Reflections on my first full practice exam.

I just finished my first full (4-hour, 3-question) practice exam, and it was intense. I’ve been answering practice questions one at a time and synthesizing themes for a while now, but this was my first time sitting for the full four hours and answering all three questions. I had someone else pick six questions from a list of previous exam questions and copy them into a new document (so I could approach it in the same way as I will on exam day: having no idea what the question options will be until I get them). I have some thoughts:

After I decide which three questions to answer, make full(ish) outlines before answering them. I just scribbled down a few notes on a page and started writing as soon as possible, but I think that did me more harm than good. I ended up pausing to think a lot and working out the argument I wanted to make. If I had spent five more minutes outlining, I might have saved myself up to half an hour of rethinking and organizing my argument.

I need to be sure to answer the question. My first answer strays from the parameters of the question (though, in my defense, it’s a terrible question that is way too big to adequately answer in the time frame of the exam). In fact, I’m not even sure it answers the question adequately. I feel pretty confident about the second and third answers. The second one dealt with one of my research interests (genre), and the third one was all about my research and teaching interests (identity and social media). The first should have been easy since I’m also interested in digital technologies and writing, but I think I was thrown by the “briefly compare oral and written styles.” In what way? I outlined how Ong compares them, but it struck me in the final moments of the exam that perhaps it meant that I should compare Plato, Aristotle, and Cicero to Richards, Weaver, and Burke, or something like that; that I should compare the rhetoric of orality to the rhetoric of literacy. Hopefully there’s a coherent answer somewhere in the 6-page jumble of ideas I presented in response to that question. I’ll read it over again with fresh eyes tomorrow and see how I feel about it.

The first question makes me feel uneasy, but I have solid answers for the second and third. I’m cautiously optimistic that my actual exam will go smoothly next Monday.

Classical Canons in Rhetoric

Classical Canons in Rhetoric

Aristotle, Plato, Cicero, Augustine, Blair, Ridolfo and DeVoss

The five classical canons are invention (thinking of what to say), arrangement (saying it in the order you want to), style (saying it in the way you want to), memory (memorizing it), and delivery (conveying it to the audience).

Plato

Plato makes his views on memory clear in the Phaedrus. Memory is the most important facility to exercise. Delivering a speech from memory to an audience show more skill than writing one and reading it to them. Such delivery is boring, whereas the delivery of a memorized speech can be more exciting and dynamic because the orator is able to improvise more freely. Plato is against writing because he says it cripples memory.

 

Aristotle

In the Rhetoric, Aristotle only focuses on three canons: invention, arrangement, and style. For invention, he offers the general and special lines of argument (such as questions of conduct), five matters on which everyone debates (such as ways and means), the common topics (example, enthymeme, and maxim), and the 28 lines of proof (such as defining your terms) as resources from which an orator may draw in order to determine what to say. Aristotle also determines four parts for arrangement: introduction, thesis, proof, and conclusion; since the audience is the primary target of the oratory, they should be the deciding factor in how best to arrange those four parts to mirror their thought process. Finally, Aristotle argues that good style should be clear and appropriate; thus, its foundation is correctness.

Cicero

For Cicero, style is amplification: saying the same thing in 2-3 different ways by adding to, elaborating, or qualifying clauses. Delivery is also important. Cicero talks about how the orator must sound and move naturally while speaking, and not exaggerate his tone and/or body movements. They must train like the best actors in order to master using their body while speaking in a way that does not seem rehearsed or robotic.

Augustine

For Augustine, invention is not important because God will tell the preacher what to say. Style should be clear so that the congregation will be able to understand him. Memory and delivery are also important: the preacher should not read a pre-written sermon, but should instead trust that God will give him the right words to say at the right moment.

Blair

Blair also largely ignores invention, claiming that genius is far more important: in other words, writers and orators do not invent new ideas, but learn to manage them; therefore, they need the intelligence to be able to do so, not the ability to come up with new topics on which to write or speak. Blair argues that good style has perspicuity and ornament: it requires purity, propriety, and precision, which means words that belong to our language, selecting pure words, and distinctiveness and accuracy.

Ridolfo and DeVoss

With the prominence of writing over oratory, the canons of memory and delivery fell by the wayside because fewer people were orally presenting their rhetorical artifacts. However, with the rise of digital technologies (part of what Ong refers to as a period of secondary orality), the need for attention to delivery becomes apparent again (some refer to memory as the ability for our computers to store our compositions, but that seems to me like a pretty lame way to re-include memory). Ridolfo and DeVoss argue in “Composition for Recomposition” that because digital artifacts are often used as part(s) of new compositions, it is important for composers to consider their audience and how they may receive the composition; then they must consider how best to compose their artifact in order to have the intended impact (in in order to be potentially useful to those audience members who decide to take elements of composition and use them in their own artifacts in a process that Alexander Reid refers to as “Rip. Mix. Burn.”). Thus, delivery carries many of the same implications it always has, but in the digital realm it necessarily includes some new aspects, such as deciding where or if to place a video, image, sound clip, or other artifact that can be used in composition.

How I would answer a question on this theme

[This could also be an answer to an Aristotle’s Time Machine question]

I would spend the majority of the time tracing delivery through history, perhaps briefly touching on the other canons. Delivery has undergone the most interesting change from being a main part of the oral rhetorical tradition, to disappearing when writing came to the fore (because delivery mostly meant 12pt, Times New Roman font, on 8 ½ x 11 paper), to completely changing with the introduction of digital rhetoric. I briefly mentioned Reid above, but I could draw on him and Yancey as well as Ridolfo and DeVoss for a fruitful discussion of delivery in new media.

