SYNECDOCHE AGAINST METONYMY: BURKE, FREIRE, AND WRITING INSTRUCTION Paul Hunter North Lake College Explaining “the banking concept of education,” Paulo Freire ‘writes that such an education system assumes thie students are ‘adaptable, manageable beings:”' He continues ‘The more students work at storing the deposits entrusted co them, che less they develop the critical consciousness which would resule from theie intervention in the world as transformers of the world. The more completely they accepe the passive role imposed on them, ee more they tend 10 adape 10 the world a5 it is and to the fragmented view of realicy deposited in them" Oppressed 60). IF those of us who profess composition agroe with James Berlin that “ehe way we teach witing behavior, whether we will i¢ of rot, causes reverberation in all featuees ofa student's private end social behavior” (92), we must be constantly self-critical of the extent to which we serve the society's dominant ideologies. “Alinose ewenty years go, Keith Fore pointed oue the eesem- bance berween the fteshman essay and the military unit, both depending on a central and specific authoricy to marshall the available resources. More recently, both Pamela Annas and Mike Rose have voiced similar concerns: Annas arguing that we must encourage stunt esays that resist “hierarchy, competitiveness, detachment, and objectivity” (361); Rose poineing oue chae the politically advancageous “writing as tool” metaphor mighe keep four discipline much in demand bue that i¢ also weakens oar efforts to enact the critical consciousness to which we sae committed. My poine in this article is co suggest that one reason our dis cipline has not oveehauled or replaced the metaphor of writings, ‘tool, chat we have not found the exit of First Seate Bank, is, because we have yee to apply the ideas of Kenneth Burke com pichensively. will ague that the implicacions of A Grammar of ‘Motives reach well beyond the use ofthe Pentad asa structured Ipeursti, thac they suggest instead a radical change in what it ‘means 10 teach students £0 analyze and produce texts, a change leading up to and beyond Freireian pedagogy, a change chat asks ‘writing instructors to understand and imply Burke’ theory of ‘ropes. Like Annas, I would like more of us state in our course syllabi, without apology, “The writing product ae the end of che process may may nat be outside the range of what we are accus- tomed to recognize as strong expository writing” (370; my emphasis) PART ONE: PENTAD OR TROPES? ‘Most published material on structured heuristics in composi- tion would accep Richard! Young's statement that the Pentad is “che heart of the method [Burke's dramatism]" ("Iavention” 13, “Paradigms” 37); bue [ would argue that "skelecon” would be & metaphor more apt than “heart” in that che Pentad, eather than pumping life ino cramatistic thinking, merely frames analytical questions. Burke’ response co compositionists like Young, and others who use the Pentad as a structures heuristic raises ewo issues, First, Burke denies chat he designed the Pentad as a text- producing heuristic ("Questions” 342). Second, he reminds us that in A Grammar “my stzess is less than upon the cerms chem selves chan upon . . the ‘ratios! among the terms.” The fist chacge is nt dificule wo answer. Even if we accepe Burke's claim thac compositionists misconstrue che aim and emphasis of A Grammar, we should also accept that good things can follow fiom misreading and thae an author's iene need not be our pi- sary concern. ‘The second charge, however, is more damaging, Readers of A Grammar have seen hae dramnatism is a dynamic system supported not so much by the five terms themselves but by che elationships among the tcrms. The danger ofthe kind of coversimplification indulged in by some compositionsts is less ‘what Young complains about —“separaced from its context, the Pentad loses some ofits power" (Invention 16)~ chen what Freire warns against~the cemptation “simply to adape the world a i is to the fragmented view of realty” thac can only reinforce ‘at dominane ideology of the oppressor (Oppresed 60)° Rather than attempting to “Ex” the Pentad ot t0 apply the ratios co freshman composiion, [am inclined co agree with Irvin Tiashimoto's observation chat the “structured heuristic proce- dures may be of only limited value in the composition clas” 5), Ac lease x couple of points in his argument are compelling, First, he observes thar even though instructors and rexthook writers usually qualify their claims about heuristic, “their qual- ificavions tend co become lost in che enthusiasm for structured heuristic procedures” (73), Second, Hashimoco wonders whether stadenes who follow structared heuristic procedures simply because their teachers reward them for doing so will begin co think heueiscically, will begin co transfer their learning to conrexts other than the composition class” (76). Hashimotas dloubes ought to cause us to reece on the relationship berween the Pentad and critical consciousness: If we value the Pencad because itis “efficient” chen its application 0 freshman. com- position would fall within the “writing stool” metaphor, which falls wichin the “banking concept of education” and not within the realm of critical consciousness But let us not leave Burke in che buak on our way t0 che sureet. What I propose i twofold: first «different reading of A Grammar, » reading grounded in its theory of eropes and in Burke’ proposition that ideneifcation, rather than persuasion, is the geal of thetoric; and second, a reconsideravion of Freire’ pedagogical theory in the light ofthis reading, In ord to lay the foundation for such reading, the next several pages of this auticle must be devoted to explanations of some of Burke's most difficult concepts ‘ralmoe Bao New in published ewice a yee October and Mach) at ‘Tau Christan University Subserpcon prices or one ye wo foe) are 48.00 for an indiniduale $20,000" Horrid $10.00 for overs Sbsrprions. Reduced rue fr group orders are avilable, Manse: Ceol te HF ALA Sy Se Gol i) ld ‘Siege AGEN Sacto sould be sew te te Naming fee aa orori8) aioe Chstion Murphy Managing Bator Booald G. Lyd ronal Bosed ‘Gary Tae jim Goeder Wife Beye B Sly Harold Joe law Mailing Address. Frag English Neus Bepe ef Bogish PO. Bax 52872 ‘Texas Chive Univessicy Port Waa nas 76129 (gy 924-7240Allow me to argue tha the opening sencence of “The Rhetoric of Substance” presents the major implicarions of A Grammar for ‘writing instruction, With comic understatement Burke intones “The ambiguity of substance affords, as one mighe expect, a major resource of thetorie” (A Grammar 51). 1 will explicate this statement by looking ae its thece central teroa: ambiguity, sub- stance, and thetoric “Antiquity. Those who would point tothe Pentad a8 “a simple device” that proves to be an “efficient” heuristic have perhaps dismissed too quickly a four-sentence paragraph explaining that the five terms ofthe Pentad are highly ambiguous and enig~ atic. Burke explains chae a “perfectionist” sccks terms that are consistent and entirely unambiguous, but thar Bueke's owa put pose is diflerene and “probably scesins traces of a comic oii Gi). Remembering that Burke defines humanity as “rotten with perfection” (Language 16), we should not be at all surpeised to sce him separate deamatisis from “the ectministic ideals of symbolic logic and logical positivism.” Dramatism isanticherical (© ncaely packaged systems, which Burke considers to be wagic and dehumanizing. Explaining, in the next sentence, what he means by calling dramatism “comic,” he posits ail hamaa motives as “essentially enigenatc,” contending that “chis undee- lying enigena will manfese set in inevitable ambiguities and inconsistencies among the terms for motives." Here Burke ‘ssures us that dramacism does not promise, nor docs ic sek, ‘simple insights or “efficient” methods of inquiry. The part raph ends: “Accordingly, whae we wane is wat terms that awvid ambiguity, but terms that ncssarily reveal te rate Spots at which ‘ambiguities necessarily aise (ny eanphasis). Buske's insistence thac ambiguity must underlie every aspect of dramatisrn should make cleat the value of viewing the Peatad in the light of A Granmar’ discussion of topes, a discussion that secogaizes the comic uncertainty ~ and cectain tragedy ~surrounding any actempt co know "the teuth Subvtance. Faster evidence forthe prominent role of tropes ia dramacism appeats as we move from “ambiguity” to “substance” Ina section of A Granmar subtitled “Paradox of Subscance," Burke mentions that “substance” is normally considered “teal- ing... nature, essence” 23), but he quickly moves to point out the paradox thac underlies the term. The word “substance,” he explains, refers “ton attribute ofa thing’ context... [which}, being outside or beyond che thing, would be something chat che thing is nor” (Burke's emphasis). All four of Burke's “master ‘wopes” are at work in this brief passage: metaphor, "a device for seeing something ems of something else (503; Burke's empha- sis); mtomyy, in which the “basi ‘stetegy’ is} - . . co convey some... . intangible state (the thing isc] in tees of che tangible {the context” always a “reduction” (506), synadode, “proclaiming the identity of ‘microcosm’ [the thing ise] and “tnacrocosm’ {the context,” always a “representation or identi- fication with something or someone else (508); ad irony, in that the process af “contextual definition” defining a thing “ia terms of somedhing ese" 4, is a proces chat is dialectic and thus inonic: "For irony we eould substitute dialetic” 603). Moreover, when Buske divides substance into four categories, the four categories parallel the four eropes. Geometric substance, ‘participation in a context” (29), is metonymic in that itis reductive. Familial subseance is synecdochal, or idenciicational, in thar “che concep of family is usualy ‘spriualized so due ie includes meeely cial groups, comprising persons of ehe same tutionality or belief" (29). Directional substance, emphasizing perspective and revealing “the paradox of substance in that che piven subject both is and is aot the same as the character with which and by which itis identified” 2), is metaphoric. Of the fourth category, Burke writes, with dialectical substance the iroay isexplicie .. [due to] che antinomies artendant upon the fact chae we necessarily define a thing in terms of something. else”; and hee goes on to call dialectic substance “the over-all cat= egory of dramarism” G3), The underlying principle of dialectic substance is agon (contest or struggle), for "the dialectical con- siders chings im ceems noc of some othes, bur of she other” 33; Burke's emphasis) Rbetoric. The agonism (or antagonism) underlyin ing draatiso leads us directly to the thied teem, “rhecoric.” In his discussion of dialectical substance, Butke’s pacifse vision of shecoric begins to reveal ieself. Noting that "some enemies of Fascism” became much like the Fascists themselves in the steug- gle againse them, Burke observes the human tendency (© “become the image of the thing we hare” (34). His exposition on irony concludes in che samme