For my first post, I'd like to return to the discussion we started to have in class on 9/3, just before diving into our "practice trace" of dissoi logoi. Jon and Jerrell, this is mainly for you, inspired by my guilty feelings for speeding too quickly through the discussion. But of course, this has bearing on the whole class.
If you remember, I brought up Jerrell's e-mail about Stanley Fish on the tails of responding to one of Jeff's discussion questions, in which he expressed a desire to see Bizzell/Herzberg more explicitly note the glossing of rhetoric's relationship to other disciplines that seems to occur in their anthology (i.e., these relationships aren't capitalized upon enough in their anthology, although the texts span ~2000 years). I think we agreed. In response to Jeff, I suggested that we think about some potential benefits of B/H's actual project, which is to highlight the complexities that occur even within a tradition that presents itself as more revisions of Aristotle's system. In other words, B/H have made it their project to "expand" what they admit is a problematic rhetorical tradition--how can this benefit us?
One benefit may be in recognizing the implausibility of arriving at any clear resolution to arguments like Stanley Fish's, unless and until we recognize the paradoxical nature of certain historical perspectives even as they are "expanded" or "revised". It is possible that B/H want us to grasp the following:
--the simultaneous benefits and challenges of historicizing rhetoric as a powerful public force (B/H 1, 8, 16)
--the difficulties of discerning a "universal" rhetorical situation in spite of its historical coherence and fluidity (B/H 1, 7)
--how the history of rhetoric can be seen as more than a succession of reformulations of the classical system, in spite of the fact that many primary texts are positioned as revising or speaking back first to Aristotle, then to Cicero, then to Quintilian, etc. (B/H 7).
Another benefit may be in helping us to assess Fish's positioning in the debate. If you remember again, I read an excerpt from Paul Turpin's response to Fish, in which Turpin says that by separating out and valuating "specific content" from other things, Fish is rejecting Aristotle's rhetoric/dialectic counterparts. According to Turpin, while Fish claims to argue for teaching "composition and rhetoric and nothing else," his argument actually results in an a-rhetorical stance--a limited set of skills becomes relegated to what Aristotle referred to as a "definite science" that is separate from disciplinary subject matter, exigency, discourse communities, genre, etc. (Fish seems to have recanted slightly on this point.)
Jon raised a very good point about the excerpt I read from Turpin's response. If Turpin were in fact making the assertion that "bad syntax comes from bad ideas" in order to argue for this non-separation, we wouldn't be any better off. But I think Turpin is responding in kind to Fish's assertion that syntax has purpose, value, and pedagogical basis as a language system (in a writing class) when viewed as separate from ideas. (Turpin disagrees.)
It might behoove Fish to take up more complex theoretical perspectives to engage his point about grammar instruction more convincingly, rather than fall back on what represents an unreflective way of doing history. It might behoove Fish to undertake a longer study of the context and initiation of discourse, of genre/style, or of rhetorical reasoning, not necessarily to position himself historically in the debate, but rather to demonstrate that he understands that the terms of the debate stem as much from how we have transmitted and transcribed our own history as they do from actual beliefs about what students can do in the classroom. Turpin's critique seems to be that Fish is unwilling to do that.
A final benefit may be in realizing that B/H use their classification to point out “continuing themes” or “continuing problems,” such as the nature of the rhetorician’s activities with respect to knowledge (5, 8). Perhaps we should view them more actively as ongoing problems, not only in our contemporary debates about how to teach writing, but also in our contemporary debates about how to historicize how writing has been taught.
It certainly behooves all of us to note that B/H and CCS both present what are, essentially, collections of corpora. The difference is that one relies on and implies a "stability" of periods (based on what they found in primary texts), while the other presents and argues for a "flexibility" of genres (based on how they think that 19th century texts invite the classification of rhetoric, reader, and composition book). But let’s test these claims: which classification is truly more stable or more flexible than the other? If both classifications have stemmed from (or "emerged from") the corpora, then aren't they useful to our efforts to understand how historians are in relationship with the histories they re-present?
