The Concise Morality

Morality—since our discussion of Quintilian, I don’t think we have brought up a topic this semester that has sparked more discussion from all parts of the class. I was impressed with Eagleton’s treatment of the subject in his chapter with the same name. Though there is clearly a socialist agenda at work here, Eagleton’s contrast between moral and moralism is one of the most important statements we have read all semester: “Moralism believes that there is a set of questions known as moral questions which are quite distinct from social or political ones. It does not see that ‘moral’ means exploring the texture and quality of human behavior as richly and sensitively as you can, and that you cannot do this by abstracting men and women from their social surroundings” (143). Though this might not seem significant, it is the answer to almost all of our classroom arguments regarding feminism, abortion, and the “good man”. Morality can only be assessed in the context of one’s social setting, and while Eagleton admits that the scholarly community is hesitant to address morality in this way, I agree that a change, or rupture if you will, is coming. Morality is tied up in our biological imperative to cooperatively thrive, not in questions of sexuality or evil.

Whether or not the Shoe Fits

Goldberg’s piece made me think about a few subjects we have discussed this semester regarding identity. Since reading Quintilian, we have come back again and again to the idea that we, as humans, define our identity through opposition. I know who I am because I can explain what I am not. Goldberg seems to be explaining the same concept with homosexuality in Renaissance England. The common, strait people could not articulate homosexuality, but they could articulate “sedition, demonism, and atheism” (371). They, therefore, grouped the inarticulate identity of “other” with those “others” they could define. What makes this article interesting to me is Goldberg’s structuring of the homosexual identity as being defined through accepting the opposition by which the mainstream indentifies itself. (Do you think Doug will call in a translator for that last sentence?) Goldberg writes that “the voice, that is, of Marlowe’s rebellion against society, which is also the rebellion which his society game him to voice” (373). Marlowe was asked to act as an agent for the crown, and in doing so, was asked to pretend to embody all the things the English community claimed it identified itself against. In reality, this “otherness was in fact Marlowe’s real identity” (373).

In addition to the connection of chosen identity, the article made me think of The Crucible. I know the connection is fairly obvious, but it prodded me think about all of the imposed identities that we are forced to either accept or struggle to discredit. Goldberg’s example of Oscar Wilde is perhaps even more moving than that of Marlowe because there is no conflicting notion of double agency or government mystification: “It was because he was charged with posing as a sodomist that he fined his libel suit” (377). It is unnecessary to establish if Wilde was or was not a homosexual, at least in this instance; the important distinction is that he was convicted and labeled with no such evidence. The identity of “other” was imposed based on the part he played for the audience, regardless of whether or not the shoe fit.

The other subject I saw in this piece that connects with our class is the role of the author. Goldberg identifies the author, whether of texts or theatre, as a disseminator of ideas. It is this that appears to be the crown’s real fear in Goldberg’s piece: “the final charges point to the insidious powers of persuasion upon which authority—and authoring—rest” (376). This perspective is more aligned with I believe than what we have encountered in class. The author’s ideas might be subsumed or even subverted by the reader, but, if written well, they exist, and the possible danger (in the eyes of the crown) also exists that they will be passed on to the reader.

The Structure of Structures

Ok, Greenblatt is important, so let’s look at Greenblatt.

I was taken by Greenblatt’s insistence on locating a structure within literature which will provide “insight into the half-hidden cultural transactions through which great works of art are empowered” (4). This interested me because I immediately thought of Benjamin and Bourdieu.

I wondered if Benjamin would disagree with the emphasis that Greenblatt places on the “aura” of certain pieces literature as works of art. I think that perhaps Greenblatt’s interest in analyzing the energia or the ability to “produce, shape, and organize collective physical and mental experiences, present in Shakespeare’s plays in partially what Benjamin was fearful of.

On a completely different train of thought, I saw Bourdieu’s theory of political representation being applied to the author. (I’d like to use direct quotes from Bourdieu here, but someone walked out with my book last Tuesday; I want it back.) Just as Bourdieu describes the dialectical nature of the power structure shared between the representative and the people as being reciprocal, Greenblatt describes the power structure between the author and the text in the same way. Greenblatt first uses the political example of the prince and his subjects and then points out that “the theatre is manifestly the product of collective intentions”, rather than the product of a single author, and “all [authors are] dependent upon collective genres, narrative patterns, and linguistic conventions” (4, 5). Through this process, the society of authors produce texts, which are influenced by previous texts, and the products of these authors will serve as the further influence for the next series of texts.

I hope that these connections read more clearly in your heads than when I read them aloud. I can’t help but highlight the connections I now see between almost all of the theorists we read, and I would like to talk more about them in class where I might receive help verbalizing my thoughts.

Here's to Your Mr. Thompson

After completing Bourdieu’s work, I’m a little unsure how to put my thoughts into a concise post; therefore, I’m going to give a list of the main points I found and focus on the one which I think is represented in every chapter.

Here are the central points that Bourdieu expresses throughout the text:
1. The dominant language serves as representational symbol of the producer’s power
2. People are interpellated through inculcation
3. Habitus is the result of the inculcation
4. Linguists do not recognize the cultural repercussion of language
5. The power of language is determined by the market or receivers
6. The inequality of between the classes of speakers will never be resolved without a resolution to the class struggle in general
7. Language is NOT action, but it can be the catalyst for action

I’d like to begin by thanking the editor. After reading the first five chapters, I decided I should go back and read the introduction, which I had stupidly skipped. Here was the obvious key that I had been chronicling in my notes without being able to articulate. Bourdieu’s entire piece is focused around two words: habitus and inculcation. Thompson says that habitus is “a set of dispositions which incline agents to act and react in certain ways” (12). He goes on to say the these “dispositions are acquired through the gradual process of inculcation in…early childhood” (12). I found that these two terms were at the center of all the examples I felt were important.

At the beginning of the text Bourdieu points out several examples regarding the nature of habitus. He explains that actions as simple as pronunciation, sitting, and silence are the results of inculcation. Whether unconscious or not, the speaker applies a learned set of actions depending on his or her social situation.

School is a major target of the author. His text approaches the educational system in the same manner as Althusser does his apparatus of interpellation: “Given that the educational system possess the delegated authority…it follows that the social mechanism of cultural transmission tend to reproduce the structural disparity between the very unequal knowledge of the legitimate language and the much more uniform recognition o f this language” (62). What Bourdieu is saying here is that the school systems set children up to understand their place in the class system. If they can reproduce the legitimate language well, they will dominate those who know how it should sound, but lack the education to play “the game.” This system, however, is inescapable, and the students do not have a choice of playing the game or not.

Another example of habitus is presented in the anecdote about the mayor from Bearnais. In this account, the author presents the idea that those in power can use their authority as a master of the legitimate language to subvert the legitimate language for their own ends. This subversion is not a true subversion, the mayor has no wish to subjugate French; he does this win praise from the illiterate (in terms of the legitimate language) by using the subjugated language instead of the dominate form (68).

Later in the text Bourdieu examines another way the people are manipulated. He focuses on the “symbolic efficacy in the construction of reality” though “naming” (105). This power of naming places social constrictions on individuals by grouping them. These organized groups are then inculcated to behave in prescribed manners.

Again, the examples are present in every chapter, but I will end with one from chapter 8. The example from chapter 8 is an extension of the example from page 105. In his examination of politics, Bourdieu claims that a struggle develops between opposing ideologists to win the support of the masses. It is their symbolic power placed in language that allows them to “carr[y] out a political action” (190). The words themselves cannot create any action, but the words spoken by an individual of authority can force the habitus or actions of the market.

Beating Around the Subliminal Bush

I apologize for the lateness of this post.

I had a little trouble with Benjamin’s article. It seems like he is going in multiple directions throughout the piece. At first I thought he was interested in the breakdown of art from a natural, living entity to the soulless, mass-produced Andy Warhol soup can. I had in mind Wordsworth’s: “ We murder to dissect.” However, while he does spend some time discussing the “aura” of a piece of art, this is not his purpose. He first hints at his goal on page 1237 when he states that art “begins to be based on another practice—politics.” For all his interest in the classification of photography and film as art, and his examination of actor’s role, I think his ultimate goal is to unmask modern art (film in particular) as a tool for subliminal control over the masses. On page 1248, he states that film is a “distraction,” and, as such, “The public is an examiner, but an absent-minded one” open to “[r]eception in a state of distraction.”

Let me know if you think I’m reading too much into this, but I think he goes on in the epilogue to show that art can be framed as a medium by which the masses feel they have a way to express themselves, thought it has no affect upon the entrenched political power. The art merely serves to placate the masses into thinking they have a voice. I feel that Benjamin touches on this idea more specifically earlier in text when he states that mechanical reproduction has led to “the direct, intimate fusion of visual and emotional enjoyment with the orientation of the expert” (1244). Rather than criticism, the viewing is marked by the “enjoyment by the public.”

Don’t Shoot the White, Male Writer

Usually I avoid the discussion of feminism because I come off sounding like I don’t care. This is far from the truth, but I find that my focus usually lies in rooting out what I don’t like or agree with in a piece; when that piece is feminist, my dislikes are often overemphasized. That being said, I found myself torn when I finished reading Watkins’ piece. Perhaps this is because I was unable as a child to “construct an identity that is not rooted in sexism”, which my has “murdered [my] soul” and left me “as lost as many boys” (70,71).

