoting the ostensibly realist strategy manifesto that is The Prince, is

Machiavelli simultaneously making an argument against it? Is he admitting that the whole

concept and mindset is morally deplorable, but the only way to survive in a world of selfish state

actors? Or, more directly, can one infer that Machiavelli believes only criminals can win in the

struggle for life on the global stage? All of these questions seem worth considering in further,

more detailed study.

This RRP is surprisingly short: not even 500 words. One minor imperfection is that the

author does not define “realist theory.” Realist theory is a term familiar to students of

international relations and conflict, but it has different connotations in other disciplines,

such as literary studies. But this RRP is lucid, intelligent, and would add significantly to

classroom discussion of the text.

Hirschman, The Rhetoric of Reaction

One of the three principal reactionary theses Albert O. Hirschman identifies in The

Rhetoric of Reaction is the perversity thesis. The perversity thesis holds that “any purposive

action to improve some feature of the political, social or economic order only serves to exacerbate

the condition one wishes to remedy” (7). Reactionary arguments, Hirschman asserts, sometimes

employ the perversity thesis to oppose progressive action. Such arguments contend that an action

will result in the exact opposite of what the progressive actors intend. Hirschman examines critics

of the French Revolution, the welfare state and, to a lesser extent, universal suffrage to show how

reactionaries argued that these attempts to remake society would backfire.

The perversity claim stands as the “single most popular and effective weapon in the

annals of reactionary rhetoric,” Hirschman holds (140). The thesis owes much to a religious or

quasi-religious view of a “remarkably volatile” social world (72). Hirschman highlights the

kinship between the reactionary principle of perverse outcomes and a belief in “Divine

Providence” whose task is to “foil the designs of men, whose pretensions to build an ideal society

were to be exposed as naïve and preposterous” (17). The perversity thesis implies that attempts to

redesign society are hubristic. One can read the perverse consequences of a progressive policy as

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divine punishment. The perverse effect, Hirschman writes, “has an affinity to myth and religion

and to the belief in direct supernatural intervention in human affairs” (73). Human intentions will

be thwarted, purveyors of the perversity thesis hold.

Given its associations with religion and divine intervention, the perversity claim has a

close affinity with another type of reactionary argument we often hear today: the playing-God

objection. The playing-God argument, when levied against a particular policy or action, can take

an explicitly religious form or a less religious form. The explicitly religious form assumes that a)

God exists; b) certain decisions or actions are reserved for God, according to God’s commands;

and c) we should obey God’s commands. The metaphorical form does not rely on religious texts

but nonetheless holds that people should not behave as if they were God.

One hears the playing-God argument most often in debates about genetic engineering or

de-extinction efforts. The thesis also comes up in arguments about abortion — deciding who can

live or die, some pro-life advocates contend, amounts to playing God.

One can see radical attempts to remake society as efforts to play God, especially if one

believes, as many 18th

-century critics of the French Revolution did, that the social order is

divinely ordained. To play God by enacting progressive social reform is to invite divine

retribution. Such retribution could take the form of perverse consequences. Thus we have the

perversity thesis, a heartbeat away from the playing-God objection.

Considering the playing-God claim alongside the perversity thesis clarifies both lines of

argument. The comparison brings to light the playing-God objection’s debts to reactionary

rhetoric. It also highlights the perversity claim’s roots in religious thinking.

There is, however, a key difference between the two strains of argument. The perversity

thesis focuses on consequences. Critics who wield the perversity thesis focus on the potential

negative effects of a particular policy or action. The playing-God argument, on the other hand,

focuses on means. People who criticize a policy by saying it amounts to playing God voice

concerns primarily about the attitudes or methods progressive actors employ rather than a

particular policy’s consequences. But the perversity thesis often implies a playing-God objection:

perverse consequences come as a result of humans playing God. And the playing-God argument

often suggests the threat of perverse consequences: if you dare to play God, your efforts will

backfire.

III. THOUGHTS ABOUT WRITING LONGER PAPERS, FROM TERM PAPERS

TO SENIOR THESES TO DISSERTATIONS6 VERSION OF 2015 03 24 ALLAN MEGILL

ABOVE ALL, AN ACADEMIC PAPER REQUIRES A QUESTION. IT SHOULD

BE A GOOD QUESTION. IT SHOULD NORMALLY BE AN ANSWERABLE

QUESTION.

