cf. and e.g.

Here is how to project an image of academic idiocy: use the wrong version of a fancy label. For example, people will laugh if you propose the “tenants” of a program, rather than the “tenets.” Another way to appear foolish is by mispronouncing words. Once upon a time a doc student was explaining to me her lack of experience and confided about her NAY-uh-VET (rhyming with Corvette) when she was thinking about her naiveté (audio clip). Sure, we all make mistakes in our rush to send messages and automatic spellcheckers are not always helpful. For example, here is my mother’s email (not from a famous writer) sent to all her children the day after Thanksgiving: “Today I cooked a turkey breast, had cranberries, graveyard, and dressing.” There are many examples I could give but I wanted to share interesting contrasts instead.

Reviewing manuscripts for research journals is a responsibility of professors. A challenge with this type of activity is not simply to decide whether a given manuscript is good or not. Instead, the decision pivots on the potential of the manuscript to perhaps be improved to be acceptable. Every manuscript can be improved but not all authors exhibit the capacity to make their manuscript salvageable. The type of feedback that I give depends on my perception of the author’s talents. If their research has promise, then I will suggest ways of restructuring the material, offer ideas about how to present the ideas, or encourage the inclusion of more front and/or back matter to build coherence. Oftentimes, the type of input I supply hinges on whether I think my efforts to explain will translate into genuine refinements in a subsequent version of the manuscript. I am typically optimistic about every new manuscript I am asked to review. Beyond the quality of the writing, the qualities of the writer often end up tipping the scales.

So here I am, reviewing a manuscript that is just okay. The research question is interesting but not compelling, the methodology is adequate but not skillfully deployed, and the interpretations are accurate but not ambitious. I’m frustrated because I can envision what could be done – but I am unsure whether the time I would spend pointing out the flaws, suggesting alternatives, and indicating good role models is worthwhile. And then I notice the author attempted a flourish that breaks my confidence in his or her sincerity. Just as when somebody name drops or flashes arrogance in conversation, I realize the person is less concerned about clarity and more invested in showing off. The offense: using “cf.” is a clumsy and inaccurate manner. Why does this little abbreviation induce aggravation? Because it discloses an underlying lack of thoughtfulness and suggests that the sparkle will distract from the lack of substance. The parallel is putting glitter on a science fair project board to compensates for the absence of care with the process. I’d rather check Facebook for the twentieth time today rather than waste energy offering edits that the recipient is unlikely to navigate. Because this misuse of “cf.” is increasingly common, I am attempting to dissuade its perpetuation. For those who might actually take the time to wonder about whether their use of “cf.” is correct, maybe they will stumble across this post. I realize just how unlikely this is. At best, the subsequent paragraph ¶ is archived here so I can drop it into all future reviews.

The “cf.” is from the Latin conferre and indicates that the subsequent citation contrasts with the claim just made. In other words, to signal to the reader that opinions vary and a contrary view appears elsewhere, the “cf.” is apropos as in “We endorse the belief that learning does not necessarily derive from experience (cf. Dewey, 1910).” There is only one period in “cf.” because it is an abbreviation of one word. Only use “cf.” if there is a desire to indicate that another author offers an alternative view. If you are instead trying to point the reader to other sources that are examples, then “e.g.,” is the proper abbreviation. A stupid way to remember this is: “eg”-sample. Why two periods? Because the original Latin phrase was two words: exempli gratia (literally “for the sake of an example”). Why the comma? Because that’s how it uttered: “for example [pause].” And what of the “i.e.” abbreviation? First of all, it comes from two Latin words; that’s why there are two periods. Second, those two words are “id est” which translate to “that is.” Third, a comma follows the abbreviation. A simpleton’s mnemonic (not “pneumonic”) for “i.e.” could be “in essence.” In summary, if you were reading your text aloud and would say “for example” then use “e.g.” If instead you wanted to restate using an alternate, synonymous phrase as in “that is” then insert “i.e.” in the sentence. But, if you are asserting a claim that others view differently, then precede that citation with “cf.” as if you want to say “compare this with” followed by the citation revealing you have a substantive knowledge of your field.

In all likelihood there are things about my writing that irritate those who review my work. Maybe I use flourishes that make readers fidget. I don’t even know exactly what it is I do that others find so wrong. Perhaps this unknowing is liberating because I don’t fear my use of unacceptable phrasing, punctuation or descriptions in threesomes. Given my inevitable flaws, I apologize about my clumsy writing and would welcome your efforts to correct my flubs. It was in this spirit that I composed this request for others to discontinue using “cf.” until they know what they are doing.