Audience in Rhetorical Theory

Audience in Rhetorical Theory

Burke, Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, Booth

Plato

In the Phaedrus, Plato articulates that good rhetoric is the art of influencing the soul (for the better, toward truth) through words. Thus, he also outlines how the good rhetor must catalog the various kinds of human soul so that s/he can adapt the discourse to an audience. Some people may be persuaded in one manner, but others would be persuaded in a different way, so the rhetorician must be able to perceive and adapt to each kind of person in order to help lead them to truth.

Aristotle

In his Rhetoric, Aristotle defines rhetoric as the study of “all of the available means of persuasion.” But he also clarifies that, even if the orator has mastered every available mean of persuasion, said orator must also be able to appeal to his/her audience. In all three kinds of oratory (forensic, deliberative, epideictic), the audience is addressed and must be persuaded. Persuasion is only successful, Aristotle contends, when the audience believes that the speaker has goodwill toward them, when they believe that the orator has their best interests in mind. Thus, the orator must establish this goodwill with his/her audience, preferably early in the speech. Aristotle explains that one way to establish a rapport with and audience is to argue from common values, from notions possessed by everyone. Aristotle also methodically defines and explores each significant emotion in order to instruct future orators how best to appeal to them.

Augustine

Augustine argues that the only rhetoric that matters is that used by a preacher to preach to his congregation, so the only audience with which he is concerned are the members of a church. He has distinguished three offices of rhetoric (adapted from Cicero)—to please, to instruct, to move to action—that correspond to the three style—plain, middle, and grand, respectively. He emphasizes that teaching through the plain style is the most important, since the preacher must convey the Scripture so that his congregation will understand right from and how to correct wrongs. Thus, preachers must also be very clear in their speaking; eloquence is not nearly as important as clarity since it is imperative that the congregation understand their teachings. Augustine finishes by explaining that the preacher must be genuinely virtuous in order to serve as an example to his congregation.

Burke

Kenneth Burke outlines his theory of identification in The Rhetoric of Motives. Identification occurs when a speaker appeals to his/her audience through the invocation of a commonality; the audience, believing themselves to consubstantial at the intersection of the invoked identities, identifies with the speaker and is thus more likely to be persuaded by the argument presented. For example, if a politician speaking before a farming community declares that he grew up on a farm, that farming community will perceive a similarity and identify themselves as just like the politician. However, Burke points out that identification does not need to be sincere (though, of course, it may) in order to enact persuasion. In other words, Burke is not concerned with conveying truth to his audience; he is instead concerned with the possibility of persuasion through identification. Thus, a speaker may outright lie to his/her audience, as long as s/he successfully persuades them.

This is in stark contrast to Plato, Aristotle, and Augustine, all three of whom are concerned with conveying truth to an audience while also taking their best interests into account.

Booth

In Modern Dogma and the Rhetoric of Assent, Booth takes a completely different approach to audience than Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, and Burke. He argues that rhetoric is tainted by its concern for audience; it can never be pure because it alters itself according to audiences; opinions. Booth redefines “good” rhetoric as that which moves its audience with good reasons, not audience-based persuasion. We have been taught that “being reasonable” means remaining neutral until solid proof is given. But Booth thinks we have been taught wrong. Remaining neutral is the same thing as doubting, so he argues that we tend to approach new arguments always already suspicious of them. He outlines motivism as an explanation for why this happens: motivism is the belief that we are constantly influenced by our values and present motives or desires. Therefore, we only need to look for a rhetorician’s secret motive (influenced by their own selfish values and motives; based in Burke’s pentad) in order to discover the real reason they are making an argument. Once you find that reason, you have explained away the surface reasons for accepting it. The problem with motivism is that it is self-affirming: any attempt to refute it can by dismissed by its hypothesis.

Booth’s response to this motivism is that we need to look for a philosophy of “good reasons.” We need a way of discovering how motives becomes reasons and how they sometimes can and should influence our choices. Thus, Booth argues that we should approach arguments with assent rather than doubt; that way, we discover new beliefs that fit our structure of perception rather than reject them outright. This new approach of assent would also allow us to think of ourselves a community of persons who have more in common than we previously thought, and language becomes the medium in which selves grow.

How I would answer a question on this theme

[This could also be an answer to an Aristotle’s Time Machine question]

I would point out that Plato, Aristotle, and Augustine all follow similar notions of how to appeal to and convey truth to an audience in a persuasive manner. Burke differs from the three because he is not concerned with truth. Booth differs from all four because his rhetoric of assent is not only a call for rhetoricians to change how they address audiences; it is also, and uniquely, a call for audiences to change how they respond to discourse and rhetoric. Whereas Plato, Aristotle, Augustine, and Burke provided methods for rhetoricians to appeal to and persuade audiences, Booth puts some of the impetus on the audience themselves by asking them to change how they approach a rhetorical situation.