“une oeuvre, c’est une question bien posée.” François Furet

The question should be appropriate to the field in which you are writing. A good question

will likely be simple. Don’t attempt, in the question, to prove how much you already

know. Make sure that you have available to you, or can readily obtain, material that will

6 I adapt this document from a longer document dealing with the Program in Political and Social Thought senior thesis requirement.

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make it possible for you to answer the question, or at least move closer to answering it.

An academic paper normally requires evidence and argument in support of the claims the

author makes in it. Don’t assume that people will believe you just because you said it.

THE PROCESS OF FINDING A QUESTION

Without being too self-critical or taking too much time, you should sit down (or stand up)

and formulate anywhere from five to ten questions that you have some interest in, and

which, through research, you might be able to clarify, or even answer. Write the

questions down.

Eliminate the worst, least feasible questions, until you arrive at anywhere from two to

four questions that you might want to work with. Write the questions down.

Spending a bit more time at this stage of the process, write up, in no more than two

single-spaced pages (probably less) a justification and “plan of attack” indicating how

you might approach the task of addressing two, three, or all of those questions. Ideally,

you should submit this short document to an informed critic. If you are writing the paper

for a class, that person would probably be the professor who teaches the class. (NOTE:

Just because someone knows or seems to know a little more than you do does not in itself

make that person an informed critic.)

The next stage is to write up a Paper Prospectus. For a very short paper, the Prospectus

will likely be extremely short: a sentence or two at most. But let us assume that the paper

is much longer—perhaps the length of a senior thesis (normally 60-120 pages in many

Distinguished Majors Programs).

FORMAT OF A SENIOR-THESIS OR LONG-PAPER PROSPECTUS

A Thesis Prospectus requires: 1) a title. 2) a brief statement of the animating question of

the thesis.

3) a brief statement of the rationale (justification) and projected aim of the research.

4) a brief layout of a proposed argument of the thesis. The proposed argument is likely to

be tentative, and may even be undecided between two opposing positions (with the

hypothesis implicitly, if not explicitly, being put up against its opposite, the “null

hypothesis”).

The proposed argument section should not be confused with a thesis statement, about

which some people hear in secondary school. We assume in a scholarly investigation (as

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distinguished from polemic or propaganda) that the answer is not known in advance

(otherwise, no scholarly investigation would be needed).

The laying out of a proposed argument is important, because otherwise there is a

tendency for undergraduate theses to drift toward becoming, in large chunks, mere

summaries of vaguely relevant material. Of course, there will be a need to convey

information to the reader, but the conveying of information needs to be subordinated to

the carrying out of an argument.

5) Next comes a “chapterization” of the anticipated thesis, giving a view as to how the

student anticipates organizing the thesis from page 1 through to the end. There will be

separate headings for the Introduction, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, and

Conclusion. (Normally a thesis will not have more than four chapters and it may well

have fewer. More isn’t necessarily better.) These segments need to be laid out in such a

way that the reader of the proposal will have a “feel” for what the possible argument

connecting these segments will be. In this way, there will be a plausible “flow” from

Introduction to Conclusion.

Further Advice concerning “chapterization”:

Each anticipated chapter will be given a descriptive title. Each of the elements from the

Introduction through to the last chapter will include three to five sentences in which the

thesis-writer indicates what the chapter will be describing and what the anticipated

argument or narrative or logical “flow” of the chapter will be. The Conclusion section

will also include several sentences, but because the research has not yet been carried out

these sentences will not present a set of claims. Rather, they will highlight, perhaps in an

interrogatory mode, the as yet unresolved issues that the thesis will be addressing.

The entire sequence needs to be conceptually and argumentatively coherent (it should

“tell a plausible story,” in a broad sense of “story”). The reader of the Prospectus should

at no point be puzzled as to how each statement connects with what precedes and what

follows it. At the same time, the story/argument should acknowledge that the truth is not

yet known, given that the research has not yet been done.

IV. ADDENDA TO “WRITING GUIDE” AM, LAST REVISED 2015 04 24

A general comment: The rules given below relate to academic style. If you were writing

for a newspaper, or if you were writing a work of fiction, or if you were blogging, you

would in some instances below not follow these rules. Moreover, a few of these addenda

are merely instances of A. Megill’s preferences. If you are writing for AM, follow these

rules; if for others, take your chances.