-Tarez
Here are some links to provide essential context:
--Stanley Fish's column in the NYT on "what should colleges teach?"
--Part Two of the same column (in which Fish responds to the zealous responses to his column)
--Mark Richardson's article in the Chronicle that deals critically in some depth with the kinds of issues Fish takes up (this originally ran in November 2008 and reran last month)
--Paul Turpin's response to Fish's Part Two (on the WPA-L listserv)
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I once offered editorial notes on an honors student’s senior thesis. The student, a promising creative writer, had difficulty modulating the tempo of her sentences, but wrote otherwise elegant and lucid prose. I suggested that she trim sentences by omitting implied words and phrases—by writing elliptically—and that this would accelerate lengthy description and exposition. She first identified this tactic as “simplifying,” which it is not. Ellipsis exploits the reader’s intuition for implicit grammatical structures, making more demands on his attention and ability. For example, the following is taken from Joyce’s Ulysses with elided words and phrases recreated and bracketed: “[This is] As [it was] on the first day [that] he bargained with me here. As it was in the beginning, [so it] is now. On the sideboard [is] the tray of Stuart coins, [the] base treasure of [a] bog: and [the tray of Stuart coins] ever shall be [on the sideboard].” 1 Joyce’s original version is more suggestive and rhythmically complex than this, not simpler.
ReplyDeleteWhen I demonstrated elliptical style to the student, she was surprised and pleased with the result. I, however, was surprised that such a gifted writer was unaware of a rudimentary rhetorical device.
This anecdote proves nothing by itself, but does realize the problem that Fish addresses. Many students are unequipped to manipulate, subvert, reject, or even practice the rudiments of rhetoric and composition because they are wholly unaware of them. The field of Rhetoric and Composition is, of course, deeper and more expansive than the elliptical, neither/nor, and other rhetorical forms; its greater concerns (“disciplinary subject matter, exigency, discourse communities, genre, etc.”) have little to do with syntax. Fish, however, is not arguing for a narrowed discipline, but for more freshman composition courses to “[emphasize] the craft of writing.”
Craft is precedent in all disciplines. One does not ask a first year painter “Is art imitation or creation, does it define its own reality or subject itself to ours, can it exist in the political sphere, and, by the way, why are there no women painters before the 20th century?” before one shows him how to mix paint, sketch a form, and apply the brush. Or the questions may be asked, but cannot be answered in the work until craft is learned.
While I agree that a “badly thought-out idea will probably take shape in scrambled syntax,” I also believe it is difficult to reign in a passionate, nuanced sentence about a complex subject. Rather than freight introductory composition courses with ideology and theory, which can obfuscate even the finest writer’s prose, why not begin work on simple narratives? One should first strengthen his forms of expression before beginning the heavy lifting.
“The context and initiation of discourse, of genre/style, or of rhetorical reasoning” are, I believe, beside Fish’s point, which is simply that student writing lacks clear expression and that composition courses should more thoroughly address the deficiency. I doubt he means to limit the manifold considerations of Rhetoric and Composition specialists, nor the place of such considerations in higher-level courses.
To show I have no prejudice against Rhetoric and Composition studies specifically, I will add that students in introductory English Literature courses should (in class) parse difficult sentences, read verse aloud, perform scansion and attempt to identify various meters aurally, delineate the structures of those cultural myths germane to the reading, and attempt imitations of the written work. In my experience, little of this is done.
Tarez, thanks for this interesting thread.
-Jon
1 Ulysses. New York: Random House, 1986. (Joyce 24)
Jon, there's a compelling passage in your response here:
ReplyDelete*snip*
"I suggested that she trim sentences by omitting implied words and phrases—by writing elliptically—and that this would accelerate lengthy description and exposition. She first identified this tactic as 'simplifying,' which it is not. Ellipsis exploits the reader’s intuition for implicit grammatical structures, making more demands on his attention and ability."
*snip*
I say it's compelling because it resonates with the very reason why Fish's debates become contentious rather than productive.