Disciplinarity in Rhetorical Theory

Disciplinarity in Rhetorical Theory

Bazerman, Dillon, Prior

Bazerman

In Shaping Written Knowledge, Charles Bazerman studies four contexts of writing that must be balanced when writing in any discipline: lexicon used, balance between explicit citation and implicit knowledge, attention to audience, and the author’s values, assumptions, expertise, and originality of claims. In particular, Bazerman compares and contrasts three essay from three different disciplines and discovers that while each discipline’s writing balances these four contexts, they do so in different measures. For example, the science-based article focused more on explicit citation and seemed to erase the context of the author and implied audience, while the humanities-based article used a more balanced approach to citation and implicit knowledge while making an argument to an audience. Thus, writing is not just a matter of “getting the words right.” Instead, one must adapt to each discipline’s communally developed linguistic resources and expectations. Bazerman also points out that these texts and genres are not just responding to disciplinary requirements; by perpetually reproducing them (or versions of them), they continue to create the same requirements over time.

 

Dillon

In Contending Rhetorics, George Dillon examines whether or not disciplinary language does what it claims to do. In general, disciplinary discourse is concerned with not only adding to the body of certified knowledge, but also with certifying those things that are offered. However, disciplinary discourse embodies practices and values that conflict, not only with other disciplines, but within them as well (Prior repeats this sentiment later as part of his rational for arguing for “disciplinarity”). Dillon notes that a rhetoric of objectivity is the dominant mode across all disciplines because it ostensibly shields discourse from personal bias. The text is meant to appear autonomously, without the predispositions of the authors, and it should not appeal to the audience or to authority. Dillon refers to this as a kind of “anti-rhetoric” that is supposed ignore author, audience, and kairos and does not respond to a specific rhetorical situation. But, as Dillon points out, humans are incapable of entirely erasing subjectivity; academics are “interested parties” whether they admit it or not and generally aspire to enhance authority and credibility. Dillon ultimately concludes that academic discourse differs from other discussion because it has means of reaching closure (though he does not reveal how, nor does he himself reach closure in his argument; he only gestures toward a solution via Habermas’s model of an argumentation that could produce agreement within the rhetorical constraints of particular disciplinary communities).

 

Prior

Prior’s Writing/Disciplinarity argues against the notion that disciplines are unified and authoritative and that “discourse community” is not a useful term for disciplinary analysis; even experts admit that they are not operating in predictable arenas of shared values and conventions. Because disciplines are so open historically, socially, and culturally, Prior finds the term “disciplinarity” more useful than “disciplinary” because it allows for multiple contexts whereas “discipline” suggests a unity that does not exist. Prior argues that writing and disciplinary enculturation are situated in specific and dynamic times and places, thus complicating the ability to create generalizations. He refers to writing and disciplinarity as “laminated,” which means they are not autonomous and every moment within them implicates multiple activities, weaves together multiple histories, and exists within the chronotopic networks of lifeworlds where boundaries of time and space are highly permeable. In other words, each person has their own “laminated” sets of objectives, identities, and contexts (thought, history, experiences, goals, dreams, fears, intentions, misperceptions, and detailed discussions) that resist generalization.

Prior also studies literacy within disciplines; he examines how graduate students journey toward gaining literacy in their fields. He also asks scholars to think beyond the notion of “discourse communities” because literacy within disciplines is more complicated, social, and multivariate than such a term allows. Writing in learning, then, are not initiation into discourse communities; instead, writing and disciplinarity are mediate activities within open and permeable networks of persons, artifacts, practices, institutions, and communities: they are functional systems of activity that intermingle person, interpersonal, and sociocultural histories. Prior argues that disciplinary enculturation is constantly ongoing through everyday mediations of activity and agency. Thus, writing in the academy is activity: it is locally situated, extensively mediated, deeply laminated, and highly heterogeneous. In other words, it is affected by contexts both inside and out of the academic situation.

 

How I would answer a question on this theme

I’ve really only got three people to talk about, so I’d just lay them out like I have here in order to make some sort of argument about them. For instance, all three imply that there is no such thing as a truly disciplinary form of writing; even within disciplines, scholars disagree about what makes good writing or what kind of writing can constitute new knowledge. Hence, Prior suggests a new word (disciplinarity) to describe the fact that there is no unitary way to write within any one discipline.

This has interesting implications for composition because it questions what useful knowledge we can really impart on students. Even their own fields can’t agree what good writing should be, so how are we supposed to teach students from multiple fields some sort of totalizing writing style? Devitt answers this question by suggesting that we teach genre awareness over a range of different genres. The more genres students understand and have in their repertoire of antecedent genres, the more potential ammunition they have in any new rhetorical situations.

So Many Typos

As I’m rereading my notes, I’m noticing so many typos that previously escaped my notice. My apologies to anyone who finds them difficult to understand because they appear to be written by a kindergartner.

Composition in Rhetorical Theory

Composition in Rhetorical Theory

Since I’m also sitting for a special field exam in Composition Studies, I probably won’t get a question on this, but it’s best to be prepared. In all reality, unless I am asked to address any of these specific authors, I will likely draw from the Comp Studies reading list for an answer on composition.