I like Watkins’ rhetorical approach to redefine feminism instead of just launching into what needs to be changed. She is especially effective when pointing out possible mistakes in early feminism and projecting a possible future that would have been more positive if these mistakes had not been made. Her obvious intension is to imply that if strategies such as converting men and young boys to the cause are adopted, the feminist movement may be more successful in the future. I think she is also very careful not to make broad claims that can be easily undermined. Her points about class and race are pointed as quickly supported with specific examples.

It is not, however, my favorite piece. I think a more direct title for this piece could be “Class and Feminism.” I would go so far as to say that this piece should be read in conjunction with Althusser. In each of her chapters, be it parenting, women in the workplace, or issues of race, class is stated as the root problem entrenched in the internal mechanism of the feminist struggle. Here are a few examples from the first couple chapters.
Consciousness-Raising: Feminist consciousness has difficulty being raised in the university because “the academy was and remains a site of class privilege” (9). Sisterhood: “As long as women are using class or race power to dominate other women, feminist sisterhood cannot be fully realized” (16).

I was also a little disappointed in Watkins’ application of her thesis, “a movement to end sexism” (viii), to her chapter on “Beauty Within and Without.” I read the chapter twice to be sure, and no where in it does Watkins address male objectification. I know this sounds silly, but her entire premise is that she, as a promoter of “visionary feminist thinking” (5), is interested in eliminating ALL sexism, male or female. She does partially rectify this inadequacy in her chapter on “Feminist Masculinity”, but even here her focus is on identity and the vision of men seen by other men. She ignores the issue of male attractiveness being a basis upon which women judge men.

I have only two final notes to add to the blog; although, I am looking forward to listening : ) during the class discussion.
1. Does she really have to plug her book as having been an overlook masterwork in chapter 1?
2. Thanks for the shout-out to founding male feminists as having their motivations purely based on material basis rather than intellectual or ethical grounds: “Their [men] conversion to feminist thinking was often a matter of rising to meet the challenge of risking termination of intimate bonds” (68).

An Attempt at a Humorless Response with Fewer Errors and Claims: Enjoy

Although I’d like to mention Jameson again, I think I’ve written all I dare about his article. I will, instead, focus Barry since he simplifies much of the more important points Althusser makes in his concise article (I can’t help myself). The Barry piece is so helpful because of its direct approach to the vocabulary of Althusser and others. The most important word that I took from the reading was Althusser’s term ‘overdeterminism’. I have never been a big fan of Marxism, specifically because of the one-one ratio of determinism: I have no problem believing that economic ideology affects culture, laws, and art; but I do have a problem with the idea that it (economic ideology, to be very clear) affects all parts of life by itself.

The second term that I found especially compelling was ‘interpellation’. This concept is far removed from scary soldiers wearing red badges and oppressing the people; it rather denotes the more subtle state control: ‘state ideological apparatus’. I think that this makes for a far more acceptable target for the Marxist to raise their fist against because of the way the ‘apparatus’ makes unknowingly-willing victims of the people. I also find this be different from what the Leninist Marxists were concerned with regarding literature. Where the Leninists were concerned with the unknowing embedding of the author’s ideology in his work, Althusser’s more complex theory is concerned with the knowing author purposely embedding his ideas to be absorbed by the unknowing reader (or watcher in the modern age: Go McDonald’s with your urban campaign).

The French Connection and Jameson’s Cool Quote

After reading Foucault for the second week – thanks Nic—I think I have resolved the question from my previous post. Foucault’s work is one of post structuralism in transition. His piece begins by stating, as Derrida does in his work, that “think[ing] in terms of a totality as proved a hindrance to research” because “a certain fragility has been discovered in the very bedrock of existence.” This fragility, of course, is that “the center is not the center.” What Foucault goes on to do is what threw me last week. He begins an examination of history, in which he searches for center in the cyclic struggle for power. He examines history in the search for “subjugated knowledges.” He does this by examining searching for a pattern connecting power and economics; this search leads him to find a relation between power and force. His analysis results in a conclusion of two answers: “the oppression schema…, and domination – repression or war.” He ends with the idea that the research model he used to come to this conclusion may be “insufficient.”

This seems like a structuralist approach, but it is his anxiety about the imperfection of language and his inability to nail down a “center” or reliable locus in his theory that prompts him to write that his “impression” which he has based his entire work on is “wholly inadequate to the analysis of the mechanisms and effects of power that it is so pervasively used to characterize today.” In this piece, Foucault is on the verge (pun on Doug is intended) of making a deconstructionist leap.

Jameson, on the other hand, is wholly certain that he has found a center to base all theory around: Marxism. Jameson is asserts that “only Marxism offers a philosophically coherent and ideologically compelling resolution to the dilemma of historicism.” He goes about proving his point in variety of ways that I’m sure we’ll discuss in class, but the most interesting thing he says is on page 184 when he writes: “the text means just what it says.” What a revolutionary idea! Now, he does go on to point out that that there is a subtext beyond the textual meaning, but that subtext is not centerless as Derrida states. For Jameson, “History can be apprehended only through its effects…This is indeed the ultimate sense in which History as ground and unstranscendable horizon needs no particular theoretical justification.” The "effects" of History are its center which also exist as the interior and exterior of our shared narrative.

The Centre Cannot Hold

By no stretch of the imagination can I say with confidence that I understand Derrida’s piece completely; however, I think I understand where he is going. The first half seems to set up structuralism as a theory which focuses on finding central concept and expanding outward in search of a pattern. Derrida points out that “The center is not the center.” Rather, the center of a concept belongs to the structure of the concept and cannot be its locus. In place of structuralism, Derrida points to the birth of a new idea where the critic searches for the non center of the piece instead of the unrealistic center; the critic is unconcerned with tracing a pattern from a deduced starting point. I must ask, because I cannot resist adding to his imagery: “And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, /Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?”

On the other hand, I had difficulty in placing Foucault into what Derrida seemed to be addressing. Perhaps I’m broadcasting my ignorance and shouldn’t be making this attempt, but Foucault’s example regarding power sure appears to fit the mold of structuralism. He begins by searching for a pattern connecting power and economics; this search leads him to find a relation between power and force. His analysis results in a conclusion of two answers: “the oppression schema…, and domination – repression or war.” He ends with the idea that the research model he used to come to this conclusion my be “insufficient,” but I fail to see him promoting a theory beyond the search for pattern based on an assumed locus as Derrida seems to be against.

Structuralism as the Biggest Chicken

Ok, I’m going to make a far-out (yet concise) statement here; kick me with pleasure.

With our recent background in ancient literary criticism, it seems almost unbelievable that this explosion of theories have all taken place in the last five or six decades. Perhaps the reason for this was the limited number of critics participating in the dialogue, or small number of dissident writers whose works have survived. Regardless of the reason, the explosion of theory is our problem, not the ancients.

My far-flung idea has to do with the order in which Barry presents his introduction to theory. Based on his treatment of Structuralism, it seems as though the other theories are going to be subordinate. The Marxist, linguistic, and feminist criticisms all concern themselves with “repeated motifs” specific to their theory. These repeated motifs can then be compared and contrasted to prior examples in order to make critical statements about a work. New historicism will alter this idea slightly because it does not rest on one specified area of interest, i.e., feminism is concerned with issues of gender studies, while Marxism is concerned with economic cause and effect. New historicism, instead, establishes history as the largest “chicken” in the hierarchy.

This is my guess based on the reading and my limited knowledge of the history of theory. I hope it is neither to obviously the truth or so far out that Doug will strike me in class.

Kicking a Dead Orator in the Eloquence

I feel a little guilty kicking a dead orator here, but I am going to pick up our previous class discussion, which I believe is also continued in the reading. It seems that a significant part of the transformation of rhetoric from the ancients to 16th Century, and the 16th to 17th Century has to do with the definition of eloquence. I will concede that my attack of Quintilian was incomplete; he didn’t state that a good speaker must be a good man; he said that an “orator” must be a good man. It was a perfect speaker that Quintilian was focused upon, and this orator possessed eloquence, which Conley tells us the humanists saw as “the harmonious union of wisdom and style whose aim was to guide men toward civic virtue” (109). While this idea is noble, it is impractical for humans in the same way that chivalry is impractical for the battlefield.

Keeping this analogy in mind, I find it interesting that Conley points to rhetoric as the bloodless alternative to physical warfare because it lessened the need for actual war and provided the educated with an ideal, much like Quintilian’s “orator,” of “philosopher and statesman” (112). The Renaissance’s revival of this perceived idealization allowed the elite to model their political structure on the hallowed ancients and provide an avenue for them to be “esteemed because they advocated a code of civic duty, gave education a genuine relevance to political life, and were themselves accomplished speakers” (113). The focus of the humanist take on Cicero, Aristotle, and Quintilian can be summed up for the early humanists by Salutati: “The good is to be more highly valued than the merely true, virtue preferred over knowledge, the will over intellect, and thus rhetoric over philosophy and eloquence over wisdom” (114).

The real shift does not occur until Trebizond, who Conley clearly doesn’t like. Trebizond completely cuts Quintilian, and his work, as Conley tells us, is “devoid of the requirement that the orator be a good man, in the moral sense. Rhetoric was rather, a pragmatic political art indifferent to morality” (115). High five, Trebizond. By the way, this was not a new concept. Augustine wrote in the 4th and 5th Century that rhetoric can be used effectively for either good or evil (Matsen 361). From this point, eloquence becomes a matter of style, and although Erasmus states that “the end of education was a development of eloquent persons of character,” there is no mention regarding the orator’s ability being influenced by his morality. The rest of the section has little more to add to this point until the coming of the 17th Century.
Here the focus becomes “affect” or emotional appeal of persuasion. Where Quintilian said the end of rhetoric is "‘the moving of men’s minds’" (153), Caussin, Keckermann, and Vossius say the end is "‘the moving of the heart’" (158). Bacon says the same thing, if more eloquently (pun intended): rhetoric is used “to affect the imagination ‘to excite the appetite or will'” (164). This finally brings me to my point regarding Quintilian and eloquence from last week; the end of rhetoric has always been “the means by which any unspecified motive may be accomplished in the persuasion of an audience by an eloquent speaker who is able to ‘move souls’” (179).