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After C. Tyson composed the “Writing Guide,” Pts. I and II, A. Megill wrote up these

addenda in response to mini-essays (RRPs) that violated CT’s rules, or that made AM

aware of other rules that needed to be made explicit.

Although: I have a mild preference, in most cases, for “although” over “though,” on the

grounds that “although” is instantly unambiguous, whereas “though” could be

momentarily confused with “through” or “thought.” Call me obsessive-compulsive if you

will: but you lose nothing, except two spaces, if you follow this rule (most of the time—

sometimes the sound or rhythm of the sentence tells against this rule).

Among…between: We reserve “between” for a relation between two entities, and

“among” for a relation among three or more entities.

Avoid passive voice: This prescription is in the “Writing Guide,” but students have

ignored it so persistently that I repeat it. Go through your half-finished piece of writing

and convert unjustified passive-voice constructions to active voice.

Based off [of]: Attend to the metaphor: something is based on something else. For

example, the statue of Robert E. Lee in downtown Charlottesville (we do have such a

statue, do we not?) is based on its supporting plinth. Were someone to blow it up, it might

no longer be on that base. It might be off it. So when a student writes that X is “based off”

Y, I imagine a whole sequence of blown-up statues. Unless that is what you are actually

trying to convey, don’t say “based off.”

Both…as well as: This construction makes no sense, and marks you as inattentive.

Instead, in English we say and write “both…and.”

Both writers agree that P: Don’t say that! If the two writers hold the same position (P),

you should write “The two writers agree that P” or “Both writers hold that P.” It is a

logical error to say that “Both writers agree that P,” because their mutual agreement

requires, as a prior condition, that they hold the same position with respect to P. If you

say that “They both agree that P,” you are writing illogically. But perhaps you mean that

the two writers agree with a third or fourth writer, agent, etc., that P. If that is what your

intended meaning is, and if it is true, say “Both writers agree [with a third writer, agent,

etc.] that P.” However, I find that this is very rarely the intended meaning.

Evident vs. apparent: To avoid offending people who know the etymology of “apparent,”

with its connotations of mere appearance (par exemple, en français on dit très souvent “il

paraît que…,” which means “it appears [seems] that…”), I prefer that you write “evident”

when you want to say that something is obviously true, and that you write “apparent”

when you mean to convey the idea that there is some tincture of doubt. I concede that

most readers of English aren’t aware of the etymology; tant pis.

It’s: See “The symmetry preference,” below.

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The manner in which: Why not “the way”? Don’t refer to “the manner in which

Augustine went about pursuing truth”; refer rather to “the way Augustine…etc.”

More…: When you use the word “more,” make sure that it will be utterly clear to the

reader what follows the implied, but often unstated, “than.”

Most vs. the majority of: Never say this sort of thing: “The majority of the beans in the

experiment were red.” No, we have a fine English word “most” that you should use in

that case—unless the beans have the right to vote, which I doubt.

Parentheses and brackets: If you have parentheses within parentheses, you should

operate as follows, using brackets where you would otherwise use parentheses: ([ ]).

Realize and recognize: People sensitive to etymology will be offended if you use

“realize” to mean “recognize,” when the etymology of “realize” suggests, rather, the

meaning “to make real,” or “to effectuate,” or “to bring about.” If you mean “to

recognize,” why not say “to recognize”?

The reason for which: Clunky. “The reason why” or even simply “the reason” are

almost always preferable: “Theirs not to make reply, / Theirs not to reason why, / Theirs but to

do and die: / Into the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred.” And you too, if you’re not careful.

Refute/deny: To “refute” means to definitively and absolutely demonstrate that

something is false. You should almost always substitute “deny” for “refute.” Only use

“refute” when you yourself have offered, and fully take responsibility for, the supposed

refutation. And make sure that it really is a refutation. If a reasonable reader might doubt

the absolute solidity of your logical thinking and of the empirical supports that you offer,

well, then—you’d better say “deny.”

The symmetry preference: It is no accident that Blake’s Tyger was symmetrical (“What

immortal hand or eye / Dare frame they fearful symmetry?”). Who are you to go against

God? In general, even at the expense of adding an extra word or two, it is better to follow

the rule of symmetry. Here is an example:

It’s interesting that the audience member was asking for a set of action points, not, so far as I remember, for principles.