The very acts you describe in coaching this student on her honors thesis--and the justification you provide for having her employ ellipsis--seems to rely on the writer's ability to see in forms and structures fairly sophisticated uses, expectations, and outcomes. (Which may be one reason why Quintilian discusses them as occurring a little later in composition instruction of his pupils.) I probably would have coached her to do the same.
In other words, how would you have justified to her the need for "clear expression" separate from her need to make meaning in that context, situation, and genre? Would she have been as convinced had you suggested she learn to appreciate the form apart from that need? Does that interaction with the student rely on a belief that in learning the forms ahead of time, she would realize precisely when they need to be used to satisfy a rhetorical context?
If those sound like gratuitous or tangential questions, they should at least resonate why Fish's critics sometimes become weary at being lumped together under the singular category of those who "don't attend to style in composition." He himself has lumped them that way, and in my mind, that misses the deeper and more systemic heart of the debate.
What kinds and types of readers would have this intuitive expectation of implicit grammatical structures (that the ellipsis would then be exploiting)? What comprises an "introductory" education? Are there disciplinary expectations? Generic (as in, tied to genre) expectations? Are there universally accepted grammatical divisions that work no matter the genre, even among speakers of the same language and who may have developed academic literacies within the same historical period? Do systems of grammar not carry with them socially derived and fairly dynamic patterns? Do they not change (have they not changed) over time?
Those are simply questions I pose--and others have posed--that Fish has chosen to not take up, in spite of the fact that he has been raising this debate over again.
(continued below, due to some arbitrary blogspot limit on HTML characters in comments)
-Tarez
(continued from above)
ReplyDeleteBut they're questions that I believe we should be prepared to engage in if they want to truly reach any informed stance on the question of what should/could we be teaching. And they are some of the reasons why practitioners over the years have chosen to respond to Fish by calling up questions of context/initiation of discourse, genre/style, and rhetorical reasoning.
My own bias, too, is that those stances should corroborate with what we are actually finding to be the case. (For example, Fish's assertion that rhet/comp as a discipline has ignored style is not well supported in serious scholarship of the field, and that saddens me, because I sense that NYT readers will assume that it is.) In the ten years I've been working seriously with writing programs (at three different schools of different veins)--and in my 5 years as a book editor and professional writer before that--I haven't seen what Fish predicts as a disciplinary "problem," i.e., that there is a lack of deep and theoretical attention to style in either the development of the field or the development of its pedagogy. (Granted, 15 years is a shorter purview than Fish's, so you would want to check my experiences against others, to be sure.)
Fish does, in his own purview, but it would be interesting to look more closely at that purview, i.e., who or what or what kinds of figures or debates or discussions or issues or courses does he envision himself critiquing, revising, nudging forward, or taking up? And then what assumptions about language, learning, and universality of human mind and condition underlie those assumptions?
I think those are fair questions to ask of Fish, based on scholarship he himself has produced, and based on the fact that he has been anthologized as speaking to/on these concerns. I find it poor and careless scholarship to generalize about a field or discipline (any field or discipline) without revealing—as transparently and critically as possible—the beliefs underlying the critique.
Thank *you* for taking this thread up. I am sometimes dissatisfied by how blog participants will posture themselves, i.e., that the first poster "rants," the second poster "recants" or “politely disagrees,” and the discussion dies because neither one moves his or her own positioning. This is not how I would define achieving real understanding (in some ways, it feels disingenuine). So I value these dialogues as real epistemic spaces and genuinely value this one as well. I hope others will help to continue the thread, or branch off into others.
-Tarez
I do not mean to say that rhetorical forms are valuable as empty mechanisms, rather, that they can be deployed meaningfully in simple narratives to reveal, as you say, “fairly sophisticated uses, expectations, and outcomes.” That (quoting myself) “ellipsis exploits the reader’s intuition for implicit grammatical structures, making more demands on his attention and ability" is an understanding students might gain by using the form in a variety of contexts, situations, and genres. This particular form may be irrelevant or confusing to an audience unaware of “implicit grammatical structures”—a possibility that points to, among many other things, a lack of education resulting in or from economic disparity. A student should be encouraged to evaluate these ramifications after she has both used and understood the form. Are traditional rhetorical forms necessarily relevant or useful in all contexts, situations, genres? No. But we must reckon with them, like the texts in Bizzell and Herzberg, because they are inexorably tied to our culture and history and are indispensible to our language.