Berlin, Blair, Pratt, Winterowd

Blair

Blair’s ideas were rooted in the belletristic tradition, which argued that rhetoric and “polite arts” should be categorized as “rhetoric and belles lettres.” He was interested in notions of taste, style, criticism, and sublimity. He largely discounted the canon of invention and instead believed that genius is the key motivator and enabler to coming up with a topic; this genius cannot be affected by the rules of rhetoric and so cannot be taught. Blair is also concerned with taste, which he defines as “the power of receiving pleasure from the beauties of nature and of art.” There are two facets of good taste: delicacy (feeling well and accurately) and correctness (a standard of good sense). He points out that everyone has taste to some degree, but some are more refined than others due to finer organs and internal powers. However, it is possible to develop taste through exposure to art and literature that those with a more refined taste have deemed “good.” Because of his notions about genius and taste, Blair argues that good writers are developed through acquainting themselves with the best authors. At first, these aspiring-to-be-good writers must recreate the writing of the best authors from memory; however, he does not want them to imitate it, but to adapt their own style to the subject and its hearers/readers. Such pedagogy shows that learning writers do not yet have the genius to devise their own topics and so much take them from others, and it seeks to develop the learner’s taste through exposure to the best works.

It should be noted that though many (most?) composition theorists and practitioners find the belletristic notion Blair propagates to be outdated and not terribly useful for our students, many composition teachers still continue to use this pedagogy in their classrooms. These teachers teach FYC using literary texts and ask students to write papers on them, which limits the number of genres they learn and thus rhetorical situations to which they are prepared to respond. Some scholars (Hairston, for example) think that such practices are the result of FYC being house in English departments where literature scholars hold most of the sway; thus, many of the grad students who teach FYC are aspiring lit scholars who do not want to teach writing and so teach lit instead. But that is a discussion for another question.

Winterowd

Winterowd questions the sanity of requiring FYC, arguing that the justification that details its inherent usefulness is not a good enough reason. He argues that Comp’s real effectiveness comes when we shift from context and content to addresser orientation, what he calls “self-expressive writing”; in other words, he calls for the writer to take the center of their compositions in order to express themselves through writing. He argues against Current-Traditional Rhetoric when he states that there is no such thing as good or bad language, except in relation to a purpose; in other words, there are no “right” or “wrong” words as long as they accomplish their rhetorical goal. Such expressive writing will give students a chance to write toward these goals while also feeling motivated to master the aspects of written English because their writing is centered on them. The role of the instructor in this scenario is to lead students to analyze various texts and to provide feedback. The instructor should also focus on process and much as product. Interestingly, Winterowd’s book is divided into three parts: invention, form, and style, and organizational plan that belies what he believes are the three most important aspects of writing.

Pratt

Pratt exhorts us to use our classrooms as contact zones (social spaces where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other) when teaching students. Such pedagogy would resists the hegemonic relationships of power in the academy in order to allow students of various cultures and backgrounds the opportunities to learn about each other and question dominant power structures. Pratt’s argument comes a few years ahead of its time: by the end of the decade in which she wrote, many composition scholars were calling for (and some were arguing against) a critical cultural approach that would perform many of the pedagogical moves Pratt describes. For instance, feminist scholars argued for a more negotiative and irenic rhetoric to be taught (instead of the traditional male, agonistic rhetoric), and digital scholars call into question issues of technological access and how it affects the teaching of underprivileged students.

Berlin

In Rhetoric and Reality, Berlin lists several kinds of rhetoric that have influenced compositin pedagogy. First is objective rhetoric, which led to CTR and behaviorist pedagogies that assumed that teachers do not know how good writers write and whose goal was to make the student self-sufficient and responsible for their work rather than relying on teacher approval; some of its proponents were Lynn and Martin Bloom and Zoellner. Second is subjective rhetoric, which is an expressionist approach that relies on solitary activities and considers group activity to be dangerous. Some proponents of this approach were Macrorie, Murray, and Elbow. Third is transactional rhetoric, which led to Aristotelian pedagogy that studied all elements of the rhetorical situation as involved in the rhetorical act and thus considered rhetorical. Two of its proponents are McDowell and Corbett, who argue respectively that comp courses should include persuasive/expository writing and take social problem as subject matter and that they should include moral and aesthetic issues such as arrangement, style, and the awareness of audience in shaping a discourse. Fourth is the rhetoric of cognitive psychology, which seeks to determine how social and psychological structures influence writing process. For example, in 1971 Janet Emig suggested a longitudinal study of students to learn the developmental dimensions of their writing processes. And finally, epistemic rhetoric argues that writing involves the transmission and generation of knowledge; knowledge is dialectical and thus rhetorical construct. Proponents of this kind of pedagogy are Bruffee and Berthoff.

How I’d answer a question on this theme

I’d probably draw from my Comp Studies list for any question on Comp. Many of these resources (except for Pratt) are outdated and largely out of fashion in Comp Studies. Berlin’s book is still important, but he’s also written other more recent(ish) things since then that are more pertinent. Frankly, most of the Comp stuff on the Rhetoric list is just boring and I don’t want to talk about it in an answer unless I have to (and I have a hunch I won’t have to).

Ideas about Sophistry

Ideas about Sophistry

Plato, Gorgias, Isocrates, Glenn, Kennedy, Burke, Vitanza

Plato

Plato is famously anti-sophistical. In the Gorgias, his Socrates takes on the famous sophist and his followers through a dialogue meant to discount sophistry as a valid rhetorical practice. Plato’s biggest problem with sophistry is that it is concerned with possibility and can only persuade people to belief; he prefers a rhetorical dialectic in which two people converse in order to eliminate error and establish knowledge. In other words, Plato fears a sophistic orator may mislead his/her hearers and occlude the truth for which everyone should be searching. Truth is the ultimate goal, and it can only be found through an internal realization brought about by a dialogue with someone who has already discovered the truth.