vein: “True irony, humble izony, is based upon a fundamental kinship wich the enemy, as one weeds him, is indebted to bim, is not merely outside him as an observer but contains him within, being consubstantial with him” (514; Burke's emphasis). Grasping what Burke means by “consubstantial” is crucial ro understanding Burke's vision of rhetoric. “Origiaally a term in theology” che OED tells us, “consubstantial” means "of one and the same substance or essence.” Christian theology may use the term eo name the relationship between God and Christ, bur Burke uses ic to reveal the irony chat alveays attends relationships between opposites. In yet another sentence in which all four tropes show themselves, Burke explains: “. . . we must take A back to the ground of its existence, the logical substance that is its ceusal ancestor and on to a point where itis consbstantial with, non-A, then we may return, this time emerging with non-A instead” (xix; my emphasis). Burke's vision of consubstantiality in checoric is illustrated best by the allegory of the unending conversation (Philosophy 110-111), ia which one arrives at a conversation already undes- way and leaves before it is finished; indeed, this allegory stands as Burke's metaphor for the human experience. None of us, the allegory implies, can transform the world without participating, in arguments chat neither we nor anyone else fully understands, Positive cransformations can be effected only through argument ‘that recognizes the ironic consubscantiality, che synecdochal faanilial substance, of ehe opponents, argument based on “iden- tification;” a term defined after che publication of A Grammar: You pesuacle 4 man for woman] oly insofar as you can talk his language by speech, gesture, tonality, image, acci- tude, idea, idenifying your ways wich h ‘And you ive the “Signs” of consubstantialiey by deference to an audience's “opinions” (A Réetorie 55; Burke's emphasis. ‘To sum up Burke’ vision, shetoric operates through both the syneedochal establishing of idmiearian, which i the conscious recognition of the conubstaniality thac always already exists, and the ionic uncovering of ambiguity, for “cis in che areas of ambi- suity thar erasformations take place; in fcr, without such ageas transformations would be impossible” (xx) ‘We can now return the three terms to theie container: “The ambiguity of substance affords . . a major resource of thetoric.” “The ambiguity of substance” is che patent concept of both “consubstantiality” and “transformation”; it is the “scene” of thetoric, in which che “unending conversation” rises and falls Ironically, everyday rhetoric tends to deny ambiguity; argu ments reach agonistically for what is definite, certain; metonymic, geometric substance encrusts synedochal, familial substance. Burke invites rhetoricians to recognize this irony a8 tragic; he wants to refocus thetoric onto the process of finding identification wich othets, not achicving victory over others. The ‘wo foci, of course, are never entirely separable. Sell, writing insceuction can emphasize the former over the latter by remem- bering that Aristotle's definition of rhetoric declares: ". .. [ehet- ‘oric’s} function is not fo persuade, but vo discover che aeailable ‘means of persuasion in a given case” (1355b; my emphasis). For Burke, the “available means" are “the ‘signs’ of consubstantial- ity” So Burkeian rhetoric is not the process of establishing ceuth, gaining power, and constructing hierarchy; quite to che contrary, it is the process of transforming truth, power, and hierarchy through “terms that clearly reveal the strategic spots at which ambiguities necessarily arise” ‘The reading of A Grammar that I propose is offered as an alter- native to the reading that extracts the Pentad from its contexts, proffers ic as a stevetured heuristic, and declines co comment ‘upon consubstanciality and the ambiguity of substance. My reading encourages writing inseruction ¢o take seriously Bucke't often overlooked thesis chat “the ambiguity of substance affords ‘a major resource of rhetoric.” Part Two of my article moves into pedagogy as I ateempe to explain why the reading of A Grammar that I have presented should propel writiog inscruction ‘owatd a Freiteian method and away from the “writing as tool” metaphor. PART TWO: COMMUNICATION, HUMILITY, ‘AND HOPE ‘My attempt to joxtapose Freire and Burke runs a number of risks, primarily the risk of seeming insensitive to the extra nary differences beeween the Thied World and ehe First. Several cher authors avoid that risk by addressing only ehe poor with their pedagogy.” I wll argue thar what Freire calls ee “culeure ‘of silence” (Cultural Actin 3) pervades the Firse World as wel es the Third and chat the struggle against a “banking concept” of education ought tobe the business of ll types of writing inser tion, not just basie writing instruction, in all types of schools, ‘not just open admissions colleges No one would argue that political repression, economic alien~ ation, and physical suffering areas severe inthe United Sraces as they are in most Thied World countries; however, a “culture of silence” and a “banking concept” of education pervade the US. Bertram Gross, Distinguished Professor of Public Policy and Planning at Hunter College, argves 2s much when he weites of the “personal pacification” in North American schooling: "The entice educational system itself may be seen as a mammoth set of disciplined activities thac . . help produce decile, accepting personalities” (277). Ira Shor echoes Gross’ observation when