ReplyDeleteI do not believe that writing programs do not attend to matters of form and style. I’m certain they do. If Fish claims otherwise, I am in disagreement with him. My concern is that a student will miss foundational instruction in rhetorical and compositional forms because her only contact with the writing program might be one freshman composition course based in theory. I would be similarly concerned if a student’s only contact with the literature department was an introduction to literary deconstruction, because a student must learn to understand texts and verse before deconstructing them. (I do not call into question the act of deconstruction, but the student’s preparation for it).
The questions you ask Fish and me are fair. I’ve tried to address them by clarifying my position, which, it seems to me, has been consistent. My and Fish’s positions, however, cannot be conflated without trouble. I therefore speak only for myself and only from my experience as a writing tutor, which, though dilettantish compared to your and Fish’s experience, has nevertheless piqued my genuine interest in and concern for the subject.
Thank-you for the response, Tarez.
-Jon
Jon and Tarez-
ReplyDeleteWhat a fascinating exchange! I almost hesitate to add my two cents, as you've so thoroughly teased out some of the nuances of Fish's arguments and those of other members of the composition community... But then, of course, I tell myself that I'm being a big wuss about this, and I should just chime in. :)
An interesting point for me, in reading your first comment, Jon, was in the following: "Rather than freight introductory composition courses with ideology and theory, which can obfuscate even the finest writer’s prose, why not begin work on simple narratives? One should first strengthen his forms of expression before beginning the heavy lifting."
One of my big questions here would be: how on earth does one separate "ideology" from language? Attending to the manifestations of ideology in language, for example, seem to me not only a worthy practice to teach but a worthy one to write about. Therein lies the problem, I suppose, with imagining that we can teach forms or "style" without meaningful contexts. When I imagine the roles of "ideology" and "theory" in a composition classroom, I think, well, here's something to think and write about! Here are very real cultural issues constituted in language and here is a place to unpack that. Seeing language and thinking as mutually constitutive, I can't help but wonder what students will write about when they have little to think about.
This beings me to my next point of interest, in terms of the idea that "simple narratives" would be the place to start. I'm not sure I'm on board with the idea that "narrative" is a fundamental of writing or a necessary building block for other kinds of writing. I think it could be interesting to discover the particular uses of rhetorical devices, tropes, etc. in a Rhetoric course, but I'm not sure how Composition, given its complex role as a kind of gate-keeper for our fine university, as well as its call to teach universal-esque "academic writing," would be able to make this work.
I don't have a neat way to conclude this comment, except to say that there is an extraordinary amount we still have to figure out. Fish has hit on one of what I see as a commonly held myth re: writing instruction, and it causes a lot of knee-jerk reactions among compositionists, who say, "wait, look back at the last 100+ years - didn't we already try that??"
Laura, I’ve tried to address all of your concerns. Please note that I refer only to Freshman-level writing courses.
ReplyDelete“How on earth does one separate ideology from language?” I meant the separation of professional ideology (i.e. opinions on the debates within a discipline) from course material. You may be implying epistemic ideology, which is inseparable from language or anything else. Nevertheless, “theory,” “ideology,” or whatever system of ideas, while perhaps immediate for the instructor, is ulterior for the novice. In the teaching of a grammar to children, for instance, one need not explain that language is an infinite tautology of signs signifying signs, nor that the a priori signified is a phantom, etc. Grammar is serviceable to the student without these considerations.
Theory, while compelling, is contestable, and one requires linguistic forms to engage it. It follows that one requires rhetorical and compositional forms to engage the theoretical field of Rhetoric and Composition. To critique a system before learning its mechanisms seems to me premature. That “attending to the manifestations of ideology in language [is] not only a worthy practice to teach but a worthy one to write about” is true, which is why I did not claim the reverse. And I would add that the student should be prepared adequately for such a task.
