You can say, “Yeah, yeah, yeah” if you like, but it won’t matter to me… I know the truth. There’s no two ways about it in this argument, because this one is cut and dried, black and white, without any gray areas at all. In fact, I’ll go to my grave defending the truth in this matter. And the truth is: I did not read ahead in They Say I Say (to the part that talks about the value of taking the “yes and no” stance rather than the “yes or no” stance) prior to writing my October 12th blog. If you’re scratching your head about now, here’s a quote from that blog –– “I still can’t figure out why people insist on the ‘yes or no’ instead of the ‘yes and no’ of it.” So, now that I’ve refreshed your memory –– go ahead. Go ahead and say it. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I know you want to. So go right on ahead. Hell, I’d even tell you that since I haven’t gotten around to writing my profile, and you don’t know me from Adam, you’d be justified. But, you should also know that I will never waver on the issue. I will only repeat. I did not read Chapter four prior to writing my October 12th blog discussing the “yes and no” of autonomous versus mechanical speech. I’ve just always seemed to have an affinity or fondness for looking at the yes and no of important issues.
Everything I seem to be studying these days is based on the yes or no of something. Product vs. Process, Minimalist vs. Directive tutoring, mainstream Dialogue vs. ethnic Dialogue, and the list is endless when you include the world at large. For instance, Rove says the Democrats are responsible for deregulation while anyone with a brain in their skull that’s bigger than a bb in a boxcar knows otherwise, which only serves to prove –– anything can be argued. Aristotle’s Topoi, and Rhetoric in general, supports the idea that structuring an argument is of utmost importance if you want to make your point stick, and the reason? Well, the reason is simply that since anything can be argued you might as well develop an arsenal. But, for me, the important issues, the philosophical issues, the issues that pertain to human nature, and consciousness deserve to be looked at from the yes and no perspective touted by the authors of They Say, I Say.
This little book contains a wealth of weapons for our arsenal of argument. Templates, structure, means for presenting our ideas are offered clearly and thoughtfully. The very idea that they strongly suggest we consider looking at the yes and no of issues is a point I believe cannot be over–emphasized. Of course, there are issues we’ve pondered long enough to develop a conviction concerning which side is the “right” side. But, in regard to arguments that endorse several different ideas, some of which we may be unsure of, I think these authors are wise to suggest that we only address those concepts we’ve considered more deeply. To say “I don’t know” about the rest is OK as far as I’m concerned, since it also shows the reader we’re being honest. Not only that, but why weaken our overall argument by attempting to address issues we are unprepared to address? Yes, They Say, I Say will help us improve our skills at presenting a case, and improving our skills at presenting a case is imperative, since anything can be argued… anything except, of course, whether or not I read ahead to chapter four before writing my October 12th blog… but you can go ahead and say it if you want to… I don’t care… it won’t matter to me… really… I know the truth… and the truth is the only witness I need.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Just Another Contradiction
While plowing through Catherine Gallagher's essay "Historical Scholarship," it occurred to me over and over and over how little I know about most of her references. But, by sticking to it I was rewarded in that two seemingly separate concepts revealed themselves to be connected: first, her idea in the "READER" section that a text changes in scope and meaning largely due to the passage of time, which affects any given reader's perspective toward the material; second, (and my favorite found in the "AUTHOR" section) -- who is the author of any given text, or is there even really an authentic author for any given text? Combining these two ideas would seem to strongly suggest that all texts could be deconstructed to the nth degree with impunity, since all texts are open to countless interpretations, and all authors are nothing more than "endlessly labile [selves]" (176). However, I believe there is an entirely different way to merge these two concepts, and that in the end, this convergence of ideas will demonstrate that anyone setting out to deconstruct the composition Perceval will unwittingly reveal the very thing deconstructionists most strongly deny -- that a constant, or absolute, running through life can appear in a piece of literature.