he discusses “the anti-hamanities of the community college” as & response from an’ economic system that cannot colerac critical thinking in the labor force, Mose writing instructors see com- pelling evidence of the suppression of critical thinking in che materialistic sel-interest of many or most of our students, and wwe ery rodeal with ie, Bue Gross points ue that we work within "modern information complex” chat requites suppression on a mammoth scale” enacted chrough a “filcering-oue process” chat has licele need "forthe old-fashioned censor” (261), Within this, modern, efficent, hi-tech culture of silence, we struggle co engage our students’ critical consciousness. Yet many or most of these students feel ostracized from the “nending conversation” in which we, theit teachers, live our lives. Our students, like Freire's, “having internalized ehe image of the oppressor and, adopted his guidelines, are fearful of frecdom” (Oppresed 31). Like his, our students have learned “the sonority of words, but not their transforming power (57). Having been shut out of authentic dialogue, they have not learned co “perceive through their relations with reality chat reality is really @rocss undlergo- ing, constant transformation” (61; Freie’ emphasis). Though coaly a minority of one sradenes have been victims of violene political repression, many have~ in every critical sense ~ been silenced. Liberatory teaching is nevertheless possible. If we agree with Feeire that “in the name of ‘preservation of culture and kaosl- ‘edge’ we have a system which achieves neither erve knowledge nor true culture” (Oppresed 68), we ought to attempt what Shor calls “A pedagogy which empowers students to intervene in the making of history . . . [,] 20 be their own agents for social change” (48). Freire calls this process “Conscientization .. . (1 «joint project in chat it takes place in a [person] among other people], [people] united by their action and by their relation ‘upon that action and upon the world” (Cultural Action 46; my emphasis). Dialogue — breaking out of the “culture of silence,” joining the unending conversation” —is the key elemenc of Freireian pedagogy. Calling dialogue “an existential necessity” Freire proposes that ". . . dialogue imposes itself as the way by which [people] achieve significance as people” Oppresed 77). Freiteian dialogue, of course, is not ile chatter. The object of dlialogical education is the discovery of “generative themes,” a concept we might better understand by referring again to Burke. “The search for “generative themes" leads us direcely co “the ambiguity of substance,” which makes "transformations possi- bie. in Buckeian terms, we and our students are contained within an oppressive hierarchy, “geometric substance,” a meton- yymy of reduction, Metoayeay imprisons. There ca be no “pure escape” ftom it, “For in freeing oneself perpeinally, one would remain perpetually a prisoner’ (A Grammar 36; Burke's emphasis) Wichin our container, dramatism, Burke finds both “the dialectic of tragedy” and “the dialectic of the scapegoat’” The former holds that in any aee of perceiving, the learner suffers (38- Al), The later illustrates ee principle of “purification” through the sacrifice of victims (406-408). Teleological “doctrines of progress” historically have an ieonically eragic reverse elfect, in thar they cend “to usher fv precisely the gloom they thoughe they were ushering ae” (331; Burke's emphasis). “Progeess" demands victims. But the tragic determinism that is “the logic of geometric substance” is balanced by “the logic of tribal for familial} sub- stance.” “This double genesis’ Burke explains, “allows for fee will and determinism simuleancously permits men {and women} to be ‘substantially’ free . .” (74-75; Burkes empha- sis). ‘The liberatory veacher helps students perceive “the scape~ goat” in their culture's representative anecdotes. And she helps them discover the “familial substance,” which links che students to the scapegoats, within the "geometsic substance.” Together using synecdoche against meronymy ~she and hee students attempt to weite themselves out of “the container” (One type of "generative cheme" in my basic writing and fresh- ‘nan composition classrooms is the deconsteuction of fecal news paper columns. In one example, several local columnists had condemned a crowd thac had gathered outside a convenience store during a hostage situation, After a siege of several hours, the gunman emerged and shot himself; not surprisingly, the crowd cheered his suicide. ‘The columnists, as one mighe expect, excoriaced the crowd as barbarian. My students agreed.But my response was to ask he students to discus dent's “scene” (and implicity the scene-act and se ratios). Students responcled chat the neighborhood was working. class; that many auto workers had been laid off from the large General Motors plant; that che tourist industries (a large amuse- ment park, a major league baseball stadium, and more) were closed for the season; chat many junk cars satin che front yaeds of the small, wood-fearme houses. The list went on. In time students began to notice, and to tell me, what the col- ‘umnists’ discourse had concealed: thac the crowd was a collection of frustrated individuals who had, to some degree, lost the abil- iy to determine the quality of their lives. The incident at the store, some of my students weote, was a diversion from the per- sonal frustrations fele by members of the crowd; the incidene was a moment of emotional release, not unlike watching professional sports. By no means did