For Quintilian and his ilk, the requirement of a good man was simply a lever to move the emotions of the audience, an idealized ethos, and even if I am wrong, and Quintilian, the philosopher-statesman, truly believed in the requirement of the good, the actual speakers of his day did not; they simply didn’t need to.

Can the Devil Live in a Good Speaker?

While the question of what makes up the style of rhetoric is a major part of these passages, I don’t think it is the part the class will wish to discuss. It appears that the other major question being observed in these passages: “Who is the best orator.” To answer this question, Cicero, Philodemus, and Quintilian provide several examples for our examination.

Conley states that Cicero saw a good speaker as also being a ‘good man;” however, he does not go so far as to point out that good speaker must be a good man. In Cicero’s Brutus, Brutus and Crassus debate the qualities of the speaker. Here Cicero clearly identifies the best orator as one who “instruct[s] his listener, give[s] him pleasure, [and] stir[s] his emotions.” There is no mention throughout the rest of piece regarding the “innate” goodness of the speaker, only his effectiveness. The piece goes on to discuss the Attic speakers, and concludes, once again, that the best speakers inspire and connect with the listeners. I also had difficulty finding any direct reference to the necessary “goodness” of the speaker in De Inventione or De Partitone Oratoria.

Philodemus picks up the discussion in his On Rhetoric. Philodemus is clear that the best speaker is NOT necessarily the best man. He states that “it is plain to all that many are capable rhetors, but bad morally.” He goes on to point out that “It would be well if the statesmen studied philosophy in order that he might be more actively good;” Philodemus would like the speaker to be a good man, but makes it clear that this is optional.

For Quintilian there can be no orator with a “good man.” Quintilian begins his reasoning with the statement that “vileness and virtue cannot jointly inhabit in the selfsame heart…and secondly, if intelligence is to be concentrated on such a vast subject as eloquence it must be free from all other discretion.” Quintilian does not seem to believe that an evil man is able to focus on begin eloquent while maintaining evil aims. Quintilian does at one point go so far as to concede that a “bad man has been discovered who is endowed with the highest eloquence.” Quintilian, however, simply states that “I shall none the less deny he is an orator. He continues, at length, to point out the “delusion that eloquence can be combined with vice.”

Hair of the Dog that Bit Me

Readings from Classical Rhetoric provides an effective cross-section of examples to complement Conley’s piece. I found that reading Conley first provided a nice background before tackling the actual pieces of rhetoric; the result was an exercise in locating the criteria in each piece laid out by Conley. The one piece that I would like to discuss further in class is Isocrates “Against the Sophists.” I am having difficulty seeing the distinction Conley and Isocrates himself claim separate his rhetoric from the sophists. Conley mentions that Isocrates was concerned with “bridg[ing] the gap between morality and technical skill (18),” which the sophists was accused of neglecting. I cannot, however, find anything in Isocrates’ piece that presents him as anything different from Protagoras. Isocrates mentions the importance of morality, but he appears to base his theory of rhetoric on pragmatic logic “adorne[d]” with “striking thought” and “clothe[d]” “in flowing and melodious phrase” (45). I have no doubt that I am missing some moral nugget, but until it is revealed in all its glory, I don’t see Isocrates working towards the aim of moral argumentation as Conley suggests, or perhaps this piece neglects to highlight the rhetorical element I thought I would find.

Conley's Four Horsemen

The passage in Conley’s text focuses on establishing the four seminal models for rhetorical thought. At their most basic, and I say basic because that is my intellectual limit, Gorgias is focused on establishing the power of the orator over his audience and relied on doxa; Protagoras is interested in the argument alone based on doxa, regardless of the perceived truth; Isocrates’ rhetoric resembles Protagoras, but Isocrates also emphasizes the role of eloquence as paramount; Plato, who is disgusted with everyone, focuses solely on the search for Truth. This can only be accomplished by those touched by the divine or who witnessed and remembered the “Truths” from before birth. Aristotle is the most balanced. Like Plato, his is a search for truth, but more like the sophists, he is willing to take into account probabilities as a substitute for an unreachable Truth.

I find it interesting that the differences expressed between Obama and Dobson in our class seem to be mirrored in some of the tension between Plato and Aristotle. Obama cautions that “[p]olitics depends on…the compromise, the art of what’s possible (par. 13),” where Dobson reiterates that only those connected to the divine can see the uncompromising Truth, and it is that Truth that should guide politics. Aristotle states that a pragmatic approach to knowledge must rule when absolute Truth is out of reach: “We can distinguish, according to Aristotle between ‘theoretical,’ ‘practical,’ and ‘productive’ knowledge” (14). These kinds of knowledge are based on universally accepted truths, experiences, and generally accepted truths. On the other hand, Plato, like Dobson, is interested only in absolutes: “[O]nly genuine knowledge of the eternal and immutable essences of things can supply a firm basis for making true statements…such essences are not grasped by experience but by the mind alone, and only by the lover of wisdom who apprehends them as a result of divine inspiration or by the recollection of them as they were viewed by soul before birth” (8). This position does not allow Plato much room to compromise, a trait that Obama cautions we avoid in politics: “[R]eligion does not allow for compromise. It’s the art of the impossible (par. 13),” a point I think Aristotle would see akin to Plato’s psychagogia (leading the soul to Truth).

The Descent Begins

"Poet, by that God to you unknown,

lead me me this way. Beyond this present ill
and worse to dread, lead me to Peter's gate
and be my guide through the sad halls of Hell."

And he then: "Follow." And he moved ahead
in silence, and I followed where he led.

The New and Improved, Never Before Seen Philosophy

Over the course of the last semester, my teaching philosophy has been altered in several ways. These changes have come about primarily because of my exposure to theorists who have already made their marks in the field of composition, but I have also been influenced by my professors and fellow students. I have, however, held on to some of the beliefs I espoused in the first version of this statement from the beginning of class. If I had to point to the most significant, though obvious, focus for my newfound philosophy, it would have to be balance. Too many of the theorists are so entrenched in their individual stands that they neglect to see that a balance between themselves and their opposite complement one another to make the surest path to excellent composition instruction, and that is where I come in.

The first major point that I have found balance within is the argument of process or product instruction. While at the beginning of the semester I was very much for product driven instruction, my research of Donald Murray has changed my mind. This may seem odd because most the class seems very interested in the larger debate between Elbow and Bartholomae, but for me the two sides are too charged; neither leaves much room for my new favorite term, balance. Murray, on the other hand, promotes a nice melding of the two ideas that I think works nicely in both theory and practice. This theory is product driven but process oriented. The key is establishing and maintaining a goal or “product” from the outset, but at the same time allowing the product to be changeable as the writing process runs its course. Not only does this sound good on paper, but it has also worked well in my class since I presented my lecture. I no longer allow my students to begin writing without first stating their intention in very precise language. They must then construct and outline that reaches toward this goal as closely as possible. Only when the drafting stage begins do I allow the students to alter their work as they see fit. The results have been better than I expected.

The other major change to my previous theory regards the treatment of argument. I already felt that all good writing is a form of argument, but it was not until our discussion of Graff that I realized the disservice I had been inflicting on my students. I often feared the chance that my own opinions might politicize the class and destroy the opportunity for the students to express their own thoughts; what I found after reading Graff’s work was that by not politicizing the classroom, I was not really forcing the students to take a side and practice the art of argument. This problem has been remedied. I now take every opportunity available to me to force the students into engaging me and the other students. While it is still a fine line to walk in terms of veiling my true feelings, the results, like those of Murray’s teaching, have greatly improved my classroom. Most of the students appear comfortable defending their points more concretely, and they are far more likely to challenge my statements in the class, albeit with a tone of mutual respect.

The one hard-line issue that has not been altered, even by the overwhelming support of the majority of the theorist toward the contrary, is my feeling that grammar and sentence structure still have an important place in the teaching of composition. Perhaps it is my place as a secondary teacher that will not let me drift into the collegiate mindset that sees through the comma-splices, the run-on sentences, or the fragments. What I am sure of is that a language with rules must continue to have those rules validated and supported with more than a cursory nod from the gray-hair at the front of the room. As I have seen on countless occasions, the student that has mastery over the rules of grammar trounces the student who does not, regardless of how much the second student may know of rhetoric or literary theory. This is a fundamental rule of education, regardless of how many bestselling authors claim it is not; they are not teaching the same students I am.

On a less harsh note, the last of my points is a balance that I have reached between my previous theory and the experiences I have had this semester in relation to the role of the teacher. I have always been a proponent of the student’s voice being a partial guide in the administration of the classroom; however, the subject has always been sensitive because I had never clearly given any thought as to where I stood regarding the idea of a student centered classroom. If I had been asked at the beginning of the semester if I ran a student centered classroom, I would undoubtedly answered yes. After listening to numerous discussions on the subject, I must now admit that my previous understanding was flawed. Though I allow my students a voice, I do not allow them any direct power. My class is therefore student driven, rather than student centered. My understanding of the power structure, and thus the amount of control I cede to my students, has changed, forcing the application of shared power to be altered. I believe that once one establishes that he or she is in control, he or she can share power with the students more easily.