In the "READER" section of this essay, Gallagher quotes Hans Robert Jauss who says that the historical authenticity of any literary work is based upon "the preceding experience of the literary work by its readers" (181). To clarify this he tells us that the composition Perceval "as a literary event, is not 'historical' in the same sense as...the Third Crusade, which was occurring at about the same time [Perceval was composed]." Then Gallagher -- using "the words of Wolfgang Iser, Jauss's Konstanz school colleague" -- states, "Perceval happens whenever and wherever it is read; the historical text is...thus multiple in time and place" (181). I do understand this; in fact, it is easy for me to see how someone living during the Third Crusade could read Perceval with a different perspective from a Literature Student in the year 2008. While the former would be in the midst of it all, so to speak, the latter would be far removed from the historical underpinnings of the text. However, I am also convinced that the fundamental message concerning "The Quest" would be recognizable by both the old and the new reader.
There is something timeless in mythology like Perceval; the concept of The Quest has been around ever since we first stood up on two legs, and it will be here as long as we are breathing. Every time we put our feet on the floor as we get out of bed, we are all on some kind of quest, so why muddy the point of the myth by saying now that we can read it on a computer screen rather than in a codex, it has somehow drastically changed? Why -- on the fundamental level of message -- would there be any difference in "the way a thirteenth-century manuscript reader would have interacted with a text of Perceval and the way a student in a French literature course interacts with one now" (182). Granted, both would most likely have dissimilar views on details due to their life experience. However, the mythology of The Quest, one of the structural aspects of Perceval, simply stands on its own. It exists in this composition as a reflection of a constant in life. In fact, the very act of attempting to deconstruct Perceval would be the undertaking of a quest.
I believe the timeless quality of this text is due to the fact that the mythology created the text, and not the other way around, and this idea falls directly in line with an earlier statement in the "AUTHOR" section of Gallagher's essay. When she addresses the creation of consciousness she states, "The notion that discourse creates consciousness (instead of independent minds creating discourse) does not require Foucauldian critics to ignore individual writers... but it undoubtedly makes them seem less active as the ultimate historical cause or source of a literary work" (173). If, in fact, the myth created the text of Perceval then what we have is a text produced not by an individual author, but by and through the discourse of many groups over long periods of time discussing the same-shared experience. And this would suggest (if I can borrow a template from an example of Past Fact/Future Fact in Aristotle's Topoi) -- As every person who has lived on this earth through its many ages has been on a quest, we can be quite assured that this will be the common lot for the rest of us.... To me, what this all means, in condensed form, is that those who would argue that The Quest is not a constant in life would be on a quest while trying to prove their point. Therefore, they would be contradicting themselves.
In the "READER" section of this essay, Gallagher quotes Hans Robert Jauss who says that the historical authenticity of any literary work is based upon "the preceding experience of the literary work by its readers" (181). To clarify this he tells us that the composition Perceval "as a literary event, is not 'historical' in the same sense as...the Third Crusade, which was occurring at about the same time [Perceval was composed]." Then Gallagher -- using "the words of Wolfgang Iser, Jauss's Konstanz school colleague" -- states, "Perceval happens whenever and wherever it is read; the historical text is...thus multiple in time and place" (181). I do understand this; in fact, it is easy for me to see how someone living during the Third Crusade could read Perceval with a different perspective from a Literature Student in the year 2008. While the former would be in the midst of it all, so to speak, the latter would be far removed from the historical underpinnings of the text. However, I am also convinced that the fundamental message concerning "The Quest" would be recognizable by both the old and the new reader.
There is something timeless in mythology like Perceval; the concept of The Quest has been around ever since we first stood up on two legs, and it will be here as long as we are breathing. Every time we put our feet on the floor as we get out of bed, we are all on some kind of quest, so why muddy the point of the myth by saying now that we can read it on a computer screen rather than in a codex, it has somehow drastically changed? Why -- on the fundamental level of message -- would there be any difference in "the way a thirteenth-century manuscript reader would have interacted with a text of Perceval and the way a student in a French literature course interacts with one now" (182). Granted, both would most likely have dissimilar views on details due to their life experience. However, the mythology of The Quest, one of the structural aspects of Perceval, simply stands on its own. It exists in this composition as a reflection of a constant in life. In fact, the very act of attempting to deconstruct Perceval would be the undertaking of a quest.
