Grammar Rules

Grammar, even in an ever-changing world, is necessary for clear communication; the benefits of a common structure far outweigh the demand for artistic fluidity.

Language is, first and foremost, a means of communication. The consistency of grammatical rules allow readers to get an accurate idea of what the writer was trying to convey. The presence of an Oxford comma, for example, can change the meaning of a sentence drastically (Source G). Punctuation marks not only prevent ambiguity, but can also be used to emphasize a point--each has its own connotation. Grammatically correct writing does not have to be devoid of style. The semicolon, as Dolnick states, "captures the way in which our thoughts are both liquid and solid" (Source E). The dash is "informal and essentially playful" (Source D). These connotations are universally recognized, and help create a connection between the author and audience. Adherence to the rules of grammar should remain the standard because it enables effective communication (Source A). Even if, as Hitchings asserts, punctuation has changed over time, the need for punctuation in general has not. In fact, new marks have cropped up due to social media sites like Twitter, showing that punctuation is still useful even in modern times. After all, not everyone is Emily Dickinson; loosening the confines of punctuation would probably result in more rubbish than poetry. 

Surprise!

The ending of The Scarlet Letter was unexpected, but only partially. By now, we've been conditioned to expect plot twists and surprise endings. What half-decent novel or film doesn't have them? From Ender's Game to The Dark Knight Rises, the unexpected has started to become, if you'll excuse the cliché, the expected.

[Spoiler alert]

Near the end of The Scarlet Letter, Hester and Dimmesdale make plans to escape Boston and leave behind their sins. To more cynical readers, this seems too good to be true--a fairy-tale ending, if you will. This sentiment is manifested in Pearl, who foreshadows the tragic ending when she makes Hester put her scarlet letter back on. In addition, Hawthorne's reputation as a "brooding" Romantic also does not bode well for Hester and Dimmesdale. Despite all this, escaping with Hester is still the most rational choice for Dimmesdale; it's most likely what we would do if we were in his position. So, in effect, we're expecting the plot twist even though it's not the most reasonable thing to do.

So why does Dimmesdale do it? Why does he confess to the world, effectively committing suicide and deserting Hester and Pearl, when he has a perfectly good escape plan?

Earlier, I called the ending tragic. However, from Dimmesdale's point of view, it's not necessarily so. His confession is his catharsis, a cleansing of his soul from years of accumulated guilt. He's finally at peace with himself and God and ready to receive his judgement. This illustrates how painful secrets can be, and the sheer relief that comes with their revelation. You could also argue that Dimmesdale was just a coward who couldn't just get on with his life, but that's a matter of opinion.

In the end, Dimmesdale is very similar to John Proctor. They both valued the truth over their own lives.

Schadenfreude

There's something mesmerizing about the ill fortune of others. 

What does the abundance of mishaps on TV and the internet reveal about human nature? We've all showed friends funny clips of people "failing" and getting hurt before. From an outsider's perspective, this behavior is a bit barbaric. You'd think we have progressed beyond laughing at someone taking a pratfall, but evidently we haven't. 

Roger Chillingworth exhibits the same behavior, taking pleasure in Dimmesdale's psychological torment. When Chillingworth first arrives in Boston, he seems normal enough. He's gradually twisted by his thirst for revenge, until even his physical appearance reflects his dark thoughts. This transition seems crazy at first--a regular person could never become that evil. A simple search for "revenge killing" proves this assumption wrong. Under extreme circumstances, people are often willing to give up their ideals for the sake of vengeance. It takes an extremely strong sense of morality to forgive, say, someone who kidnapped your children.

The fact that there are people who commit crimes itself speaks to the depravity of human nature, let alone the people who then are incited to revenge.

As Hawthorne said, no matter how spotless a community, one of the first buildings they find it necessary to build is a jail. 

Theory of Mind

"We're all minor characters in someone else's story." -Unknown

In class, we read "This is Water" by David Foster Wallace, who posits that our "default setting" is self-centered and self-seeking. He uses stream of consciousness to emulate a daily experience, and it's uncannily accurate. I know I've been guilty of thinking that way, especially after a long day at school. How can we all think of other people as nuisances, even as they're thinking the same thing?

From birth, you can only experience life from one perspective--your own. We are not born as omniscient narrators, able to view and comment on the thoughts of others (which would make socializing so much easier). All we know is our own psyche. This is part of the reason why "simple awareness" is so difficult to maintain; it's hard to consider others when we're so used to providing for ourselves above all else.

Selfishness is hardwired into our systems. Our ancestors competed to survive, just as we now compete to be successful. People fight for fame, wealth, power, you name it. The nature of this competition demands selfishness: for every winner, there must be losers. We're easily blinded by our goals, too busy working to notice the plight of others. It's not uncommon to see hundreds, thousands of people walking by a beggar without giving a second glance.