Gorgias

An example of the kind of sophistry against which Plato argued is Gorgias’s Encomium of Helen, in which he defends Helen of Troy’s decision to go with Paris and instigate the Trojan War. He brings up several possibilities for why she may have left with him: perhaps she had no choice, perhaps she thoughtfully considered her actions and thought them the best option. Gorgias offers no solutions, but only a string of potential motives for Helen. Thus, he uses language to manipulate his listeners who had previously thought ill of Helen for betraying her people. This is the kind of sophistry against which Plato argues because it does not help its listeners discover truth; instead, it leaves them only with a belief that Helen may be innocent, and they may be content only knowing that possibility and cease to pursue the truth.

Burke

Though he does not define himself as such, Burke appears to be a more modern version of a sophist; like Gorgias, Burke is concerned with possibility. This similarity is most apparent in his discussion of identification. When a speaker engages in identification, s/he works to make the audience believe that s/he is just like them. S/he finds or fabricates some similarity (in beliefs, values, or background) s/he shares with the audience and points it out to them so that they identify with him/her. Burke argues that this is an effective method of maximizing persuasion; the identification does not need to be sincere, but it may be. Here, Burke shows that he is concerned with the possibilities of persuasion and how one may use identification to achieve it more successfully. He does not caution against using identification to mislead; he offers it as a method of potential manipulation.

 

Glenn

Cheryl Glenn’s brief study of the Sophists in Rhetoric Retold appears to contradict Plato’s negative view of sophistry. She points out that they enacted a humanist philosophy that supported the notions of individual responsibility and political and social action. They taught that the gods were not responsible for human actions; instead, individuals were responsible for their own behaviors and dispositions, and were therefore responsible for the actions of the state.

Isocrates

Isocrates enacted the kind of sophistry to which Glenn refers. In his Against the Sophists, Isocrates argues that language is a tool for solving problems; thus, his sophistry was active instead of contemplative. He was interested not only in working toward the common good, but also in creating civic leaders to do so. Isocrates disparaged sophists who used language to mislead people (such as, presumably, Gorgias) and sought to avoid such trickery in his own teachings. He is considered a sophist because he followed the sophist tenet that all knowledge is inherently flawed because it is limited by our human perception. Thus, it is impossible to learn a universal truth, but he Isocrates believed that people should still study a wide range of subject in order to make the best possible decision in a given situation.

Kennedy

In Comparative Rhetoric, George Kennedy defines the conditions needed for successful sophistry: literacy; political, social, and moral changes; conflicting philosophical schools; and the existence of individual teachers who are not part of a state bureaucracy and offer advice to rulers. Kennedy point out that all of these factors were in place when sophism arose in ancient Greece. He also argues that the skepticism and deliberation of possibilities in which the sophists engaged are partially responsible for the advancement of knowledge and understanding in Western culture. The aim of sophistry was often to argue from the weaker side as if it were the stronger (to bask in the possibility), and most social causes (abolition of slavery, women’s rights, for example) initially were perceived as the weaker sides; someone had to earnestly and successfully defend them as if they were the stronger case in order to for human rights to progress.

Vitanza

Vitanza is a self-proclaimed Neo-Sophist. One key aspect of sophism upon which Vitanza draws for his theory echoes the sophist notion of arguing from the weaker side as though it were the stronger; by “weaker” side, I mean that side that is most often disparaged or perhaps thought to occupy an untrue or incorrect position. Vitanza argues that the Third Sophistic of which he is a part must redefine the History of Rhetoric in order to include denegate some of the negated people; in other words, he argues for an inclusive history of rhetoric that makes space for some of the voices that have heretofore been excluded. Vitanza explains that these voices, such as many of the Sophists, have been floating in limbo, in the “middle” or the “in-between,” and deconstructing binaries; he posits that we need to bring them to the center of rhetorical study. Hearkening back to Gorgias, Vitanza offers Helen of Troy as an example of this denegated subjectivity: she rejects the active/passive binary by instead reaching for a middle voice that brings her a sovereign, sublime subjectivity. In working to denegate the negated, Vitanza reveals the systems of power at work throughout the History (and historiography) of Rhetoric as a History of Oppression. Thus, the Third Sophistic redefines notions of power and how it is dispersed.

How I would answer a question on this theme

Plato and Gorgias play nice together (so to speak), and Burke is a kind of modern Gorgias who Plato would have argued against. Glenn and Isocrates also play well together to present a different angle on sophistry. Kennedy can lead into Vitanza by way of explaining sophistry’s tendency to argue the weaker side; and Vitanza represents Neo-Sophistry. Taken together, this can be a snapshot of three different kinds of sophistry: 1) Sophistry concerned with possibility, 2) Sophistry concerned with creating the best world possible, 3) Neo-Sophistry/Third Sophistic concerned with denegating the negated.