I believe the timeless quality of this text is due to the fact that the mythology created the text, and not the other way around, and this idea falls directly in line with an earlier statement in the "AUTHOR" section of Gallagher's essay. When she addresses the creation of consciousness she states, "The notion that discourse creates consciousness (instead of independent minds creating discourse) does not require Foucauldian critics to ignore individual writers... but it undoubtedly makes them seem less active as the ultimate historical cause or source of a literary work" (173). If, in fact, the myth created the text of Perceval then what we have is a text produced not by an individual author, but by and through the discourse of many groups over long periods of time discussing the same-shared experience. And this would suggest (if I can borrow a template from an example of Past Fact/Future Fact in Aristotle's Topoi) -- As every person who has lived on this earth through its many ages has been on a quest, we can be quite assured that this will be the common lot for the rest of us.... To me, what this all means, in condensed form, is that those who would argue that The Quest is not a constant in life would be on a quest while trying to prove their point. Therefore, they would be contradicting themselves.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Mechanical and Autonomous Speech
Susan C. Jarret, in "Rhetoric," describes not only the history of rhetoric, but also how differently rhetoric has been viewed throughout the ages. Rhetoric's definition goes all the way from "a good man speaking well" (76), to the idea that all speakers are "subjected to the determinations of ideology, the unconscious, institutions, and systems of discourse" (88). In other words, we are not at all "autonomous speakers," but rather bound by mechanical attitudes brought about by ingrained beliefs, unknown desires, established norms, and our own particular society's methods of communication. For years I've been intrigued by the seeming contradiction in these two perspectives -- how on the one hand, we can be mechanical automatons, and on the other we can be autonomous and original. However, I still can't figure out why people insist on the "yes or no" of it instead of exploring the "yes and no" of it.
There are those who consistently speak from mechanical perspectives, and whatever they have to say could be construed as "unworthy" of our attention, because, in simplest terms, when people are speaking mechanically, their thoughts are not their own. However, if a person speaks from a place of autonomy, which always requires rebellion on some level, there's a chance that what he or she has to say will be seen as "good," in the sense that it is conscious, novel, and has the ability to move others in a positive way. What I've come to notice in life is that just as there are some people who generally speak mechanically, there are also some people who, more often than not, speak from a position of autonomy.
I'd never argue against the idea that we are mechanical beings for the most part, and that some of us can become completely stuck in the morass of learned societal, or core culture attitudes. Like the bible thumper who demonizes the teachings of the Tao, many of us take what we've been fed as children and young adults as gospel. Even those who rebel -- who say, "I don't believe what this society is trying to cram into my brain" -- have lapses back into mechanical behavior. However, it is simply wrong to say we are all in that place, all of the time. There are moments of understanding waiting for anyone who chooses to look for them. If it weren't so, where'd postmodernists come up with their supposedly original idea that all speaking is "ventriloquism" (88)? And wouldn't they be perturbed if someone mentioned that the parable about the "rich man" is a metaphor that exactly describes a person who is loaded with self-importance over his learned attitudes, proving this "postmodern" idea is not so post modern after all. Hmmmm, by adding that last sentence, I think I just proved their point that there's nothing original. Oh well, that's what postmodernist deconstruction does to me, sends me spiraling down that crazy hole dug by the white rabbit where only confusion, confusion, and still more confusion waits. But, I know a way out. In this case, all I have to do is turn my head and point in the direction of an original idea that actually worked... like magic.
Just the other night, I got a good dose of the kind of magic that can happen when one rebels and becomes an "autonomous speaker." Mr. Villanueava's decision to chuck it all, revolt, and speak from his own experience in Boot Straps, -- an act he thought would get him out of academics and not necessarily with blessings attached -- proved to be a boon not only for him, but also for the academic community itself. Instead of being ostracized by that community, he was embraced and acclaimed. Of course, the key idea here is that autonomy can have positive results, but not always. If one looks through history at autonomous characters in general, it will become clear that many of them just plain flat suffered for their ideas, which is why speaking autonomously is always risky business.