The term theory of mind refers to the capacity to empathize. It's quite possibly the most valuable gift humans have--it allows for strong connections to be made between individuals. Theory of mind is what separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom. It's what David Foster Wallace is talking about, taking the time to truly care about others. It's a shame that we're not using it to it's full extent.

On a more positive note, a relatively recent photography movement has sprung up: Humans of New York. Brandon Stanton's work captures snapshots of people we'll never meet, providing a glimpse of their life stories. It really makes you think about the people you meet every day. What if there's more to "the guy who wears funny hats," or "the guy who sits behind me in chemistry?" This is a step in the right direction; it's this kind of art that really brings out the best in humanity.

Bananappeals

Did you know that bananas are naturally slightly radioactive (thanks to their potassium content), but the level of radiation is not high enough to cause harm?

Jokes aside, appeals are largely responsible for the power of language. They can make the reader question previously held beliefs or solidify them. As we've seen from reading historical documents in class, early American writers used appeals to great effect. 

Patrick Henry used a variety of arguments in his speech; he mixed logical evidence with loaded language such as "insidious," "delusive," and "invincible." Integrating the abstract and the concrete served to make both more effective--readers are more likely to accept his rational evidence after being softened by his emotional appeal, and the evidence makes the emotional appeal seem more logical. In addition, his use of rhetorical questions guided the audience's thinking throughout the speech. This combination of tactics served to stir the hearts of many. 

Appeals, however, can also be considered manipulative depending on how they're used. Emotional appeals are especially dangerous because they don't require any evidence. People should be critical of speeches and causes that rely solely on emotional appeal to gain supporters. This is exemplified by the advertisements that deluge us today; organizations like PETA attempt to guilt-trip viewers instead of providing factual information.

"The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it." -Terry Pratchett

The Effects of Refrigeration on Hippopotamuses

Names make an impact on what we expect from something or someone.

Depending on the context of a situation, names can be viewed in different ways. Reputation tends to be tied up with names, especially in The Crucible, because a name is how society identifies an individual. Your name is a label that encompasses everything you've done publicly. Since only public actions will affect your reputation--and hence your name--people who are eager to inflate their stature often try to publicize every good deed while concealing incriminating events. This behavior is clearly evident in Salem; everyone from Abigail to Reverend Hale is concerned about defending their reputation. Proctor is even willing to die in order to keep his name in the town unblemished. 

On the other hand, reputation doesn't mean much if you've only just met a person. After learning a stranger's name, people tend to make snap judgements about the person based on several factors.

• Meaning

Although less common today, in Biblical times names were often chosen because of their meaning. Abraham, for example, means "father of many;" a fitting name for the ancestor of innumerable people. Parents often try to name their children optimistically, like Aaron (shining light) or Bella (beautiful).

• Prior experience

If someone named Oliver bullied you throughout middle school, you're probably going to have an unfavourable first impression of Olivers in the future. It might not even be a conscious reaction.

• Stereotypes or associations

Research shows that certain names can be and are discriminated against. Some names just carry negative connotations. For example, after 9/11, anyone with a slightly Middle-Eastern name was treated with suspicion. Again, this discrimination isn't always a conscious or hostile decision. Just think of the names Olga and Alyssa. Since my name is Newton, I've had plenty of prior experience with people who make (original and hilarious) jokes about how intelligent I must be. I'm sure I've had a completely different experience than, say, someone named Batman.

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep

This week in class, we read The Crucible, a play by Arthur Miller about the hysterical atmosphere of the Salem witch trials. Again, we see the power of mob mentality at work. With all the discussion of social dynamics we've been having lately (stereotyping, power of the individual, etc.), it seems like I accidentally signed up for a psychology course, but I digress.

Proctor, the tragic hero of the play, is somewhat of an anomaly in the town of Salem. He doesn't participate in petty squabbles over land like the rest of the townspeople, and is "respected and even feared in Salem" (144). Naturally, people feel threatened and consider him (albeit behind his back) an outsider; you might say he's a black sheep.

In psychology, the black sheep effect refers to how individuals in a group view other members. Proctor and the townspeople belong to one big group of Salem residents, but Proctor is a bit of a deviant; he doesn't conform to society and so becomes a separate outgroup. When the witch trial frenzy begins, Abigail's coterie go after anyone they believe is different (those in the outgroup) under the pretense of religion. People between the inner and outer groups are caught up and tend to comply with the group, even if they are privately opposed to the group's actions. All it takes is one ringleader--Abigail--and everyone goes nuts because, well, everyone else is going nuts, so they should too, right? This effect is only compounded by the Puritan obsession with reputation. Once the wheel has been set in motion, it cannot be stopped. As Danforth says, "reprieve or pardon must cast doubt upon the guilt of them that died till now" (201).

The articles we read show that this attitude of witch-hunting is still very much alive today, from Communist teachers to literal witch hunts in third-world countries.

O'Brien put it best in The Things They Carried: "I was a coward. I went to war."