che students congratulate the crowd on its conduct, but n0 longer did chey shate the columnist’ elitist moral judgment. The students came to understand better the concepts of alienation and scapegoating. ‘Thar's identification ‘That’ consubseanciality. ‘Thats what Freire means by a “generative theme,” finding out what the culeure’ privileged discourse leaves unweitcen and che vwricing it. When my seadents write on a "generative cheme,” they tend to be quite contradictory; bue they are, after all, con- ditioned to produce the scapegoat, nor to identify with ie. One week of one course cannot undo a lifetime of such conditioning, but frequent writing on “generative themes” - using synedoche against metonymy ~ helps them to break theie individual con- tainets, to find themselves consubstantial with others, and to see the larger containers around all of us. Indeed, we can see the process of using synedoche against -metonymy in Freire’ description ofthe “dialectical movement of thought” in “decoding” an oppressive hierarchy. Echoing. Burke’ explanation of “‘concextwal definition,” Freire explains ‘decoding a5 moving from the abstract (the thing itself) ro the concrete (the context), “moving fiom the part to the whole [geo metric substance, metonymy} and then returning co the pars {familial substance, synecdoche}” (Oppressed 96). Ironically, Freire’s “decoding” process resembles Burke's metaphor of the “alembic:” in which the “parcicipation [of two opposites} in a common ground makes for transformabiliey” (xis), Certainly, there are Marxist followers of Freire who would challenge my argument, who would find ideological faults in my example of a “generative theme,” but I do not find in Freite a purely orthodox or scientific Marxism. My reading of Feeice agrees with Ann Berthoffs observation chat "Freis's critical lan ‘guage is an odd mixture of Christiaa and Marxist idiom (60; n. 11), Though nothing seems “odd” to me about Christian ‘Marxism, ot liberation theology, I do want to develop Beethof's fooxnote. Freire calls for a radical reconceptualization of the zole of the teacher, going far beyond Young's characterization that the {the writing inseructor] is no longet to be a purveyor of information about the craft of writing but a designer of occasions ‘hat stimulate the creative process” (Arts 55). Freire confesses that practicing liberatory veaching is much, like a religious transformarion: “Conversion to the people requires a profound rebieeh{,} . . . « new form of existence’ Oppressed 47). Arguing chac. “those truly: committed to libers- cion must reject che banking concepe in its entisety" (66), Freire becomes more specific: “The teacher is no longer merely the-one~ wwho-teaches, bur one who is himself taught in dialogue with the students, who in curn while being taught also eeach” (67). The students are “the oppressed who, by freeing themselves, can free their oppressors” (42); char is, the teacher herself finds liberation, in che process of teaching, seeing hetself “engaged in the . vocation of becoming fully human” (52). Freire’s Christian idiom becomes most apparent as he exhorts the ceachee co depend on “profound love,” “an intense faith in Ipeople!;’ “hope,” and “humility” (78-80). [eis on the subject of “humility” thar Freice rises ¢ his most setmonic: ‘The naming of the world, through which {people} con- stantly re-create the world, cannot be an act of arrogance. ‘How can I dialogue if [always project ignorance onto ‘others and never perceive my own? How can I dialogue if regard myself as a case aparc from otherls] — mere “its in ‘whom I cannot recognize the othee “I's? (78) This rendering of the Beatitudes, which continues through another four eloquent questions, might be as utterly impossible 0 realize a is Christ's Sermon on the Mount. But Preire is mote ‘optimistic than f about a teacher's ability eo let go of che will to “extension,” which he characterizes as the desire to colonize, €0 0 into other communities to cry t0 “normalize” ehem, to make them resemble the realicy of the eeacher (Education 95). I doubt chat any of us can ever completely free ourselves from the will to ‘extension,’ but we can at least cecognize that it does contain us and that we can, in moments, escape its tyranay and become ‘subseantially" fice. Berthoff’s observation about Christian and Marxist idiom in Ereire would apply as well Burke. The influence of Marxism in this ehought is obvious; as Frank Lentricchia comments: “One of the chaprers of a full-scale history of Marxist chought will have to be on Kenneth Burke . . (37). Bur Burke's Marxism is huardly orthodox; Don Abboct calls ir “‘comie’ communism’ (229). Cenceal co Burke's comic vision is his view of people not 2s vicious, bu as mistaken: “When you add that people are menarily mistaken, hat all people are exposed to situations in which ehey mast ace as fools, chat evry insight creates its own blindness, you ‘complete the comic circle, returning again eo the lesson of humility.” (Acide 41; Burke’ emphasis), Human beings, Burke comments, “build theie culeures by hud dling cogether, nervously loquacious, at the edge of an abyss” (Permanence 272), and it isin this “Human Baenyard” hae thee otic is "designed to help us take delight” (Grammar 442) Within Burke’ vision of human culeare, A Grammar main- ‘ans pacifism, spelled our in five arguments, rst, Burke argues hat tyranny can never be perfected because "tbe ery nature of the ‘maseriads out of which a civilization is conseeucted will not per- iit such perfection of lies, seupidiy, and geeed to