There are those who consistently speak from mechanical perspectives, and whatever they have to say could be construed as "unworthy" of our attention, because, in simplest terms, when people are speaking mechanically, their thoughts are not their own. However, if a person speaks from a place of autonomy, which always requires rebellion on some level, there's a chance that what he or she has to say will be seen as "good," in the sense that it is conscious, novel, and has the ability to move others in a positive way. What I've come to notice in life is that just as there are some people who generally speak mechanically, there are also some people who, more often than not, speak from a position of autonomy.
I'd never argue against the idea that we are mechanical beings for the most part, and that some of us can become completely stuck in the morass of learned societal, or core culture attitudes. Like the bible thumper who demonizes the teachings of the Tao, many of us take what we've been fed as children and young adults as gospel. Even those who rebel -- who say, "I don't believe what this society is trying to cram into my brain" -- have lapses back into mechanical behavior. However, it is simply wrong to say we are all in that place, all of the time. There are moments of understanding waiting for anyone who chooses to look for them. If it weren't so, where'd postmodernists come up with their supposedly original idea that all speaking is "ventriloquism" (88)? And wouldn't they be perturbed if someone mentioned that the parable about the "rich man" is a metaphor that exactly describes a person who is loaded with self-importance over his learned attitudes, proving this "postmodern" idea is not so post modern after all. Hmmmm, by adding that last sentence, I think I just proved their point that there's nothing original. Oh well, that's what postmodernist deconstruction does to me, sends me spiraling down that crazy hole dug by the white rabbit where only confusion, confusion, and still more confusion waits. But, I know a way out. In this case, all I have to do is turn my head and point in the direction of an original idea that actually worked... like magic.
Just the other night, I got a good dose of the kind of magic that can happen when one rebels and becomes an "autonomous speaker." Mr. Villanueava's decision to chuck it all, revolt, and speak from his own experience in Boot Straps, -- an act he thought would get him out of academics and not necessarily with blessings attached -- proved to be a boon not only for him, but also for the academic community itself. Instead of being ostracized by that community, he was embraced and acclaimed. Of course, the key idea here is that autonomy can have positive results, but not always. If one looks through history at autonomous characters in general, it will become clear that many of them just plain flat suffered for their ideas, which is why speaking autonomously is always risky business.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
A Tool or a Crutch
The preface, introduction, and first two chapters of "They Say I Say" offer writers both a certain type of formatting for academic writing, and a defense for the use of that formatting. It's obvious the book will dig deeper into the "templates" described in the beginning, which are basically forms for presenting an argument and transitioning smoothly in our own writing.
While reading this section I was struck by the idea that writers can either choose to use templates to construct bland, mechanical, formulaic prose, or use them to write with more freedom than usual because the templates have allowed them some extra room to be creative. In the case of the former, the templates would end up being crutches to support the weak ideas of a person either uninterested or uninspired. In the case of the later, the templates would be used strictly as tools to help transmit ideas artistically. When looking at it this way, it becomes obvious that there are definite disadvantages to taking the idea of using templates to an extreme, and there are definite advantages to thinking of templates as reliable, consistent, familiar places we can use as a sort of framework for our ideas. I've also come to the conclusion that how templates would be used depends entirely upon the outlook, experience, and most of all the desire of the writer.
Although I agree that it's "silly" to expect neophytes to stumble on these templates all on their own, I do believe a writer who has experimented enough could end up using them in his or her work without even being able to identify them. In other words, I think that at a certain point in their growth, writers could use the structure of a particular template much the same way they could use metaphor, simile, metonymy, or any other figure of speech, without any understanding at all that what they are doing has been recognized and catalogued as a literary concept. However, the big problem with templates, as far as I can see, would be in handing them over to a novice without first explaining thoroughly and convincingly that they are a tool and not a crutch. That they can be used creatively is without question, but that just like metaphor or simile, they can also be used sloppily.
A perfect example of using the concept behind a template creatively, and almost invisibly, is shown when the authors point to the inspired way Zora Neal Hurston put her own brand on the template for "they say" in the sentence, "I remember the day I became colored" (xii). And I'd be willing to bet my last lone dollar she didn't even know she was doing something that now has an identifiable name. This identification process could only have come from dissecting the work of exceptional writers, like Hurston, who are the true creators of the templates, much the same way Sophocles was the true creator and Aristotle simply the dissector of the perfect Greek tragedy.