Issues of Marginalization in Rhetoric

Issues of Marginalization in Rhetoric

Butler, Gates, Glenn, Pratt, Vitanza

Mary Louise Pratt

In “Arts of the Contact Zone,” Pratt explains that the contact zone is where cultures meet, clash, and grapple with each other, often in contexts of asymmetrical relations of power (colonialism, slavery, and/or their aftermaths). She argues that texts produced in the contact zone have disruptive power: if marginalized group of people produces a text from this area of conflict and inserts it into the dominant print culture, they can interrupt the hegemony of the dominant culture. These texts are often parodic in nature (and thus, intertextual), subversively imitating and poking fun at the dominant culture; they are addressed to both the dominant culture and their own community. The distribution of these texts allows them to take some control of how they consume the texts of the dominant culture: they may not be able to control what the dominant culture emanates, but they can decide what they absorb and how they use it. It can also be a way for underprivileged people’s to let off steam and suppress urges for potentially violent outbursts in response to their subjugation.

 

Henry Louis Gates

A product of a contact zone is the Signifyin’ Monkey. Gates explains that the Signifyin’ Monkey is a way for oppressed Black cultures to safely poke fun at the dominant White culture. Signifyin’ is based on the chaos of “associative relations” that appear as playful puns and figurative (often humorous) substitutions that name a person or situation in a telling manner; it delights in the free play of associated rhetorical and semantic relations. In many ways, Signifyin’ (capital S to distinguish it from “signifying,” which excludes the unconscious associations of a word in which Signifyin’ basks) is like Bakhtin’s double-voicedness because the person who Signifies says two things at once: the literal meaning of the word(s) and its/their figurative, implied meaning(s). Thus, in the Signifyin’ Monkey narratives, Monkey (representing a Black person) can fool Lion (representing a White person) into getting into trouble with Elephant. Monkey Signifies on Lion, and the multiple meanings of Monkey’s words trick the Lion into looking like a fool. These narratives are chiasmatic daydream fantasies of power reversal, and they are only possible because of the double (or triple, or quadruple) meanings of the words Monkey says: slaves could tell these stories to each other right in front of their owners and the White men would take them literally and have no or little idea that they were being made fun of. Thus, these contact zone stories provided (and still can provide) an entire subjugated culture with a way to let off some steam by making fun of their oppressors right in front of them.

Judith Butler

Butler argues that words are also agency; by virtue of thinking something hurtful or threatening, your body physically reacts and prepares to enact that threat. In other words, the body takes on the posture or state of the action it threatens and begins to enact the threat. However, the statement itself is not capable of enacting the threat, and so the threat may never come to fruition if the power dynamic and circumstance behind the performative act are not right. In other words, the situation (encompassing the speaker, the spoken-to, and all their contexts of power relations, cultural backgrounds, etc) must be just perfect for the threat to be enacted. For example, the Signifyin’ Monkey is, at the end of the day, an empty threat when performed by slaves. They can tell threatening stories in which a figurative Black man tricks a figurative White man, making him look like a fool, but the situation prevents the Black slaves from literally tricking the White men in the same manner as Monkey tricks Lion.

Butler also points out that the implication behind the phrase “words wound” is that words are capable of inflicting pain or injury in a physical capacity. She also points out that these words place the listener (the one toward whom the injurious words are aimed) in a subordinate social position, which can result in social trauma if the listener is called by injurious word repeatedly. Bulter questions why such words (such a racial slurs or insults aimed at a person’s sexuality) have such power to inflict pain and marginalization. Legal and political discourse tries to tie the words’ power to contexts, but as Butler points out, efforts to censor such language divorces it from context; in making a document describing why a certain word should not be used, one uses the word in a new context divorced from its offensive nature. Thus, the link between speech act and injury is loosened, which opens up the possibility for a kind of talking back or reclaiming of the injurious word. In other words, this loosened link provides the opportunity for the marginalized groups to reclaim the words that marginalize them.

Butler also examines a tension between regulating injurious language and letting it be used freely: on the one hand, regulation of this language destroys some fundamental aspect of language and subject constitution through language; on the other hand, our dependency on constituting our subjecthood via the ways we are addressed implies that there is a need for some regulations. In other words, we are brought into social position and time through being named, so care should be taken in how we name others; however, regulating how people can be named denies language’s basic function: being an expression of thought.

Finally, Butler notes that speech and conduct are conflated in matters pertaining to sexuality, but not racism. In other words, often a declaration of homosexuality (especially in the military) is taken to mean that the person intends to enact homosexual acts; however, in racist threats, the threat is not taken to mean that the person intends to enact them. Butler argues that homosexual desire should not be conflated with the desire of which it speaks since they are not the same thing; one can be homosexual, she implies, without acting upon that homosexuality, just as one can make a racist threat without enacting it.

Victor Vitanza

Vitanza’s work comes after Glenn’s, but also calls for a broader definition of rhetoric that could recognize more previously marginalized voices as being rhetorically important. He imagines an alternative space where the exiled, silenced, and rejected voices dwell and are given a place from which to speak (perhaps Pratt’s contact zone?). He calls this space the “middle” and argues that it denegates the negated by giving them a voice. Vitanza argues that even though these voices have been systematically silenced and negated (and perhaps, by now, even lost altogether), they can still be profitably read in the History of Rhetoric. Where traditional rhetoricians have attempted to define, obtain, and keep power, these voices (the Third Sophistic) have rethought power altogether by placing it in perpetual displacement.