“When I imagine the roles of ‘ideology’ and ‘theory’ in a composition classroom, I think, well, here's something to think and write about!” I share your enthusiasm if your students are capable writers, and perhaps they are. I’ve learned theory alongside freshman undergraduates who misused coordinating conjunctions and could not execute parallelism. Both they and the instructor were more concerned with theoretical discourse because it is perhaps more interesting and relevant than syntactic structures. If you can teach theory and good technical writing with simultaneous rigor and effect, I both applaud and encourage you. We should admit, though, that this is not the case for every instructor.
“I'm not sure I'm on board with the idea that ‘narrative’ is a fundamental of writing or a necessary building block for other kinds of writing.” The most fundamental narratives are sentences, which—we might agree—are the building blocks of writing. “It is.” This sentence is a narrative because it describes something in action (existing). A narrative is a “story, account.” A story is “an account of incidents or events,” “a statement regarding the facts pertinent to a situation in question,” while an account is “an exposition of reasons, causes, and motives,” “a description of facts, conditions, or events” (Merriam-webster.com). I know of no sentence-based writing that falls outside these definitions.
“Seeing language and thinking as mutually constitutive, I can't help but wonder what students will write about when they have little to think about.” If the goal is to teach writing, let them think about what they want. Who is the teacher to determine what “meaningful contexts” are for students? Movie reviews, love letters, history, sports journalism, politics, jokes, etc. are potentially more meaningful to students than academic theory. To teach them theory before they have learned to express ideas in writing is a stultifying kind of catechism.
The learning of how “to express ideas in writing” is, as you know, incremental: there are grammatical sentences (ideas), then complex grammatical sentences (nuanced ideas), then paragraphs (units of thought), and then compositions (arguments). Unfortunately, many college students I’ve encountered are still in the first or second stage of proficiency, while only the last is adequate to engage theoretical concerns. And then there are pragmatic concerns. Consider a citizen who cannot draft a grammatically correct nor cogently phrased letter to her congressman because her only training in these matters was subordinated to academic or philosophical theories that have since been amended, revised, or usurped entirely.
(Continued)
ReplyDelete“Look back at the 100+ years—didn’t we already try that??” If we did, was it horribly unsuccessful? What is being done about the “extraordinary amount we still have to figure out”? Please direct me toward articles and books, and I will eagerly read the discourse on both this subject and Rhetoric and Composition in general. I realize I may have neglected my own claim: “To critique a system before learning its mechanisms seems to me premature.”
Laura and Jon, your additions to this thread are so rich--I get the sense that we're now at the level of discussing or unpacking belief systems.
ReplyDeleteThere is much in this thread I won't take up, because I'm exhausted and not thinking clearly at the moment. For example, I'm not sure where the writing vs. theory bifurcation originated in this discussion or whether that happened as a result of one interlocutor responding to another interlocutor's concerns with an example that raised even more concerns. I'm also unsure why techne and phronesis can't be seen as two sides of the same art in practice, or why some of the student-selected genres that Jon notes can't be theorized.
(That a student could be taught to realize how much a single typographical error affects his presentation in a brief public document--whereas that same error might go overlooked in a longer academic essay--seems to me valuable rhetorical and practical knowledge, regardless of the student's beginning point.)
I just wanted to pull these passages aside, hopefully not too much out of context, for the clarity they're providing me:
"The most fundamental narratives are sentences, which—we might agree—are the building blocks of writing. 'It is.'"
and
"The learning of how 'to express ideas in writing' is, as you know, incremental: there are grammatical sentences (ideas), then complex grammatical sentences (nuanced ideas), then paragraphs (units of thought), and then compositions (arguments)."
These certainly make sense to me the way they are phrased, but it occurred to me that neither statement exactly matches what I have encountered in language acquisition research.
In this discussion, is it possible that our beliefs about how language is acquired (whether it's sequential, incremental, through inter-language, or some other way) determine whether we think these statements are true?
On what do we agree? Sometimes it's useful to start there ...