On page ten, the authors also talk about how the best improvisational jazz musicians must have some familiar place to come back to when things start breaking down -- or reaching critical mass. Dwelling on that idea, I realized that without the grand template of the Octave, and the smaller template of individual musical scales, jazz would never have been born... or any other form of Western music for that matter. I immediately thought of the structure of all uniquely American music, and once again wondered what our music would be like if not rooted in the 12 bar blues. Templates are everywhere. Aristotle's topoi are templates; templates are found in music, in art, in life itself. So why not try to creatively use the templates these authors discovered when we sit down to express ourselves?
Once again, I can see how a writer, especially one who is not interested in writing well, could use a template in an attempt to skate with a wave and a smile right on by his or her readers. However, if those readers happen to be people who enjoy reading something with at least a tinge of depth and originality, sloppy use of templates will be a glaring deterrent. On the other hand, if the writer has, more than anything else, a true desire to communicate ideas and felling about the subject at hand, then there's a good chance templates will serve as a decent framework or point of reference that allows him or her to be more creative -- kind of like how a good base player and drummer will hold up the bottom end to allow the rhythm and lead to soar a bit.
While reading this section I was struck by the idea that writers can either choose to use templates to construct bland, mechanical, formulaic prose, or use them to write with more freedom than usual because the templates have allowed them some extra room to be creative. In the case of the former, the templates would end up being crutches to support the weak ideas of a person either uninterested or uninspired. In the case of the later, the templates would be used strictly as tools to help transmit ideas artistically. When looking at it this way, it becomes obvious that there are definite disadvantages to taking the idea of using templates to an extreme, and there are definite advantages to thinking of templates as reliable, consistent, familiar places we can use as a sort of framework for our ideas. I've also come to the conclusion that how templates would be used depends entirely upon the outlook, experience, and most of all the desire of the writer.
Although I agree that it's "silly" to expect neophytes to stumble on these templates all on their own, I do believe a writer who has experimented enough could end up using them in his or her work without even being able to identify them. In other words, I think that at a certain point in their growth, writers could use the structure of a particular template much the same way they could use metaphor, simile, metonymy, or any other figure of speech, without any understanding at all that what they are doing has been recognized and catalogued as a literary concept. However, the big problem with templates, as far as I can see, would be in handing them over to a novice without first explaining thoroughly and convincingly that they are a tool and not a crutch. That they can be used creatively is without question, but that just like metaphor or simile, they can also be used sloppily.
A perfect example of using the concept behind a template creatively, and almost invisibly, is shown when the authors point to the inspired way Zora Neal Hurston put her own brand on the template for "they say" in the sentence, "I remember the day I became colored" (xii). And I'd be willing to bet my last lone dollar she didn't even know she was doing something that now has an identifiable name. This identification process could only have come from dissecting the work of exceptional writers, like Hurston, who are the true creators of the templates, much the same way Sophocles was the true creator and Aristotle simply the dissector of the perfect Greek tragedy.
On page ten, the authors also talk about how the best improvisational jazz musicians must have some familiar place to come back to when things start breaking down -- or reaching critical mass. Dwelling on that idea, I realized that without the grand template of the Octave, and the smaller template of individual musical scales, jazz would never have been born... or any other form of Western music for that matter. I immediately thought of the structure of all uniquely American music, and once again wondered what our music would be like if not rooted in the 12 bar blues. Templates are everywhere. Aristotle's topoi are templates; templates are found in music, in art, in life itself. So why not try to creatively use the templates these authors discovered when we sit down to express ourselves?
Once again, I can see how a writer, especially one who is not interested in writing well, could use a template in an attempt to skate with a wave and a smile right on by his or her readers. However, if those readers happen to be people who enjoy reading something with at least a tinge of depth and originality, sloppy use of templates will be a glaring deterrent. On the other hand, if the writer has, more than anything else, a true desire to communicate ideas and felling about the subject at hand, then there's a good chance templates will serve as a decent framework or point of reference that allows him or her to be more creative -- kind of like how a good base player and drummer will hold up the bottom end to allow the rhythm and lead to soar a bit.
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