In correcting a student’s mini-essay, I inserted the second “for” for reasons of symmetry

(and also to make sure that the grammatical role of “principles” would be instantly clear).

BTW, in academic style one would usually avoid the contraction “it’s” (one would also

not write “BTW”). However, although I’ve not run a check of academic articles and

books to see how often authors are allowed by copy-editors to say “it’s” or (“I’ve”)

instead of “it is” (or “I have”), I don’t find these contractions conceptually offensive.

That: Tell someone that she should come home, vs. Tell someone she should come home:

If you are writing a novel, go for the second option. If you are writing academic prose,

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consider going for the first option. Inclusion of the “that” avoids a momentary feeling of

ambiguity on the reader’s part. This is not, however, a hard-and-fast rule: taste is required.

Time period: In almost every instance, the phrase “time period” is an extremely

annoying redundancy. Usually, you should simply say “period,” unless there is a danger

that the reader might think that you have some other kind of period in mind.

Upon vs. on: If “on” will do, do not use “upon.” Reserve “upon” for instances where you

need an intensification of some sort, or where there is a idiomatic saying (“Once upon a

time,…”) to be honored.

Use complete sentences: Write in complete sentences. Only rarely, and perhaps never,

should you diverge from this rule.

Within vs. in: Never use “within” unless there is reason to intensify the idea of in-ness,

which, usually, is perfectly well conveyed by “in.”

Do not write only for initiates: If your discussion of a particular text or situation in

written in such a way that it can be understood only by people who are intimately familiar

with that text or situation, your writing is ipso facto bad—very, very, very bad. Your

obligation is to write in such a way that your piece of writing stands on its own feet.

Otherwise, nobody will read you. Even initiates—perhaps especially initiates—will be

irritated.

V. ODDS AND ENDS AM, August 2014

Here are a few more points that I don’t have time or inclination to comment on in detail,

at least not right now. Some are so evidently justified that they need no commentary:

Identifying your work: Include your name both in the filename and on the first page of

everything you submit to a professor. “MYPOLTHEORYESSAY” says nothing to a TA

or professor.

Quoting and citation rules: Except in informal pieces of writing where the professor

exempts you from following formal citation style, your method of citation needs to

follow the examples given in the “Writing Guide.” Everything that you write that is not in

proper academic style impairs the reception of what you are saying. Such divergences

also suggest that you either don’t know, or are unwilling to follow, the rules of the game.

For the citation rules in detail, see Turabian et al.; for the rules in excruciating detail, see

Chicago Manual of Style. Note that Turabian and Chicago also provide rules for the

Author/Date mode of citation, which is preferred in many disciplines (although not in

history).

27

Again, if the professor explicitly exempts you from following formal citation style, you

have an “out”—if you wish to take it.

Twenty years ago, when I was the Journal of the History of Ideas’s designated hit man

for all would-be articles dealing with Nietzsche, Heidegger, Foucault, and related

luminaries, I could usually tell within the space of three sentences which authors were “in

the game” and which were not. I kick myself now for reading all the manuscripts

through from beginning to end, instead of only the manuscripts that passed the “three

sentence rule.” What a waste of time that was.

Font and font size: Preferred font is the neutral and quite boring Times New Roman,

font size 12; feel free to use a font size of 10 in notes. The great thing about Times New

Roman is that we never notice it. In an academic context, usually anything of a formal

sort that draws attention to itself is bad. You might say to me: “But—Foucault’s Chinese

encyclopedia?”7 To which I would say: “You aren’t Foucault.”

Headers: Do not put any stuff in the header apart from a page number, and a “running

head” if you need one (a running head would be appropriate for a chapter in a thesis or

dissertation, for example).

Breaks: Do not put page or section breaks in your text, unless you have a very strong

need to do so (for example, in order to start numbering footnotes from “1” again).

Sometimes section breaks can be horrible to get out.8 Also avoid inserting any other

unnecessary elements into the text. Keep it simple.

WORD/RTF vs. PDF: In general, submit your work in a WORD or WORD-compatible

format (.rtf), not in PDF. Most professors at U.Va. cannot easily edit and comment on

PDF files. On the other hand, PDF is good for archiving a completely graded and finished

piece of work.

7 Actually, it was Borges’ Chinese encyclopedia. “You” is in trouble already.

8 Here and just above, I write “Do not” instead of “Don’t” to convey a greater intensity.