Thursday, November 29, 2007

We've Come a Long Way, Baby

I found the Brereton excerpts fascinating. Although I knew the field(s) of rhetoric and composition have had to fight for a place, a respected place, in academics, I must have assumed that no one would question the value or validity of writing. After all, a writer must think critically about aspects of the subject being presented; a good writer considers the audience addressed and “the available means of persuasion.” While some could argue that writing is not necessary for every part of life and, therefore, expendable for some, the exercises involved in composing—critical thinking, analysis, synthesis, consideration of audience—underlie all effective communication, making composition and rhetoric indispensable.

Apparently, not everyone felt that way.

The introduction section helped me appreciate the history behind rhet and comp as we know it (in the university setting) today. The author points out that the German university model “stressed research, the creation rather than the transmission of knowledge” (5). My first thought when reading this: “Why does one supercede or exclude the other?” Ideally, creating and transmitting knowledge should be balanced. Right?

Once universities emphasized research, the prestige and rewards associated with it made it difficult for anyone in the setting to recognize teaching’s value. And for some reason, composition and rhetoric were not considered researchable (or research-worthy) fields! Hindsight shows what a mistaken idea that was. But I think I still see results of that kind of thinking in secondary and post secondary schools today.

So the early teachers of comp &/or rhetoric lacked prestige because they were perceived as being in a field which generated no research questions. They also, God bless ‘em, found themselves trying to bring new students’ skills up to university level—the teachers’ work was viewed as remedial: move to the bottom of the totem pole. Seems far removed from the respect given Quintilian’s “good man skilled in speaking.”

Silly Americans

Didn’t get finished looking at Brereton’s intro last time. The excerpts from student papers (100) seem to reflect the perception of knowledge as external, knowable, static. I don’t mean to say that the students themselves assumed that, although I can’t say they didn’t, either. But what came through to me is the possible presupposition on the part of those students’ former teachers—or maybe on the part of the administrators, curriculum designers, whoever. While composition probably was being stringently controlled, still the idea comes through that teachers “own” the knowledge, and spending time listening to lectures—only listening, not analyzing through composition, etc—had greater value than thoughts the students themselves could generate through composition.

I can’t imagine how the research emphasis in universities didn’t naturally lead to appreciation for effective communication. What good does discovering new information do without a way to convey the information? It seems sensible that universities would stress rhetoric and composition study if only because they tie in with the emphasis on research.

I end up asking as many questions as I found answers for. My response to much of the history represented was akin to the author’s about paper load for teachers (Why did they pile writing on? Why did they grade every single piece of writing? etc.). I thought: Why did the move from college to the university system essentially go from one ditch to the other? Was it necessary to throw out things that seemed to have been working in order to incorporate a new method or methods? I suppose it’s somewhat simplistic, but I thought it bold and presumptuous to relegate rhetoric to the back burner after its profound history in the intellectual world. Trust Americans to thumb our noses at convention, even respectable, worthwhile convention.

Climbing Bain Hill

Hill and Bain had significant impact on views of rhetoric, its application to composition, and the most effective ways to teach writing. Bain’s recognition right up front that teachers only witness a part of a student writer’s growth struck me as cool. Sometimes I have to remind myself that all writers, regardless of their present maturity (or lack thereof), change over time. Our “fund of expression” (1145) grows and fine-tunes, developing nuances. Some philosopher, Heroclitus maybe? said we never step into the same river twice—it’s not the same river and I’m not the same person each time. So I understand his admission of the limitation of teaching composition.

Here’s another cool thing about the man: he’s not shy about slapping Quintilian! 1147: those old guys made a difference between figures of speech and tropes, but “the distinction is more in appearance than in substance, and has no practical value.” In other words, I’m throwing out the difference and here’s why—it’s meaningless. Can’t make practical use of it.

No doubt Bain’s motives were honorable. He set out to structure the way people think about and teach writing, breaking the whole down into very detailed parts. The modes prevailed, certainly. I’m pretty sure my high school teachers (back in the 70s) must have known Bain personally and felt a responsibility to carry on his work--!

Despite his good intentions and the postive aspects of his contribution, however, I feel sorta limited when I think about his approach. I disagree with Hill that rhetoric is an art, not a science; it’s both, if you ask me. But I wonder, where’s the room for art in Bain’s way?

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

A Matter of Taste

Forgive me, please; I’m still catching up from last week’s readings.