-Tarez
Tarez,
ReplyDeleteSorry for abandoning this thread mid-semester. Coursework began to consume my free time, and so I was unable to give your post a deserving response.
“In this discussion, is it possible that our beliefs about how language is acquired (whether it's sequential, incremental, through inter-language, or some other way) determine whether we think these statements are true?”
In my response I did not intend to address language acquisition theory, a subject about which my knowledge is insufficient. I do not say that humans acquire language in a sequence (i.e. grammatical sentences, then complex sentences, and then compositions). Instead, I say that students learn to write in a sequence: letters, words, grammatical sentences, complex sentences, compositions. Before a child learns any of these things, he or she can speak and formulate ideas. But he or she cannot write a compound sentence before learning to write a single-clause sentence. Nor can one write a composition before learning to write, with whatever level of skill, the sentences that compose it. Or so it seems to me. When I say that “the most fundamental narratives are sentences,” I do not mean to say that human beings first think and communicate in sentences, nor do I invoke the genre conception of narrative. I mean that an English sentence delivers information using at least a subject and verb (or action). A description of something in action is a narrative (see cited definitions). Writing is made up of sentences, or descriptions of things in action. I’m probably causing confusion by using the word “narrative.”
The problem I’m addressing is that a number of students are not proficient writers. This does not mean they cannot write or think. It means they can be helped to write and express their thoughts more efficiently. An important part of this effort is to teach the writing of sentences. Let me be clear here. I do not mean the teaching of empty mechanisms or de-contextualized sentences. The teacher should address the integrity of sentences and their relationships to each other within compositions. In the case of a composition class, this, I think, should precede the instruction of literary, linguistic, and cultural theories. (These theories are extremely important. I am not diminishing them. I merely think that students should be able to engage them with well-honed language skills.) It is unavoidable and essential that student-writing engages areas of theoretical concern (every area is of theoretical concern), and that each piece of writing develops out of a rhetorical situation with its own particular requirements. But does this mean we neglect the basic units and mechanics of the composition? Do we teach rhetorical strategies, academic theory, and literary analysis before or even during the instruction of basic writing? Is there any deficiency in the basics of freshmen college writing, or am I imaging it? I mean these as genuine questions.
[From your first response to my first post] “Do systems of grammar not carry with them socially derived and fairly dynamic patterns? Do they not change (have they not changed) over time?”
(Cont.)
ReplyDeleteMy answer to both questions is “yes.” I see grammars and principles of composition as systems built around language that facilitate discourse in particular times and places. Grammar can and does change with time and place. No grammar (or language for that matter) is inherently superior to any another, yet we are forced or must choose to discourse within one such system. (There are non-grammatical forms of communication like pictures and gestures, but we’re not discussing those here.) Therefore, it is crucial to learn and acquire proficiency in the operative grammar of one’s time/location. I am not referring here to rules of punctuation (which are even more ephemeral than grammar), but to the organization of words in a sentence so that it may be understood by others. The way in which writers accomplish this, and the genres in which they write, can and should be theorized. But what if a student’s writing is unwieldy or incomprehensible because of his misunderstanding of grammar or his inability to articulate meaning clearly? Is it parochial to suggest that freshmen writers be given instruction in the composition of grammatically correct and, even more important, cogent sentences? Again, I mean these as genuine questions.
Frankly, I’m ignorant about the teaching methodologies in freshman composition courses here at IU (I’ve not yet had to teach one). I’m speaking out of my experience at another school. So it is quite possible that my concerns are irrelevant and misplaced. At any rate, my position on this subject is not as ossified as you might imagine. I truly welcome any suggestions for further reading. I don’t pretend to have final knowledge on this or any other matter, so please indulge my contentions as attempts to engage in productive discourse.
“If you would correct my false view of facts,—hold up to me the same facts in the true order of thought, and I cannot go back from the new conviction.” —Emerson via Berlin
I've already learned a lot from this exchange. I thank you for beginning it, and for continuing to engage with me on this issue.
ReplyDeleteAll the best,
Jon