Kathleen Yancey: I Think I’ll put this in My Portfolio

Yancey’s major contribution comes in the form of promoting new forms of assessment, especially digital portfolios. By focusing on assessment, Yancey believes that curriculum will improve, and she focuses on portfolios because of the easy way it lends to tracking student development.

Focusing of assessment will improve curriculum because it forces educator to ask themselves, “What is our intention?” The better one understands what he or she demands of students, the more obvious the skills that need to be taught are made. Focusing on assessment not only helps establish what should be taught, but it also turns the teacher’s toward how the information should be taught. Just as above, better pedagogy means clearer assessment and better student performance.

The mode that Yancey promotes the most is digital portfolios. The portfolio is well liked by Yancey because it provides an easy avenue for both teachers and students to examine the student’s progress. Whereas traditional assessment is only a snapshot of the student’s understanding at that moment, the portfolio presents as series of snapshots that show either stagnation, improvement, or decline in a student’s work. The portfolio also provides the student with the potential to reflect and revise his or her work; traditional assessment only provides one opportunity to “finish” a work. This revisionary system allows students to continue refining work, a feat that would require multiple assignments using traditional assessment (one assignment per draft).

Portfolios offer benefits beyond assessment. As Rhonda pointed out, many students enjoy using digital portfolios because they allow the student to express themselves in a non-linear fashion. Piggybacking on Selfe’s ideas of using technology in the classroom, this form of assessment allows students to apply their computer background in a manner that is not indulgent, but rather uses their knowledge to accomplish a real world task.

Cynthia Selfe: Technology; It’s What’s for Dinner

Based on the presentation, there are definitely three ideas that Selfe wishes to get across to us: teacher must be users of technology; we must not teacher our students to be indulgers; and technology has the potential to be either empowering or oppressive.

Selfe’s first point about being users of technology makes perfect sense. If technology is left out of the classroom, we are not only damaging the learning potential of our students, we are damaging our credibility. No one would take a literature class from a man whose only experience with reading was based on scrolls; in the same way, students do not want to entrust their educations to individuals who are not masters of the most current modes of communication. Selfe also warns of the ever-widening gap. She warns those teachers who wish to become more current that technology is not slowing down to allow anyone to catch up. Those teachers who do not strive to use current technology may find themselves unable to become users, even if they wish to.

Selfe’s point about technology indulgers is a sore point for me because that is what I am at home. However, within the classroom technology must be presented as a means to accomplish a job or goal. It cannot be used just for the sake of using technology, nor should it be presented as simply an avenue for entertainment. If these warnings are not adhered to, we will have wasted large portions of our budget on technology we don’t need, and we will have produced students who can’t understand their sickness to make statements like I have at the beginning of this paragraph. (you may laugh at that)

The point about the potential of technology is probably the most sensitive. As the presentation showed, technology is tied to economics. Those with more money will have more and better technology. It is up to the teachers to on the frontlines to keep this in mind when assigning work that requires technology and in judging the work of those with fewer resources.

Erika Linderman: What Are They Going to Talk About?

Linderman seems like an interesting and focused woman. While I truly enjoyed Rebecca’s presentation, I don’t think Erika and I will be going out for beers and time soon; I’ll get to why in a moment. Linderman is concerned with three issues regarding the teaching of writing: she wishes to establish that students have always had difficulty with writing; she doesn’t use literature in composition classes; and she feels that composition should be taught as a system, rather than a process or product; two out of the three of these are good ideas.

The validation of the freshman composition course is a noble endeavor. As Linderman points out, it is often a dumping ground for new teachers and a place where new students find out whether or not they will be continuing toward a post-secondary degree. Liderman states that one of the opinions driving these two previous actions is that the current population of students possesses an extraordinary number of poor writers. As Rebecca proved so clearly, a large number of the population has always been comprised of poor writers; claiming that these students are simply too terrible to teach is not the answer, nor is dumping them on unproven teachers to weed through. The class itself must be altered to meet the needs of the students.

One of the ways Linderman claims composition instruction can be improved is by eliminating literature from the classes. Wow. (it’s a fragment, I know.) Her reasoning seems to make sense; students need to master writing before they are introduced to literary analysis, but what are they going to talk and write about? Now I know what was said in class; they read wonderfully crafted essays and beautifully written peer work. I love reading, and I love writing, and I would fall on my pencil if all I had to read were these dry, nonfiction deserts of fun. I can only imagine the horror a freshman, who has none of the love for reading and writing I have, going through a class with nothing enjoyable to read.

Linderman’s other solution is an obvious one; find a middle ground between Elbow and Bartholomae. Linderman’s “system” works by maintaining a balance between personal expression and academic rule. For example, rather than focusing only on “forms” and “’correctness’” at the word or sentence level,” or looking at the “most important text is students writing,” Linderman states that “’good writing’ requires making effective choices in juggling demands of task, language, rhetoric, and audience.” It is this idea of “juggling” that makes Linderman’s idea sound appealing to me. Rather than an either/or system, she enables her classes to pick the best from either side to fit their needs.

Ken Bruffee: Peer Tutor to the Masses

It seemed as though Bruffee’s major concerns were with the ideas of socially constructed knowledge and peer tutoring as collaborative learning. Bruffee began exploring these ideas in the 1970’s when he observed the current writing centers and found them to be lacking.

Before looking at “what” Bruffee wanted to do with the writing centers, an examination of “why” will clarify his actions. Bruffee saw knowledge as socially constructed; therefore, for students to go gain knowledge, they have to connect themselves with a discourse community that validates what knowledge is. As Kuhn put it, “Knowledge is not what individuals believe, but rather what groups and knowledge communities believe.” Bruffee saw these writing centers as an excellent opportunity to establish discourse communities that would appear welcoming to students who were new to the academy and seeking access to “knowledge.”

The problem with the writing centers, as Bruffee saw it, was at the time they were simply an extension of the classroom, where students were uncomfortable and not seen as participants, but rather students to be talked at. Though the writing centers were staffed by “students,” the power structure was the same as that of the classroom. Bruffee’s solution was to decentralize the power structure of the writing center and make it as student centered as possible. He began by staffing the centers with real students. These students were charged with facilitating discuss, rather than delivering “the answer.” Bruffee argued that this discussion-style approach would lead the students to bring out higher level concerns than they would if they were simply going to a superior for the right answer.

Booth and Burns: Guys I Wouldn’t Mind To Drink a Beer With

As possibly the last person to post this week, I would like to agree that Dr. Burns was a most enjoyable presenter. I will return to him, but first I will dispense with Mr. Booth, as Dr. Burns referred to him. It appeared that Booth’s was very similar to Kinneavy in that, both were concerned with applying “rhetoric as a coordinating force for unity” within composition.

Dr. Burns began by focusing on Booth’s wish to “dust off the poor reputation of rhetoric.” This seemed to me a monumental undertaking. I am certainly not a person who was educated was a strong background in the history of rhetoric, and even I have an overtly negative connotation when the word is lightly tossed around. Booth goes about this face life by focusing defining rhetoric as a quest for effective communication, rather than persuasive speech or writing.

By far the most appealing concept that Dr. Burns presented about Booth was his text The Rhetoric of Fiction. The very idea is both obvious, and yet so rarely addressed. When one thinks of great rhetorical works, one usually thinks of nonfiction (yes, I used the pronoun one twice). However, it only seems logical that works of fiction would also contain elements that influence the reader’s view of the world. I thought this concept fit well with what Shaynee brought in regarding Bizzell; both theorists are concerned with connections between culture and rhetoric. It appears that they are both presenting that idea that one’s native discourse communities can be expanded without direct interaction.

While the Booth presentation was interesting, the real treats were the side stories and pop quizzes. Even though I was one of the people with my eyes down and my head ducked when he asked us about rhetoric and language arts, I felt I the experience was positive and enlightening. Dr. Burns’ stories regarding his technical work were also entertaining and provided a new angle to integrate into class discussions that begin with the question: “When am I going to need to know this?” As good as the discussion was, the people that went to dinner after class received the best look at an individual who has made composition his life’s work. I was pleased that a man who had clearly done so much could be so approachable and humorous. I hope he is able to travel to see us again before I am finished with the program.

Charlotte Brammer and Mary Rees: They Wouldn’t Want Me to Peer Edit Their Paper

Brammer and Rees are concerned with the treatment of students’ perspective regarding the peer edition process. They begin by examining what elements of peer review are pedagogically essential to the writing process. What they determined was that peer review must focus on five basic questions:
1. Does the frequency of peer review relate to perceived value of peer review for students and writing faculty?
2. Does the perceived value of peer review relate to the use of required and/or optiorial peer review?
3. Does student self-confidence in peer review relate to perceived value of peer review?
4. Does student self-confidence in peer review relate to perceived instruction in peer review?
5. Does perceived value of peer review relate to instruction in peer review, for both students and writing faculty?

Brammer and Rees took this information and applied it to a study in a Southeastern university. The study found results that; wait for it…wait for it; they found results that proved what they were hoping to find, wow! I know that this is an overly cynical view, but any attempt to quantify something as abstract as confidence is hilarious, just look at the consumer confidence studies that circulate on the news; according them, no feels confident enough to invest, but the stock market still exists.