prevail” (100; Burke's emphasis). Second, Burke aegues that peace is not to be realized in some future utopia, for peace always already exists the pocential, the ideal future, [is]... tbe tery sub stance of the present (the Kingdom of Heaven is withio you) =30 that, from the most exacting visionary point of view, fa call for peace is} noc a mere exhortation about what aight be, but a searement about what nov is, (332; Burke's emphasis) ‘In Christ's poetry;* he continues, “peace sas a substance, the ssubsrance—and only insofar as one was consubscantial with it was he for she} truly alive” (333; Burke’ emphasis) Thied, he expresses a preference for the “eligious” over the “secularCollege Promotion C.Carlson Freshman English News 12-689 Times Just Published from HB]! HARBRACE COLLEGE HANDBOOK Eleventh Edition JOHN C. HODGES; MARY E. WHITTEN: \WINIFRED B, HORNER, Texas Chistan Univer SUZANNE S. WEBB, Teves Wor’ Univers withthe exsitance of ROBERT K_ MILLER, Univers of Winns, Steve's Point Haover 1950. Also avalebe shinoorapped sete with Pc Write Lite computer software LANGUAGE IN THOUGHT AND ACTION Fifth Edition S.LHAYAKAWA wih ALAN 8. HAYAKAWA Paperbound, 1950. PROSE MODELS Eighth Edition GERALD LEVIN, Enmerias, Universi of Akron Paperbound, 1980 TWENTY QUESTIONS FOR THE WRITER Fifth Edition JACQUELINE BERKE, Drow Unless Paperbound, 1990. BASIC GRAMMAR AND USAGE ‘Third Edition PENELOPE CHOY, Los Angeles Cin College JAMES R, MeCORMICK, San Bernardino Vay College Paperbound, 1990. WRITING ESSAYS ABOUT LITERATURE, Third Edition KELLEY GRIFFITH, JR., Universi of Noh Carlin, Greensre Paperbound, 1950 REWRITING WRITING ‘A Rhetoric, Reader, and Handbook and A Rhetoric and Reader both Second Editions 430 RAY McCUEN, Glendale College and ANTHONY C. WINKLER “Hardcove/Paperbound, 1990. ‘THE RESOURCEFUL WRITER Readings to Accompany the Harbrace College Handbook Second Edition SUZANNE S. WEBB, Texas Woa's rivers Papert, 1990 WRITING THE RESEARCH PAPER A Handbook Third Edition ANTHONY C. WINKLER ant JO RAY MeCUEN, Glendale College Paperbound, 1950. EIGHT CLASSIC AMERICAN NOVELS DAVID MADDEN, writerinsesidence, Lansiana Ste University Paperbound, 1990. POETRY JILL P. BAUMGAERTNER, Wheaton Gale Paperbound, 1990. ‘THE SHAPE OF THIS CENTURY Readings from the Disciplines DIANA WYLLIE RIGDEN and SUSAN S. WAUGH, St, Lis Community College Papeoud, 1990 IN DEPTH Essayists for Our Time CARL KLAUS, University offer CHRIS ANDERSON, Oren Stat University REBECCA B. FAERY, Uren of fone Paperbound 1980 READING AND RESPONDING TO LITERATURE SUZANNE C. COLE and JEFF W. LINDEMANN, oth of Honstn Common College Paperbound, 1990 HARCOURT BRACE JOVANOVICH, INC. College Sales Office 7555 Caldwell Avenue, Chicago, IL 60648 (708) 647-8822the religious tactic says: Find what now ir within you, and you will have found what wil be. The seculae tactic says: Find what will bring you promises, and you will have found what is worth doing now. Secing the future in terms of the present. . . has at least one advancage: that che present forever 1s, whereas the future forever is not. (Burke's emphasis) Burke's use of the word “eligious” is ironic, of course, for fewr teligious people have ever practiced ‘the religious tactic.” Fourth, like Freire, Burke argues for the rejection of extension and for a new concept of vocation, as he suggests that "a philos- ‘ophy of Being . - could be restored to the category of vocation ‘aly if ‘mediation’ rather than ‘ailiey’ were taken as the primery characteristic of vocation (335). He admies thae few “vocational acts" in our culture are given to mediation, for our authentic communication with ochers is generally classified asa “vactional act” (335), Finally, he argues tha peace is “che Universal Substance’ We said that Christ was not making a purely directional statement: “Let us have peace,” bur was proclaiming that peace was identical with Being, and chat Being now és, and ‘hat only insofar as people were peaceful did they actually partake of Being, and that the promissory must be no Jnplicis, “within you": . . (336; Burke's emphasis) As “the Universal Substance,” peace is oncological, not stipula tive, and peace is not someching to be foughe for" (337). Thus, Burke's goal is not the establishment of peace, bur “the purifi- cation of war” (337). Indeed, “Ad bellum parifcandum” is A Grammar dedication, Burke's conception of peace might scem “odd” to.a reader who conceives of pacifism as.a liberal political philosophy, but Burke's views conform closely to the tradition of radical pacifism in che US, especially 10 the views of the prominent pacitises of his gen eration, like Dorothy Day and A. J. Muste. Muste, legend has ic, composed the slogan which became the motto of North America’s largest pacifist organization; we should note its “Burkeian” irony: “There is no way co peace. Peace is the way! ‘The pacifist influences on Burke, unlike che Marxist and Freud ian influences, have hardly been mentioned in Burke scholaeship —even though Burke and Day were “good friends” and Burke knew of Muste and had met him once ot twice (petsonal conver sation with Kenneth Burke; Seattle, March 17, 1989), On this subject, more needs to be writen, Importantly, Burke takes us beyond Preise. Freiee decodes Bucke mystifies. Freire epitomizes linearity. Burke manifests tropes. Freire looks to the futuce. Butke sees that "the present forever is" These contrasts are writing instructors’ dilemmas. ‘Though we might find, from time co time, an unlocked exit from First Stace Bank, there are guaeds in che street who enforce our return. Burke, unlike