Writing Like a Logician (or, How Formal Logic Fixed My Sentences)
Clarity is a virtue. And sometimes, a proof.
I didn’t expect my formal logic class to improve my writing.
I expected symbols. Truth tables. The occasional identity crisis.
But somewhere between ∀x (Fx → Gx) and weeks of showing every step, something clicked.
Turns out, doing logic rewired how I write philosophy essays, and maybe how I think.
Here’s what I mean:
I didn’t expect my formal logic class to improve my writing.
I expected symbols. Truth tables. The occasional identity crisis.
But somewhere between ∀x (Fx → Gx) and weeks of showing every step, something clicked.
Turns out, doing logic rewired how I write philosophy essays, and maybe how I think.
Here’s what I mean:
1. "Show your work" means… actually show your work.
Formal logic teaches you that it’s not enough to land on the right conclusion—you need to walk your reader through every step. Every rule. Every line.
Same with essays.
It’s not enough to drop a thesis and run. You have to trace how you got there: introduce transitions, define your terms, and leave small conclusions along the way. Think of each paragraph like a proof line—transparent and deliberate.
One of my first philosophy instructors put it like this: what matters is not just what you say, but how you arrived at it.
Formal logic teaches you that it’s not enough to land on the right conclusion—you need to walk your reader through every step. Every rule. Every line.
Same with essays.
It’s not enough to drop a thesis and run. You have to trace how you got there: introduce transitions, define your terms, and leave small conclusions along the way. Think of each paragraph like a proof line—transparent and deliberate.
One of my first philosophy instructors put it like this: what matters is not just what you say, but how you arrived at it.
2. Every good paragraph is a structured argument.
In logic, a good argument typically has a clear premise, some interpretive scaffolding, maybe a clarifying move, a counterexample if needed, and a solid conclusion.
In writing, it’s the same thing:
In logic, a good argument typically has a clear premise, some interpretive scaffolding, maybe a clarifying move, a counterexample if needed, and a solid conclusion.
In writing, it’s the same thing:
- Start with a claim
- Define what you're talking about
- Explain why it matters
- Clarify what it doesn’t mean
- Wrap up with what your reader should take away
3. Roadmaps aren’t just for rubrics. They’re survival tools.
In formal proofs, structure is everything. If you lose track of your own steps, the whole thing collapses. So too in essays. Your reader should never be lost in the woods of your words.
A good essay tells the reader what’s coming and how the argument will unfold. That classic “I’ll argue X, support it with Y, and consider objection Z” intro? It might sound obvious, but it’s actually merciful. Especially to someone grading under a deadline.
Make it easy to follow your logic. Help your reader stay oriented. They’ll thank you.
4. Objections are not personal. They’re part of the proof.
In logic, counterexamples aren’t insults—they’re diagnostics. They show you where your argument is too brittle, or where you’ve assumed too much.
Same in writing.
I once read that the fastest way to improve an essay is to include a serious objection—and take it seriously. You don’t lose credibility by raising a potential weakness. You gain it by showing that your view can handle the pressure.
You're not just defending a view. You're testing it.
5. Precision over flourish.
A logical formula doesn’t waste symbols. Your prose shouldn’t either.
Be specific. Stay grounded. Avoid sweeping claims you can’t cash out in five pages. And don’t hide behind soft openers like “I believe…” unless you’re also willing to show why that belief holds up.
One bit of writing advice that stuck with me: better to do something small really well than to vaguely gesture at something enormous.
A logical formula doesn’t waste symbols. Your prose shouldn’t either.
Be specific. Stay grounded. Avoid sweeping claims you can’t cash out in five pages. And don’t hide behind soft openers like “I believe…” unless you’re also willing to show why that belief holds up.
One bit of writing advice that stuck with me: better to do something small really well than to vaguely gesture at something enormous.
TL;DR
Logic didn’t just teach me about validity and implication.
It taught me to write like arguments matter.
To cut the fluff, track the structure, and respect my reader’s time.
To think clearly—and prove it.
If you’ve ever struggled with writing philosophy essays, try thinking like a logician. Start with your thesis.
Show every step. And stop wasting my time with nonsense.
Logic didn’t just teach me about validity and implication.
It taught me to write like arguments matter.
To cut the fluff, track the structure, and respect my reader’s time.
To think clearly—and prove it.
If you’ve ever struggled with writing philosophy essays, try thinking like a logician. Start with your thesis.
Show every step. And stop wasting my time with nonsense.
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