Ranting tangent aside, the pair’s experiment initially found that the students felt that peer review was “NOT very helpful;” however, when the authors looked over their data again, they found that by combining the average within each section, they found that students felt peer edition was “SOMEWHAT helpful.” The authors go on to say that students who are exposed to more peer editing activities become more comfortable and confident with the process. Again, the devil is in the details; of coarse the students are more comfortable and confident; training in anything will produce these results. The telling statement is that students did not claim that they enjoyed peer editing or found it to significantly improve their writing. At best, one in two students expressed “positive” responses to peer editing when questioned.

The authors close with a theory that if instructors believed in peer editing, the students would follow. I think this is a logical statement, but believing something is useful and the thing being useful are two different things. Once again, I hate to be the naysayer, but I have to agree with those crotchety sounding teachers from the beginning of the piece; peer editing can be useful, but only in limited situations, and even in these, the results will largely benefit the students who were fair to good writers to begin with.

Elizabeth Tasker and Frances Holt-Underwood: Where’s Waldina?

I am big on prefacing my statements, and I am going to do so here; these are the facts of the piece without any opinions from me. My opinions will be reserved for class discussion where I can defend myself without fear of being misunderstood.

The task of this piece is to provide an overview of feminist studies. The group of seven scholars attempted to examine 60 works and “rediscover” the female authors while maintaining an intimate participation in the process, rather than a neutral expression as is found in most historical composition.

The Tasker and Holt-Underwood begin their examination by focusing on the work of feminists in the 1970’s. The works they focus on present the idea that Western or masculine rhetoric is rooted in violent persuasion. The authors feel this trend toward violence helped to marginalized female voices. The authors go on to show that women writers in the 1980’s begin to build a foundation for feminist voice by “showing how nineteenth-century, female-authored texts contained thoughtful decisions about audience and persuasion.” This groundwork served as “a source to instruct contemporary feminist theory.” The 1990’s bring further solidification to the goal of many feminist writers to gain acceptance and validity through continued scholarship.

However, not all feminist writers embraced the quest for acceptance. Tasker and Holt-Underwood point out that Susan Biesecker attacked the then current trend which she felt was indiscriminately selecting woman writers to speak for all women and which also “reinforces elitist hierarchies, which cause the oppressed to remain silent.” Cambell retorted that any Biesecker’s attempts to rationalize the choice of one woman’s voice over another would further silence the female voice. I know I said that I would silence my opinion, but as most people know, I have a sickness. I can’t help but side with Biesecker in this debate. To choose voices without strong rational seems to me a poor choice of action; the rational could only solidify the validity of the works being promoted by feminists, and to avoid this, to me, invalidates the chosen works. Academia is elitist no matter what Cambell or anyone else thinks.

The rest of the paper goes on to examine several other areas that feminism made an impact, including cultural studies. Feminists also made various breakthroughs in methodology as well. Archival studies appeared to be the most significant because it allowed feminists, both male and female, to continue reclaiming “lost” writers and their works. The authors explain that the 21th Century continues as an open floodgate of both modern feminist works and other found works.

Peter Kratzke: To Rewrite or Edit; that is the Question

Kratzke begins his piece by pondering the effects of technology in the classroom and the various changes it has wrought. The primary focus is on the lost art of revision. Kratzke fears that writers no longer have the same inclination to revise because technology has made the process much simpler. Writers no longer have to rewrite entire passages; instead, they only have to clean up the problems with the first draft. I think that Pete makes a good point here when he says that many students only write one draft, but I hardly think this is the fault of the technology.

As Kratzke brings Murray into his argument, I think he makes another miscalculation; it appears that for Kratzke, the only “new paper” is one that is rewritten from beginning to end. This was not Murray’s point. Murray was simply saying that each draft should have a different goal: the first draft should develop the writer’s meaning and express his ideas as clearly as possible; the writing should also be organized into a logical order. All subsequent drafts were written in order to clarify the author’s points and to add voice and other refinements. A Word document is no different from this process. As long as the writer understands his piece and his goal, each time he saves, he has created a “new” draft.

I find Kratzke’s attempt to pinpoint the problem with student writing to be much more interesting. Rather than quibble about standardized test scores, he focuses on the fact that none of the test record growth, even with all of the focus on composition instruction. He examines various possibilities, but finally settles on a likely possibility: students are being asked to learn too many things at the same time, an imposition that was not placed on their forebears.

Kratzke’s ultimate solution is to learn to write by rewriting. The learning takes place by rewriting a draft with an air of competition: “Can I make this paragraph sound better than the previous version?” I have no problem with this theory, but I find it just as plausible that students can be taught to rewrite through editing on the electronic page. As many educators will point out, what works for some does not work for all. Perhaps the best solution is to present both options for students to choose from, but I even as I write this, I am envisioning those same students mentioned above who only write one draft.

David Bartholomae: Where is the Bloodshed? Where is the Carnage?

When it was finally disclosed, the argument between Peter Elbow and David Bartholomae was less explosive than I had hoped for. As someone who had never heard of the debate, I was hoping for an epic clash of ideas that forced asunder the very foundations of composition; what we learned from Emily was that Bartholomae simply doesn’t believe that one can divest themselves of their cultural baggage, writing for the academy should sound like it, and that language should be scrutinized with a cynical eye rather being immediately embraced.

The first example over cultural influences mirrors Shaynee’s scholar, Patricia Bizzell. Essentially both of these theorists believe that all people are inherently comprised of their experiences. There knowledge is limited their discourse communities of birth, school, and neighborhood. What Bartholomae goes on to point out is that writers must intimately understand the forces that make up their ideas about everything in order to pick and choose which beliefs to maintain and which to drop. However, no one can simply write without the influences of their mother culture.

Bartholomae comes across at his most arrogant with the idea that writing should sound academic, but practically speaking, there should be rules. Elbow was cited by Emily as stating that writing should take the form that the writer desires without the “academicese” that is expected by most scholarly authorities. I think that Emily explained the ideas well when she said, “You’re in school, write like it.” Academia is its own discourse community, and therefore, should have its own jargon. I see no reason why the expectation to write using theses terms shouldn’t be upheld (as long as the writer understands them as Graff desires). One would not enter a barrio without a good understanding of the local slang, so why should one expect to write for the academic institution without as fair a grasp of the language?

Bartholomae’s cynicism of language makes perfect sense as long as one believe that words can concepts should not be used unless the uses knows exactly what he or she means. Conversely, one should be cynical of another’s words until he or she is sure of the author’s meaning and accuracy of language. Once again, these ideas do not sound all that extremist; in fact, they sound pretty practical.

Patricia Bizzell: Shakespeare’s Little Parrot

As Shaynee pointed out at the beginning of her presentation, Bizzell’s ideas combine several of the ideas that previous compositionists and rhetoricians have already stated. What stands out about Bizzell for me, and what I believe will be on the ever-looming midterm, is Bizzell’s idea of “additive” versus “holistic” teaching.

For Bizzell, the process of writing must begin with a reevaluation of our idea of thinking. She states that teachers believe that students come to the classroom with ideas that they desire to express to the class, and that the teacher’s job is to teach the skill through with the students’ ideas can be presented. Bizzell calls this skills-based teaching additive; as Shaynee pointed out, the ideas they may think they are bringing to the classroom are either incomplete or misinformed. The students do not only lack the skills need to express their ideas, they also lack the skills to interpret their own culture into a real understanding of who they are.

Shaynee writes in her Précis that students “must understand their personal culture and societal culture as well as the beliefs of those cultures” if them to become “sophisticated writers.” This whole “know thy self” adage takes on a new meaning in Bizzell’ context; not only must know where they come from to understand who they are, they must also understand who they are in order to express themselves to others. In holistic teacher then, the role of the teacher is not only as an instructor in the skills of writing, but also in the self evaluation of WHO each student is based on their background. Shaynee stated in her presentation that once a student knows who he or she is, the teacher can then expose the student to unknown cultures and discourse communities though literature. This combination of skills-based teaching and personal awareness is what Bizzell desires in teachers who are doing more than just rehashing the skills of writing.

Gerald Graff: Them’s Fight'en Words

The fact that Graff publically disagreed in print with the New Critics in the 1960’s and 1970’s is enough to make him a person worth studying; however, what I like even more than a throwdown with an emerging juggernaut of criticism is his focus on argument as a basis of writing and of teaching in general.

While the idea of argument has an immediately negative connotation attached to it for most people, Scott points out that this negative feeling is self inflicted by our culture’s lack of experience arguing in an organized fashion. This concept makes perfect sense and can be support by a myriad of simple examples. How many students openly argue with their teachers, at any level, about what is being taught? I know from my own experience that skepticism is rarely expressed in the classroom unless it is the product of a student that simply wishes to be obstinate for the sake of doing so. The classroom is not the only place where Scott’s idea regarding Graff’s theory can be seen. When was the last time you (I am speaking to anyone here) have participated in an argument that had 1. a purpose and 2. did not escalate into a yelling and/or punching match? For me this is a rare occasion, even though I love to debate; the people I argue with end up yelling at me, or they feel I a bully and/or complete jerk. No one wants to be proven incorrect, and conversely, no one wants to be the person pointing out another’s faults.

Graff uses this simple idea to point out the flaws in our education system. As Scott tells us, we, as teachers and adults, should “teach the conflicts” in order to teach our students HOW to argue, so their fears about arguing incorrectly can be alleviated. The genre that Scott mentioned which seemed the most applicable to the classroom is cultural conflict. Most literature is rife with cultural statements that differ from those of the students; why not allow the students an opportunity to scrutinize the values being expressed and argue between each other which statements are valuable and which are not. Scott went on to point out that for Graff, this was not only an easy question to answer, but an obligation to our civic duty to our students. Here I think Scott brings our presentations full circle to our first example in Kinneavy. Both expressed a desire to empower young people as they entered the world, and we should be the facilitators of that empowerment.