 

 

Cheryl Glenn

Glenn discusses how women have traditionally been excluded from the rhetorical canon, which has replicated the politics of gender that places women subordinately to men. She argues that what we constitute as “rhetoric” should be redefined to include women; such redefinition recognizes that the traditional agonistic patterns were inscribed by males, and recognizes a broader conception of rhetoric as using language in such a way as to make an impression upon a reader/hearer. One aspect of this new constitution involves seeing Aspasia in the same way traditional rhetoric has seen Socrates. No writing remains of Socrates, and we know most of what we know about him through secondary works, notably Plato, yet we do not doubt that there was a Socrates. Aspasia has suffered a similar fate (we have none of her writings and only hear about her through secondary sources), yet her existence is constantly questioned. Under a new conception of rhetoric, Glenn argues, we have to stop doubting Aspsia’s existence and accept her influence on rhetorical theory, just as we do Socrates.

Glenn studies medieval rhetoricians Julian of Norwich and Margery Kempe to show how their rhetoric of religious devotion should be included in the expanded conception of rhetoric. Such proclamations were acceptable because they dealt with the only uncontested (at the time) realm of truth: Christian piety. They exploited this as the only commendable road to feminine wisdom and used it to preach through visionary and mystical writings. Remarkably, both women also spoke in the vernacular, analyzed and responded to their audiences, and used experiential knowledge to fuel their teachings to improve the spiritual lives of both men and women. Glen also calls for the redefined rhetoric to pay attention to intentional silence, as in the case of Anne Askew. Askew was prolific in writing and speaking against the Protestant reformation, but when she was arrested and her inquisitor asked her questions, she refused to answer any of them and instead called for him to present his evidence. Such rhetorical silence was powerful in its denial of power to the inquisitor. Her response also shows that Askew was aware of her audience and exigence and knew that she could not use language to change their attitudes, so she denied them any language at all.

Glenn studies several female rhetorical figures from the Renaissance and earlier, but she leaves the investigation open for other scholars to pick up. Under her more broadly defined rhetoric, many subjugated voices, not just women but also perhaps people of other marginalized cultures and ethnicities, can be recognized for their rhetorical contributions, both in the past and present.

How I would answer a question on this theme

I’d start with defining Pratt’s contact zone, then use Gates as an example of how slaves operated in the contact zone in order to through relations of power into question, even if only very slightly. Then, I’d use Butler for an extended conversation of how the contact zone can be a place where marginalized peoples use the language that oppresses them to fight back. She is also fruitful for a discussion of why words hurt the way that they do and what should be done about it. Finally, Vitanza’s Third Sophistic and voices from the “middle” are a useful way to lead into Glenn’s broadening of rhetoric to include more voices that have previously been silenced or ignored.

Metaphor in Rhetorical Theory

Metaphor in Rhetorical Theory

Lakoff and Johnson, Richards, Aristotle, Perelman

Aristotle

Aristotle says that mastering metaphor shows genius because it cannot be learned; it implies an eye for resemblance. He contends that the metaphor “gives style, clearness, charm, and distinction as nothing else can” makes meaning. The clarifying and meaning-making potential of metaphors also makes them a key component of discovering truth. One of the reasons for metaphors seeming usefulness, Aristotle argues, is that they are the only kinds of words that everyone uses; all people use metaphors in order to carry on coherent conversations. He also points out that metaphors are conducive to learning because they produce easy learning by creating a connection between two unlike things (the example Aristotle gives is Homer’s developing a connection between “stubble” and “old age”) and construct understanding and knowledge. In rhetorical oratory, Aristotle says that metaphor can affect the audience. If you wish to make something or someone look good, you can use a metaphor that compares them to something better; if you wish to denigrate them, compare them to something lesser.

Aristotle seems to have conflicting views on metaphor. He says that it takes a genius to master it, but everyone uses them all the time. Perhaps he means that everyone uses them, but not necessarily well, and only a few use them really well?

I.A. Richards

Richards invented the terminology for describing metaphors that many people still use: the tenor is the implied object of the metaphor, and the vehicle is the object used for comparison. In The Philosophy of Rhetoric, Richards takes on three of Aristotle’s assumptions about metaphor: first, Aristotle argues that some people have an eye for resemblances, but not others, to which Richards replies that everyone speaks and lives through resemblances; second, Aristotle says that metaphor cannot be taught, to which Richards replies that metaphors are an inherent part of the language we learn; finally, he says Aristotle thinks metaphors are special and exceptional, but Richards says that they are part of everyday language. Richards goes even further to argue that not only is metaphor an inherent aspect of our language, but it is also inherent to the nature of our thought. Our mind is built to make connections between things, which causes tension; metaphors alleviate the tension and restore order to our thought processes by making sense of an otherwise illogical connection. For example, in Aristotle’s example of Homer making a metaphor that used “stubble” to refer to “old age,” the connection seems illogical until the metaphoric meaning becomes clear: as Aristotle explains, both have lost their luster. Richards finishes by arguing that metaphor is important to rhetoric because the goal of rhetoric is to learn as much about words as is possible so that they will tell us how our minds work.

Chaim Perelman

Perelman defines metaphors as condensed analogies. An analogy is a way to define reality and establish the real by establishing connections between two terms by noting their similarity to each other. The examples Perelman gives is that “truth is to Socrates what gold is to a miser”; since a metaphor is a condensed analogy, this analogy could be condensed to something like “truth is gold to Socrates.” In creating this metaphor, the connection between “truth” and “gold” in relation to Socrates is less explicit than in the analogy. Perelman argues that philosophical thought and rhetoric seek to develop an argumentation that aims to have certain analogies and metaphors accepted as central elements in a worldview.