I think I’m finally understanding a little more of Blair’s ideas about taste. I thought, “Wow, this man is persistent about taste. What makes him think he can talk about something so open to interpretation?” His insistence on taste as a part of a cultured life made me a little uneasy at first because I could see the exclusion that would result more than I could see the benefits: “You don’t have the money or leisure for these classes or texts or lessons, so you don’t get to acquire taste.” And, oh wait, who gets to say what exactly taste is?

But after rereading the intro to Blair’s section, I understood his emphasis a little better. No one’s writing occurs in a vacuum; as much as we may wish otherwise, we are all to some extent products of our (social) environment. Blair writes at a time when faith in the ability of humans to better themselves—socially, psychologically, economically, intellectually—is high. Obviously, Blair focuses on taste in the individual, but its value is in its benefit to the society. The editors’ intro points out that “the cultivation of taste leads one to the higher intellectual pleasures, including the pleasure of virtuous behavior” (947). Blair says that appreciation of beauty occurs naturally within humans, and he believes that human reason allows people gain taste (955). I see this as implying that he must see purpose in education and human beings as able to be educated.

What's Nietzsche's deal?

The section from Friedrich Nietzsche troubles me. I have been having a hard time getting my mind around the concepts he presents. Maybe he would say that my confusion is the result of his using language as the vehicle to express those concepts. After all, language is only a representation of the perceptions of things (concepts, for instance), not the things themselves (1169).

He says, “we believe that we know something about the things themselves when we speak of trees, colors, snow, and flowers; and yet we possess nothing but metaphors for things—metaphors which correspond in no way to the original entities” (1174). In his contention that language is an arbitrary construction which cannot fully characterize the actual, I recognize some Plato—I thought often of the allegory of the cave as I read the excerpt. I’m not really sure, however, just how that plays out in rhetorical study/ theory. It seems he is remarking on the limitations of language; Blair did the same thing, but Blair ties the limitations to figurative language—he believes it is natural for humans to develop figurative language because of the narrow scope of concrete language. I see Nietzsche digging one level further down from that. His remarks are more a reflection of a different epistemology: he says much about what (he believes) it means to be human when he talks about language as an attempt to gain control over the world around us. In Nietzsche, the principle powers of human intellect are exerted toward “dissimulation” (1172)—we mask real meaning, we play roles for social convention’s sake; we lie. The editors point out that Nietzsche recognizes within human beings “the need to communicate” (1170), but if the communication is only based on the “will to power” or the attempt to exert control over the world, then his definition of communication seems rather dark.

I will say that his worldview differs greatly from mine; I recognize the existence of Truth (as well as truth) and my perceptions of language tie in to, and often rest upon, that assumption. I can see the correlation between Nietzsche’s rejection of Truth, his view of the nature of human beings, and his questioning of language.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Campbell

We are now getting into the realm of rhetoricians with whom I am more familiar. Although I had not read Campbell’s rhetoric studies before, I was familiar with his name due to his reputation as a great thinker in Christian theological history.

The main interest I found when reading the selection was a point we discussed in class as well: Campbell’s assertion that grammar is “always particular and local” (906). He says that a universal grammar would exist only in conjunction with a universal language. (Was there universal grammar before the Tower of Babel, Mr. Campbell?) Having read some of Noam Chomsky’s investigation into the Language Acquisition Device he believed is inherent in all humans as well as his conclusions (or at least, what I thought were his conclusions) about an underlying common grammar—a universal grammar—for human language, I was somewhat surprised to see that the question had been addressed long before Chomsky tackled it. I wondered at first if maybe it was simply a question of definitions; I’d like to find out more about how Chomsky and his fellow theorists defined grammar. And as a comp/rhet student, I’m sure I will.

Judy’s written question posed in class left me struggling with an answer. Briefly stated, she remarked that our text says that Campbell was the “first modern rhetorician” and had “made the first real advances” since Aristotle. Then she asked Why and How?

My response at first was, “It’s Bizzell and Herzberg’s responsibility to support that statement, right?” It’s a big claim, and I didn’t come up with big reasons why they made it, so I’m curious what I overlooked. I had noted what I called my “guesses,” however. First, they say Campbell argues that “rhetoric must address all the mind’s faculties” in order to persuade (898); topoi, syllogism, and the stages of composition are not needed. In their place, he establises two stages of persuasion: excite the passion of the audience, then connect the desired action to gratification of that passion (899). He also talks about scientific concerns, saying they are pretty straightforward—a series of axioms. This topic is timely because of the scientific breakthroughs of the day. Kairos. He differentiates between moral and demonstrative (scientific) evidence because moral almost always has “contrariety in proofs” (913). That's all I came up with. What am I missing?