Donald Murray: It’s All in Your Head, Man

I enjoyed researching Donald Murray because I was lucky enough to land a guy whose theory makes sense to me. Murray’s legacy is one of giving. His teaching style was based on listening first and then adjusting his ideas to fit the needs of this students, or in the case of most of his texts, teachers. As a failure of the high school system, Murray understood the flaws of the system, and he spent the majority of his life trying to fix them. For forty years Murray attended meetings with teachers, wrote down their fears, problems, and anxieties, and he wrote books to try and help them teach. The most awe-inspiring piece I read during this research was not anything Murray wrote; the piece that made me actually want to read about this man was his memorial page on Poynter Online. People from around the world poured their hearts out while they described how this teacher whom many had never met changed their lives. His methods might appear simplistic and a little out there, but I find most of his advice to be right on.

To expand upon his advice is to introduce his contribution to composition theory. Murray’s theory can be summed up in one word: vision or more precisely pre-vision, vision, and re-vision. While writing should be organic and full of surprises, it should also be focused with an end product in mind. I like to think of this theory as product driven, but process oriented. By vision, Murray did not mean that every line or phrase should be planned out. What he meant was that a writer should not write until he or she knows WHAT they intend to write about. This may come as a slap in the face to those familiar with organized prewriting, which Murray found perfectly acceptable if one was presented with an immediate task, but Murray found internal dialogue to be more effective than aimless scribbling. He called his idea “rehearsal,” and in this state a writer organizes his thoughts, makes arguments, and searches for support, all without the aid of a pen or keyboard.

Once the writer has carried the internal dialogue as far as it can go, he receives a signal. Murray found through his own empirical research that there are eight basic signals one might receive. I only briefly outlined them during my presentation, so here they are with a little more detail. Some of the signals deal with putting ideas into a pattern, others deal with altering one’s perspective or lens, still others affect the writer by answering a question he didn’t even know he was asking.
1. Genre – the writer uses literary traditions to understand life
2. Point of View – what perspective will the writer take?
3. Voice – The language of the internal dialogue might reveal attitude
4. News – What does the reader need or want to know?
5. Line – One line from internal dialogue or rough notes that moves them
6. Image – Sometimes static, sometimes moving—the image inspires
7. Pattern – Not an outline, but the entire piece of writing becomes the image
8. Problem – Writer might find that an answer is not their focus, but the problem

After the writer receives the signal to write, he begins with a vision of what the final product should resemble, but the path can have surprises; as the draft progresses, the writer may change his mind or find new ideas to add to those that have already been established. In this vision or drafting stage the writer’s responsibilities entail placing the lines the information into a sequence that anticipates and answers the reader’s questions and serving the reader with a satisfying amount of information that makes the writer’s meaning clear.

Like many other processes of writing, the last deals with editing or re-vision. Here the writer must add voice as he “tunes the language of the draft so that the music of the words support and reinforce the meaning.” The writer must become the reader’s advocate and makes sure that any “exceptions to tradition clarify the meaning.”

For further reading, here are a few links I used in my research including the Poynter Online.

Janice Harayda (one of Murray’s students) remembers the man
http://oneminutebookreviews.wordpress.com/2007/01/01/donald-m-murray-1924-2006/

“Anatomy of a high school dropout” by Jeanne Jacoby Smith
http://www.worldandi.com/public/1998/july/smith.cfm

“Write Before Writing” by Donald Murray
http://wserver.crc.losrios.edu/~morales/Readings/Murray,%20Donald%20-%20Write%20Before%20Writing.pdf

Poynter Online
http://poynter.org/article_feedback/article_feedback_list.asp?user=&id=115922#17458

Walter Ong: Virtual Space, the Final Frontier?

Eric’s grasp of Ong was impressive, but his ability to tie his scholar to an entire discourse community that stretched over hundreds of years was even more so. Accolades aside, Eric’s primary focus was setting Ong up as a link between the history of the theory of composition and the history of actual composition. I find that our discussions are often weighted down by intangible and abstract theories; it was nice to hear about some ideas about composition based in real history.

Eric established at the beginning of his presentation that a clarification on the importance orality was Ong’s major contribution. The reading by Ong was effective as far as immediately intimating us with his view. The culture before the written word had no cultural memory in the terms that we think of it. As Ong stated in his talk, there was literally no where to look things up; if an idea or event was forgotten, as they eventually are, it was gone forever. This truth influenced Ong’s dissertation subject, Peter Remus, into pondering the effect of the printed word. Remus, and Ong to a degree later, looked at how the printed would could be broken down into twos. This process could possibly be repeated over and over in order to simplify a written idea to its basic truths. The problem, as we learned in the question and answer stage of the evening, is the possibility of syllogisms.

Another interesting idea that came out of the presentation was Ong’s idea of interface. This concept dealt with the linear progression of language from its beginning in orality to its current end in electronic print. Ong believes that this progression to the electronically printed word will be important, but Eric, to his credit, carefully pointed out that Ong is vague in his guess as to how this importance will be manifested. I am always grateful when a teacher in any capacity says that an answer is unsure if their research did not uncover an definitive answer; my experience is that many teachers will go ahead and guess. Instead of careening into this pitfall, Eric turned to one of Ong’s friends McLuhan. McLuhan said that electronic language is so important that it may herald a complete shift in the progression of language back to the oral; in other words, our spoken language might become our written language. Idk if Im rede 4 it. R U?

Andrea Lunsford: Stop, Collaborate, and Listen

Nancy’s presentation focused primarily on Lunsford’s attempt to “rediscover” woman writers of the past and her emphasis on collaborative writing in the academic world. It seemed as though Lunsford wished to empower all writers through research in these two areas.

Nancy’s first major focus dealt with why reclaiming women writers was important. I believe that Nancy was trying to show how Lunsford associated the rhetorical canon of memory with the socially constructed idea of our historical memory regarding composition. By reclaiming these lost bits of living memory, our historical body of composition would have a part of its memory retuned, which would create a more complete history of us to look back upon. Nancy tied this idea of claiming lost writers to Lunsford’s abhorrence of discrimination in general. While I don’t think it was stressed enough, it sounds as though Lunsford would be an excellent resource for research into several issues of multiculturalism. I hope this was the connection she was trying to make; after rereading this post it seems poorly worded. As always, feel free to comment and set me strait.

The other point Nancy was driving at was Lunsford’s desire for collaboration. The benefits of collaboration in composition are obvious, but Nancy’s presentation pointed the discussion toward an area I did not expect. It had never really occurred to me that one might wish to write a collaborative dissertation, but apparently there have been cases, and Lunsford is in agreement. While Nancy mentioned one or two cases, I would be interested to hear the exact reasons why such proposals were rejected, rather than just our speculation; this seems like a genuinely interesting proposition that I would imagine universities on the left fringe would be eager to embrace. In a related matter, Nancy also mentioned Lunsford’s outspoken opposition to maintaining the status quo in several areas of education including the teaching of composition and higher education’s standardized tests. One of the questions I plan to ask next Tuesday is in regards to Lunsford’s challenge to the GRE.

I found the historical connections in the presentation to most interesting, but there were a few areas of discussion that could have been made more clear including a reference to our written assignment within the presentation and some more information about what exactly Lunsford found wrong or incomplete in the list of topics at the very end of the presentation: the same list that contained the GRE. I am sure these question will be addressed in Tuesday’s class.

Elbow: A Now Perspective Channeled by Mr. Rogers

Because I began with a physical note on Kinneavy, I am drawn, pun always intended, to do the same with Elbow. Was anyone else channeling Mr. Rogers? There were two times during Elbow’s narration that he paused, and I would have bet a considerable sum of money that his next words were going to invite me and his legions of watchers to “be his neighbor.” Irrelevant comparison aside, Elbow’s methodical explanation of his writing theory was fairly easy to follow, and his personal anecdotes presented nice examples for Tim’s notes.

My understanding of Elbow has always been that of a nutty, far-out expressionist; that is not a medical term. As an undergraduate, I was required to read his ideas on the importance of what Tim referred to as “the mess.” This type of writing has never appealed to me; I am a product of the search for product. I appreciate the process, and I know it is an integral component of reaching the product, but the knowledge of a definite goal established at the outset of any writing assignment seems only logical. Because of this early view of Elbow and his theory of composition, I was less than enthusiastic to listen to a forty minute presentation on the man, but I’m glad I heard it.

Tim’s presentation of Elbow has altered my previous view. I appreciated Tim’s emphasis on Elbow’s empirical approach to process. This is something I can buy into. Based on the presentation, it is clear that Elbow does have a purpose at the outset of his “mess” writing; his purpose is to locate a logical purpose given the topic he has been assigned or decided to write about. When I think of an assignment, the first this I imagine is the final product: the points I will make, the examples I will draw on, even the cheesy puns I can work in. Elbows idea is just the opposite; however, where I thought he was using his prewriting as an elementary system of organizing his thoughts, what Tim’s presentation made clear was that Elbow is consciously decided what he knows and feels about a given topic, then he chooses among these ideas to locate what will make up his final product. While his theory does not match up with my own, I can appreciate and respect his process. Thanks for the clarification Tim.