Freire, recognizes that there i ao pare escape; Freire, unlike Burke, is utopian. Freire may aot share Burke's sense of irony and comedy, but he does share with Burke 1 faith chat defies che syllogistic logic of philosophy: Hope is rooted in {people's} incompletion, from which they move out in constant search—a search which can be carried out only in communication with other{s}. Hope- lessness is 2 form of silence, of denying the world and fleeing, from ic. . . . Hope, however, does not consist in crossing one’s arms and waiting. As long as 1 fight, Iam moved by hope; and if I fighe with hope, then T ean wait. Oppressed 60) Hope “rooted in. - incompletion” and humility that cefuses co “project ignorance onco others” seem to be qualities required of fone who would teach Burke’ chetoric of identification, ‘Teaching the Penead as a structured heuristic seems to require rncither of those qualities. It values “utilicy” over “mediation.” Le tells students that their thinking licks the “efliciency” that our society requires of them and chat —if they are ever going ta "get ahcad"—they should see chat writing is “cool,” x “tool” that on uses to gain power over others. [can think of no pedagogy more antithetical to che spirit of A Grammar than “weiting as tool” pedagogy. And I can imagine no pedagogy more complementary to the spirit of A Grammar than Freice's, Indeed, in the dialectic ‘of praxis, Butke is reflection, Freite action CONCLUSION: THE ACT OF WRITING Thave argued that if writing instruction is r0 incorporate the ideas of Kennech Burke in an authentic way, we should eurn away from teaching the Peocad as a structured hearistic and we should reject che “writing as tool” metaphor. Buckeian theory would recommend “writing as mediation” as an alternative metaphor. Freircian pedagogy, with its emphasis on dialogue, shows signs of being the appropriate method for teaching “writ- ing as mediation.” Both Burke and Preite emphasize the discow= ery of common ground among people as the purpose of rhetoric and education in general; both emphasize liberation and peace, humility and hope. Soine will always contend that to reject the “writing as tool” ‘metaphor and “banking concept" of education is noe pragmatic. But they misunderscand pragmatism, 1a his commentary 00 Burke, Lencricchia offers the following: Pragmatisin isa rejection of hierarchical steuceuce itself, of the stabilizing (kingly) forces of structure, which would always stand safely outside the structure — outside the _game, but ruling the game. Pragmatism is a commitment to the openness of time and a chance for change; pragma- tism, then, is the expression of the radical democrat and the experimental method, or scientific spirit of demoe racy. 3) ‘Those who would retain the "writing as tool” metaphor seem to crnbrace “hierarchical seructute itsel” in thae they would train ‘heir students to conform to authority rather than to question it or resisc it. Such teaching, far from being pragmatic, is author iarian. I would not suggest chat these eeachers intend to be authoricarian (ehough occasionally that isthe ease), just thar they are coo comfortable wichin and too uncritical of an authoritarian educational system, The overemphasis on the Pentad also misses, ignores, and conceals Burke's concept of writing as “magic.” Defining ‘magic as “action” chat “produces something out of norhing” (A Grammar 66), Burke offers writing as an example: the act of writing brings up problems and discovers intrinsic to the act, leading to developments that derive not ftom the scene, agent oF agency, oF extrinsic purposes, but purely from the foregoing aspects of che ac itself. That is, there is aothing present in the agent or his situation that could have led to the final stages ofthis act.» (67) ‘The writer, in other words, is not contol of every aspect of text production. Racher, the ac isin control; agent, scene, purpose, and agency become secondary. “Writing as tool” emphasizes the agent. As an ideology, it upholds efficiency, hieraschy, contzo; it eschews and conceals “magic.” The experience of “weitiag asmagic” is the experience of consubstantiality, which, I would argue, is primatily « textual and intertextual experience, Len- teicehia, summarizing Burke, notes that". . . the substance, the very ontology of ideology’. . . in a broad but fundamental sense is revealed to us retually and therefore must be grasped (tead) and accacked (reread, rewritten) in that dimension” (24; Lenericchia’s emphasis). “‘That dimension;” the intertextual dimension, must be the “scene” of Burke’ “magic.” Ie is through writing and reading that most people fully engage with the “unending. conversation.” Learning “writing as tool,” our stu- dents aze likely to cemain alienated ftom the “unending conver sation,” misunderstanding i¢ and fearing it as a win-or-lose situation, Learning "writing as mediation,’ they are more likely to overcome their alienation in the magical act of writing and reading, NOTES is aricle is an expanded version of a presentation to the Kenneth Burke Society ac the Conference on College Composi- tion and Communication in Seattle on March 17, 1989. The author thanks Vietor Vitanza and Michael echan (both of the University of Texas at Arlington), Timothy Crusius (of Texas A&M University), Keoneth Burke, and Christina Murphy and two anonymous PEN reviewers for their comments and suggestions. *Though Young's contributions to Burke scholarship are both many and valuable, his “heaet” metaphor bas, I believe, helped to make it ¢00 easy for others to oversimplify and