George Lakoff and Mark Johnson

Lakoff and Johson follow Aristotle and Richards in asserting that metaphor is an inherent part of thought and language; since our conceptual system is fundamentally metaphorical, our perceptions and relations (both of which are influenced by our concepts structure) are the result of the metaphors we live by. The famous example Lakoff and Johnson use is the metaphor “argument is war.” This metaphor implies a verbal contest similar to a physical battle; as such, our terminology (and consequently our conceptual system) is structured through words like “counterattack” and “defense.” Lakoff and Johnson point out that our conceptual system would look very different if our culture conceived of argument metaphorically not as war, but as a dance. This leads to another key point: since metaphors change from culture to culture, a culture’s most fundamental values will be coherent with the metaphorical structure of their most fundamental concepts. For instance, in the US, such metaphors as “labor is a resource” and “time is a resource” are culturally grounded in our experiences with material resources; importantly, such metaphors do not exist in cultures that do not share our views on work, quantification, and purposeful ends. Part of this cultural dependence on metaphor is that people in power get to impose their metaphors on a culture.

Lakoff and Johnson also discuss the nature of truth: philosophers say metaphor cannot express truth, but Lakoff and Johnson argue that truth is a function of our conceptual system, and, since our concepts our metaphorical in nature, metaphors can be true or false. Truth, then, becomes subjective and relative to our conceptual system, which is both grounded in and tested by our daily experiences and interactions with other people and environments. Thus, there is no Truth, but the possibility of many truths.

How I would answer a question on this theme

[This could also answer an Aristotle’s Time Machine question]

I’d move semi-chronologically to follow the development of conceptions of metaphor to show how Aristotle laid the foundations for modern conceptions of metaphor. For Aristotle, metaphor makes and clarifies meaning, and everyone uses it. This is a sentiment echoed in Lakoff and Johnson, who take Aristotle’s notion a step further in arguing that metaphor constructs our conceptual systems, thus influencing how we perceive the world. And, since metaphor is inherent in our thought, it is also inherent in our language and used by everyone. Perelman also argues that metaphors are one way that we create and define reality. Richards challenges Aristotle’s assumptions that metaphor only some people can master metaphor, that it can’t be taught, and that metaphors are exceptional by arguing that metaphors are a part of daily life and experience; however, it seems that Aristotle agrees that everyone uses them, but only a few geniuses can master the art of metaphor.

Purposes/Conceptions of Rhetoric

Purposes/Conceptions of Rhetoric

Plato: Rhetoric is “the art of winning the soul by discourse.” Although technically, Plato is referring to dialectic (the Socratic dialogue), not rhetoric. In fact, Plato distrusts rhetoric because he thinks it misleads the soul. Instead, two people should engage in a dialogue and work together to correct error and discover truth.

Aristotle: Rhetoric is “the faculty of discovering in any particular case all of the available means of persuasion.” As such, his Rhetoric outlines many of those “available means” in order to help the orator train.

Quintilian: “Oratory is the art of speaking well.” It’s also being a good person (“good man speaking well”). He also believes that rhetoric and grammar should be united because they complement each other. The good orator invents on the spot, but has many examples and precedents memorized for instant recall.

Cicero: Rhetoric is “speech designed to persuade.” He also talks about legal oratory leads to advancement in Rome. Cicero also unites the study of rhetoric and philosophy; both need each other in order to be useful and effective. True skill in oratory comes from the combination of natural talent and learned skill. Eloquence is the most important aspect of oratory? There are three purposes of rhetoric: pleasing, teaching, moving to action. Three levels of style: plain, middle, grand.

Augustine: Rhetoric is preaching God’s word to a congregation. Clearness is more important than eloquence. There are three purposes (taken from Cicero) and three levels of style (inspired by Cicero): subdued, temperate, and grand. Also, there are only three subjects of oratory: justice, holiness, and a good life. Like Cicero and Quintilian, Augustine also believes that the orator must be virtuous.

George Campbell: Rhetoric is “that art or talent by which discourse is adapted to its end. The four ends of discourse are to enlighten the understanding, please the imagination, move the passion, and influence the will.

I.A. Richards: Rhetoric is the study of misunderstanding and its remedies; the goal of rhetoric is to learn so much about words that they will tell us how our minds work. He calls for us to renounce the view that words are only their meaning and that discourse is only the composition of those meanings. Most words change meanings in different contexts; thus, no word can be judged good/bad or correct/incorrect in isolation (interinanimation of words).

Kenneth Burke: “Wherever there is persuasion, there is rhetoric, and wherever there is rhetoric, there is meaning.” Rhetoric is winning an argument at (nearly) all costs. Anything written for a purpose with an audience in mind. Identification is a way of enacting persuasion, not just gaining audience assent.

Wayne Booth: Rhetoric “includes all forms of communication short of physical violence, even such gestures as raising an eyebrow or giving the finger.” He specifically discusses the rhetoric of assent, which he defines as coming into an argument prepared to accept any good reasons, rather than coming in with a neutral or antagonistic attitude.

James Crosswhite: A rhetoric of reason has the task of explaining how reasoning can have effect/force, while forgoing violence and furthering respect.

George Kennedy: Rhetoric is the art of effective expression: it is mental and emotional energy. To Kennedy, rhetoric is almost equivalent to communication; all communication is rhetorical. Even animals can engage in rhetoric.