As with Klayton’s presentation, I hate to write my opinions in only the form of praise, which is what I expect from the rest of you when I speak, only praise. What I would have enjoyed to hear more about was Elbow’s take on his arch nemesis. This argument has permeated so many of our class discussions, I wanted to hear more.

Kinneavy – I Picture Him in a White Suit with a Book in Either Hand

I know this will sound strange, and very probably it will sound inane, but the one statement that struck me about Klayton’s presentation was the fact that there was no picture of this monolithic man in the world of composition. I tried to ponder the effects of his work and his general place in the greater context of composition studies based on what I was presented with, but my mind kept kicking this idea back: “What does this guy look like?” The result of this completely trivial questioning was my mind’s creation of a fictional character that represented Klayton’s description: I picture Kinneavy as a Biblical figure in a white suit with a book raised in either hand trying to reunite the Red Sea of Composition and Rhetoric.

My odd imagery aside, I think that any man who attempts to create a unified theory of any realm of composition is noble, and based upon the context described by Klayton and added to by Dr. Souder, Kinneavy was attempting to patch a fairly extensive rift. I was intrigued enough about Klayton’s description of A Theory of Discourse that I had my wife to the library and checked out a copy; he takes care of me. The format is, as Klayton proposed, deceptively simple. The book is essentially an outline of his theory, which breaks down the various forms of discourse, and it presents a web explaining how each form overlaps.

As far as the presentation, I enjoyed Klayton’s impassioned attempt to relate Kinneavy’s life and influence to practical history. It is one thing to watch someone pontificate their various views of an abstract concept, but to see a complex theory explored in its relation to real history is an enjoyable experience. Because no review of a performative act can be critiqued with praise alone, I would point to a matter that would have made the understanding of the presentation slightly easier. I would have liked to see Klayton’s initial points regarding Kinneavy in text; I know this sounds elementary, but I like follow a speaker’s logic more clearly if I can read what they are describing, and while the second half of the presentation was supported by a visual chart I could follow, the fist half would have been further clarified.

Paul Matsuda: History as a Rhetorical Narrative – GO, MATSUDA, GO!

Paul Matsuda’s work was informative and relatively interesting, but most noteworthy of all—it was largely unbiased toward one school of thought as being the TRUTH. Matsuda’s primary purpose was to examine the historical definitions of current-traditional rhetoric, process, and post-process and how they apply to second language composition. I don’t think that Matsuda did all that great of a job tying in the relevance of second language composition, but his work defining a small part of composition history was very helpful.

Matsuda’s concept of paradigm comparisons has been the most unbiased and useful of all the readings I have completed in this course so far. The first clue I had that this article would be interesting was Matsuda’s statement of history in his second paragraph; he begins by staying that “the version of history that I choose to tell...” (66). With only part of a sentence, Matsuda speaks volumes about his understanding of history: it is shadowed, revisable, and a rhetorical tool for any smart enough to use it. He goes on to apply this concept with his first examination of the history of composition: “Popular lore among proponents of the process movement has it that process pedagogy arose…as a reaction to the dominance of a product-centered pedagogy, which has come to be known as current-traditional rhetoric” (67). Matsuda uses this example to show the either/or structure of perceived composition theory. Those in favor of the process pedagogy point to the past as a completely organized group of theorists that worked in absolute opposition to the current theory. He uses the insightful analogy of drawing a generalized caricature of the past to use as a defenseless punching bag and a supposed catalyst for the “new” movement, which is also perceived as being uniformed. Matsuda uses this caricature idea again when describing the supposed move from process to post-process pedagogy.

What he is really saying is that the movements in theory during the history of composition are never uniform or completely accepted by everyone working in the field. There is never a secret meeting where the English teachers of the world join together to vote on this year’s theory. Instead, change comes slowly, and for some it doesn’t come at all. The other important idea that I don’t think can be stressed enough is that theories, at least good theories, are not dropped altogether; they are altered, added to, enhanced. Current-traditional rhetoric values prescriptive grammatical structure. This idea is altered by the process pedagogy, which realigns the focus of composition toward the steps taken to compose. Can the prescriptive grammar rules be dropped? They cannot be dropped if the composer wants his writing to be understood by other speakers of English. From the theory of process, the enhancement is furthered by the addition post-process and its emphasis on the specific types of processes: expressionism, cognitive, and social. Matsuda quotes T. Kent’s writing for a more complete understanding: “[M]any authors represented in this collection – endors[e] the fundamental idea that no codifiable or generalizable writing process exists or could exist” (74). I could not agree more. Writing is a process, but there are multiple options for a compositionist to choose from. I close this entry with my favorite quote from this line, which is attributed to Pullman, “[T]he history of the writing process movement is not so much a history as a rhetorical narrative” (71). I think I would go so far as to say that this statement is true of most, if not all histories.

Tim McGee and Patricia Ericsson: David versus a Goliath That Wasn’t Asking for It

Wow, two for two this week. While I think that McGee and Ericsson should closely read Matsuda’s work, I still found this article to thought provoking. As it has been pointed out again and again, technology is the giant that rules most of our lives. Its application cannot be avoided by anyone who participates in any interaction with the modern world. Educators are no different. They are, in fact, likely to be forced into contact by multiple forms of new technology because their job is partially based on passing their skills, knowledge, and experience, through the means mostly easily received by their students, and students are technology junkies.
However, McGee and Ericsson are not concerned with all technology; they are focused only on the possible effects of grammar and style checkers in Microsoft’s Word program or MSGC for short. This is an intriguing thought. It is, as they write, almost an invisible participant in our world. It outnumbers teachers by a staggering number, and it exists as an integral tool of the modern classroom.

The first of the authors’ questions I enjoyed dealt with the ubiquitous nature of the program and its possible link to the atrophy of many students’ ability to self correct. I agree that “we need to dig around in software before using it” (465). We need to share with our students that the program can be turned off in the beginning stages of writing. By simply turning on the computer and obeying the ever present green and red lines, our students are unplugging their minds from a part of the writing process. They are using the grammar checker as a crutch instead of a last resort.

The second question that struck me as important was that of the quality of MSGC. As their research went on to show, with little doubt, MSGC is flawed. The program cannot distinguish between several complicated style rules. The example that the authors cite is passive versus active voice. I must admit, I was skeptical that the MSGC was so inadequate in this area, so I tried it myself, and “Bill was left by the side of the road” does receive a prompting to rewrite as “The side of the road left Bill” (459). While this is a definite problem, I believe that even a student with limited knowledge of English should be able to tell that this is an error.

In contrast to my earlier approval of the article, I found a few ideas that I didn’t care for. While I was attempting a little empirical research with the passive voice, I came across a line that did not sit well with my inner cynic. The authors state that MSGC cannot “take into account current thinking on the grammar itself, good rhetorical theory, or pedagogical considerations” (459). I think what the authors meant was the program did not take into account THEIR ideas of grammar and “good” rhetorical theory. This idea was only reinforced by McGee and Ericsson’s comparison to authors of current-traditional rhetoric textbooks and the authors of MSGC: “Baugh and Cable remarked that ‘most of these books were the work of men with no special qualification for the thing they attempted to do’” (456). There is no support given to these claims, nor do McGee and Ericsson go beyond writing that “almost all of [the writers] are computational linguists” (457). If there is more to support these claims, this article would have been the place to voice them. What the authors are attempting to do here is exactly what Matsuda cautioned against; they are creating a history that supports the idea of a negative theory upon which to counter the new, positive theory. In other words, their comparison implies that writers with a background in composition structure will go out their way to avoid or are too inexperienced to focus on rhetoric or process based composition. I am not usually one to find myself defending multibillion dollar corporations, but I think that here Microsoft either hasn’t designed a sophisticated program yet that can perform the function of critically analyzing rhetorical structure, or Microsoft has not found a way to do so cheaply.

Michelle Sidler: Says Composition on the Box, but the Content is Lacking

The article on biotechnology was the least interesting of the three this week. This sounds strange to me, even as I write this sentence, because I am a science fiction nut. However, the topic was supposed to focus on composition and its connection to emerging biotechnology, which I found to be a tenuous connection at best.

Sidler begins with an idea very similar to the focus of McGee and Ericsson’s article on Microsoft Word grammar checkers: technology is the major motivating factor in determining how educational resources are used and how industry as a whole focuses its energy and money. But where McGee and Ericsson focused directly on the effects of technology on composition, Sidler is all over the place. For the first seven of thirteen pages, she focuses on the history of the genome project, its ethical dilemmas, and its impact on the manner in which employers hire and universities design programs. The only topic that is even close to affecting composition is Sidler’s allusion to the idea that the scientists working on the genome project are influenced by “Anglo-American epistemology” (132). Even this minor connection to composition only relates the idea that a few rhetorical concepts like metaphor may be employed to help non-scientists understand what the actual scientists are creating. The metaphor that Sidler uses throughout the article compares the genome project to the Book of Life.

She goes back to more practical connections between technology and composition by “recognizing the inherently rhetorical function of multimedia software” and the possibility that “video will be the next networked media for classroom technologies” (137). I have no argument with Sidler on these points. There is no doubt that multimedia influences the choices students make in their writing and probably in their cognitive logic. I also agree that visual rhetoric will be the next big technological watershed in the teaching and presentation of composition. My problem with these points is they have very little to do with biotechnology, which is supposedly the primary focus.

At best this article serves as a warning that “something” is coming that will change the way composition is studied, learned, and taught. Sidler alludes to multimedia possibly being implanted into the viewer, thereby erasing our current ideas of media. This new technology might eliminate the middle man in the transaction of information from a sender and receiver; the transaction would be like osmosis. I use the words “possibly” and “might” because that is all Sidler gives me to work with. Biotechnology might very well be used to grow encyclopedia entries out of one’s hand when desired, or it could be used to alter one of a human’s eyes into a digital camera that captures every image one sees and transfers them to a component implanted into the brain for editing, then the edited data could be projected back onto the page for publication; the possibility is just as likely.

Week Two Theory – It Might Change

In the briefest of descriptions, the history of composition has moved from ancient rhetoric to a domain of the elitist. After World War II composition fell victim to an overemphasis of grammar and punctuation due to overpopulated classrooms and overworked instructors. Writing was then bombarded with a tidal wave of theory, which has left the modern compositionist with a plethora or choices, but little assurance that one theory is better than another.

The parts of the readings that struck me as most important were those that were most personal. Bishop, Shultz, and Popken (through the eyes of Hopkins) opened my eyes to an unsung battle for recognition in the academic world. It is a given that teaching writing is difficult, but rarely does one take the time to ponder the line of teacher who came before and wonder at the sheer amount of work they were able to accomplish. It is also worth mentioning as well how noble educators were that did not bend to what was modern or new just for the sake of newness. Fulkerson reminded me why I am skeptical of new theory by introducing literary theories as composition theories, and Stewart brought out my anger toward dispensers of wisdom by bashing the very basis of composition and then attempting to soften the blow by admitting that he only wishes to see traditional composition enhanced, not replaced. Williams work didn’t really add to my knowledge, nor did it evoke any real emotion or opinion; hopefully someone will enlighten me in class.

My own practices in the classroom are grounded in traditional composition theory, which is probably why Stewart’s work came off as mildly offensive. I would like to think of myself and my approach to composition as pragmatic. The students have a set of skills that they need to master for the completion of their academic career and as a toolbox to draw from in their working career. Composition should serve as both a form of expression and a problem solving tool, but ultimately it must be something that is teachable and measurable. I know this is unpopular, but it is the responsibility of the teacher to do the job that is required without falling prey to the shiniest new toy or the most fun way of doing things. People who know me and who read this will probably be at a loss for words; I am one who lives for fun, new toys, and the easy way out, but molding the lives of others must be approached with an eye for only the benefit of the student. This is why when Fulkerson writes of expressionism, I cringe. I see the possibilities to enhance what is already being taught, but to replace a philosophy that is rule based for a theory based on the exaltation of freedom, ethos, and “what feels right” is a step in the direction of anarchy and one that I am more than hesitant to take.

Donald C. Stewart: Scholar does not Equal Teacher

It’s always refreshing to read a piece about teaching that is clearly written by someone who is not a teacher, but a scholar. Is this too sarcastic a statement to make about our friend Don? Based upon the reading of his article, I don’t think so. So Donny, prescriptive structure isn’t good enough for your students; well, let’s take a look at the examples that form the bases for your argument.

Stewart begins by letting us know that composition has a history, and I am intrigued. Unfortunately, the history lesson is largely overshadowed while Mr. Stewart verbally backhands the unfortunate “teachers at this stage.” I can totally see his point. These lost souls trying to teach composition to a room full of adolescents who would rather be somewhere else are focusing on structure, grammar, and punctuation. Barbarians! Mr. Stewart is, of course, correct in his assumption that “[t]eachers at this stage do not know that they have inherited the worst features of late nineteenth century composition teaching” (135). If only they knew the history of their discipline, they would know what they should be emphasizing. What these Neanderthals should be doing is “read[ing] and assimilat[ing] recent research on invention, arrangement, and style; on protocol analysis and problem-solving; on rhetorical epistemology;”…wait, wait; where are the concrete examples I can actually use; where are the examples I can put into practice in my classroom to replace those “outdated modes”?

Well silly cynic, I’m glad you asked. One possibility is new and improved Grammar B. Stewart is kind enough to include two solid examples. While these examples are sure to gain someone’s interest, I am doubtful they would elicit the desired response from anyone with the authority to help. On the other hand, if the plaintiff had used even the most basic rhetorical strategies as those taught by Mark Harmon in Summer School, which came out only four years AFTER this article was written (1983), I imagine the response would be more in line with the author’s expectation.

In all seriousness, this article was written to reprimand an education force more than twenty years ago. While it may have been insightful then, the real modern teachers of writing (I am referring to those individuals in the classrooms that ALL students must reside) are forced to teach measurable skills. They are asked to creatively instruct their students with the looming knowledge that the students will soon be judged, along with their teachers, with a standardized measuring stick that has no place for Grammar B. If I sound bitter, it is because Stewart’s voice is all too reminiscent of the other voices of authority asking for something that is beyond reach of the current educational system.

Lucille M. Shultz: How I Found the Problem in History and Why the Modern Band-Aid is Worse

Irony on top of irony, I’m not sure if I should laugh or cry. Schultz’s piece is interesting and effective in its function as an observation of historically marginalized theory, but what the article fails to mention is the ultimate consequence of this discovery: the paradigm shift is not one of equality between rule-based structure and free flowing expressivism. Where the emphasis was once squarely in the realm of prescriptive rules, the focus of expressivism now seems to be, as Fulkerson puts it in “Composition at the Turn of the Twenty-First Century,” “quietly expanding its region of command” (655).

I suppose the first order of business should be an observation of Shultz’s excellent scholarship regarding the ridiculous approach to writing taken by scholars in the early 19th century. John Walker is Shultz’s primary target, and he serves as a fairly easy punching bag. I don’t believe anyone in our small discourse community will argue that students can only learn by “learning rules;” that “young writers are not capable of inventing their own subject matter,” or that students should only “write about general, abstract topics, not about their personal experiences” (14). The first task of just getting the students to memorize the rules of composition would extremely difficult, not to mention boring beyond belief, and I find it difficult to believe that a majority of students cannot form an original idea, or at least their own interpretations of an early idea, without the all-knowing sage to tell them. That being said, the introduction of “new” composition theory sheds some light onto many problems that I have seen firsthand in the modern classroom.

First of all, I think it is important to point out that regular people become teachers, and as I know them, regular people rarely enjoy teaching rules. It is far easier and more enjoyable to read a story and freely write about how it makes us feel or what the text reminds us of in our own lives; in short, expressivisim is fun and rules are not. This brings me to a description of my freshman classroom; of course I am writing about generalities—not every student fits the following mold—but if one were to choose from any one of my students at the beginning of the year, each one, if willing, could explain his or her summer vacation with great detail. Each student in the class could put in writing a description of how a story made him or her feel, or he or she could discuss and write down the similarities and differences in one another’s experiences. What almost no student can do is write a paragraph using commas correctly or read a story and pick out the main idea and its support. The focus of early education has foregone any rigor in the memorization of rules and structures. The buck is passed from grade to grade, and ultimately the student graduates with a fine grasp of ethos and self-esteem, but can he or she understand why a complex sentence beginning with a subordinate clause needs a comma? Drop in on any graduation and ask.

Richard Fulkerson: Theories of Writing that Aren’t

After reading Richard Fulkerson’s article, I find myself questioning my own interpretive ability. The focus of Fulkerson’s piece was supposed to be essentially a review of the four philosophies dividing composition theory. However, I find the first two philosophies to have almost NOTHING to do with composition theory at all. As to the final two philosophies dealing with rhetoric, I think we will probably kick that dead horse beyond even dental recognition during Tuesday’s class.

Critical Cultural Studies entails many aspects that are near and dear to my heart. I find no fault in grounding a class in a group of texts, nor do I have any problem with the idea that part of the instructor’s responsibility is to focus on “the interpretation … of readings, either about cultural theory or the experiences of a cultural group or individual” (660). This is a wonderful way to approach the creation and purpose of literature; however, it cannot exist as a philosophy of composition because there is no way to gauge a student’s work. Thankfully, Fulkerson agrees: “What we come down to is that the writing in such a course will be judged by how sophisticated or insightful the teacher finds the interpretation of the relevant artifacts to be” (662). The grading would have nothing to do with actually judging composition. Instead, this theory would place the focus of the grade on how much the teacher liked the student’s ideas. This must only be part of judging a work; to be whole, the theory of composition must also have a strong grounding in the “process” that Fulkerson occasionally alluded to but rarely elaborated upon. The best application I found of CCS in action was his case study of the duel class approach on pages 662 and 663; however, even here the students would have their writing judged in the first class with little structural foundation.

I did not find Contemporary Expressivist Composition to be any more complete. Instead of focusing on a literary surgical device, like in the CCS model, CEC appears to be grounded precariously on “voice.” While voice is an important component to good writing, it is nowhere near the foundation. When I teach my freshmen, one of the first things I tell them is that I will accept well structured garbage much more readily than garbage that is clearly theirs. In fact, I go so far as to exclude their ability to use first and second person pronouns for their formal work until they are able to see that the focus of their work is found in structure and content. If these are well written, their voice will become clear through their choice of vocabulary, rhetorical structure, and appropriate support. Expressivist writing, like Critical Cultural Studies, has its place in the classroom; “freewriting, journaling, and small group dialogic response[s]” are excellent modes of writing to focus the ideas of the students and to create good discussions (567). This theory of composition would be better labeled as a theory of pre-composition.

Well, reader, rarely do I ask for this, but I hope that someone takes me to task for my readings of these two theories. I find it difficult to believe that professionals who are clearly smarter than I am could stand behind theories of writing that focus on areas besides actual writing structure as a foundation for good composition.