trivialize both the Pentad and dramatism. William Irmsher, for instance, pre- sents the Pentad to his seudents as “a simple device . . ., a sec of five terms cach leading to logically celated questions” (30). Joseph Comprone, attempring to explain “how Burke’ theories ‘mighe become the heuristic upon which writing would be taught as a process” (337), delves a bie deeper into Burke's chink ing than does Iemsher, but he ends up with an application that strikes me as deterministic. For instance, he claims, “Outlines should never be written before a first draft otherwise the writer is encouraged co ignore scene, agency, and agent..." (33%; my emphasis) Lvs hard to sce how readers of A Grammar could agree thar such a dicturn captures the spirie of thar open and ironic texe, Comprone goes on to enumerate the terms of the Pentad as sig i te process of composing, He admics in a footnote that be has “oversimplified” much research on writing processes because his purpose is “to condense feom Burke's work a heuristic that ‘could be applied to composing in a¢ lease a general way” (339). applying the Pentad directly co freshman composition, without separating the Pentad from its context, may be difficult, but at least « couple of authors both writing after Burke’ note appeared—have made important suggestions that merit consid. eration. Charles Kaeupper, agreeing that the Pentad “loses much of ies power. when reduced to [the five tetms]" (132), applies ratios as heuristics, so his method is much closer to the spicie of A Grammar than is Iemsher’s or Comprone’s, Still, one wonders if Kneupper’s application might not be too complicated far freshman weiters and might not be diluted in teaching or in use. Indeed, Kaeupper does not recommend an application «o freshman composition; his application extends only to expert writers. Two articles by Phillip Keith also artempc ro avoid over: simplifying dramatism, His concern is that the Pencad be under- stood “against the general background of Burke's concer wich dialectic” ("Burkeian Invention” 139) and dhac che Pencad be considered as “only one of many such sets fof terns} in A Gram= ‘nar ("Burke” 348). When Timothy Crusius scolds composition theorists for aot having heard Buske's complaints, “His distine- tion [between rhetorical invention and diclectical function] seems co have made no impression" (23)—1 cannot enciely agree. Certainly both Kneupper and Keith have listened and have audaped. “Michael Rechan’s analysis of Burke's eropology provides an calightening juxtaposition of syneedoche and meronymy, Not ing that “synecdoche involves values, while metonymy considers ‘only quantification” (249), Feehan argues that the ewo tropes ate rot “logically independent” and chat Burke's promotion of synecdeche over metonymy "reemphasizes his commitment co ethics as che ireducible foundacion of language?” “in chis country, cathusissm for Frcire hes been voiced most often by basic weiting instructors in open admissions colleges, Tea Shoe, in Critical Teaching and Exeryday Life, and Kyle Fiore and Nao Elsasser,in"’Strangers No More: A Liberatory Literacy Curriculum,’ summarize Freizcian theory and report on their ‘experimental applications of Fteitcian pedagogy. Though these accounts and others ace lightening, even inspiring, none ties to draw a connection between Freire and North American rhe corical hry. Sfadeed, Ken Leubbering criticizes Fiore and Elsaser's exper- iment fr its lack of humility; be calls theie work “ioauchentic, tot the action ofthe students at all, but ehe prescription of the teacher” (77). IF Fiore and Elsasset stand guile, sheir only crime is the sin of being “rotten with perfection,” « condition that binds us all t one another. WORKS CITED Abbott, Don, “Marxist Influences on the Rhetorical ‘Theory of Kenneth Burke.” Philosphy and Rbeoric 7 (1974): 217-33. ‘Amis, Pamela J. "Style as Politics: A Feminist Approach to the “Teaching of Writing.” CE 47 (1985): 360-71 Aristotle, Rbsorie. Trans. Lane Cooper. New York: Applecon, 1932 Belin, James A. Writing Instruction in Ninotontb-Century Ameri «an Colleges. Catbondale: Southern Illinois UP, 1984 Bectholf, Aan E. The Making of Meaning. Uppet Montclaic, NJ Boynton, 1981 Burke, Kenneth, Autitadss Toward History, Los Altos, CA. Hermes, 1959. ‘A Granmarof Mativer. Berkeley: U of California P, 1969. Language as Symbolic Action, Berkeley: U of California P, 1966. Permanence and Change, Hermes, 1994 the Philp of Literary Form. ied Baition. UC Press, 973, ——. "Questions and Answers about the Pentad.” GCC 29 (978): 330-35 A Rhetoric af Marius. Berkeley: U of California P, 1969. ‘Comprone, Joseph, “Kenneth Burke and the Teaching of Wet ing?” GCC 29 (1978): 336-40. Crusius, Timothy W. “A Case for Kenneth Burke's Dialectic and Rhecoric” PER 19 (1986); 23-37 Feehan, Michael, “Kenneth Burke’ Contributions oa Theory of Language” Semiaica 76 (1989): 245-6. Fiore, Kyle, and Nan Elsassr. “'Strangers No Mor’: A Libera- tory Learning Curriculum.” CE 44 (1982): 115-28. Tort, Keith, “Form, Authority, and che Critical Essay” CE 32 (1971): 629-39 Freire, Paulo. Cullural Aion for Pred. Trans. Loretta Slove. ‘Harvard Educational Review Monograph Serie \ (1970).———. Echucation for Critical Consciousness, Trans. and Ba, Myra ‘Bergman Ramos. New York: Scabury, 1973. Pedagogy of tbe Oppresed. Trans. Myra Bergenan Ramos, ‘New York: Seabury, 1970. Gross, Blertrain, Friendly Fascism: The New Face of Power in Amer- fia. New York: M, Evans, 1980. Hashimoto, Irvin, “Steuctured Heuristic Procedures: Theie Limications:" CCC 36 (1985): 73-81. Irmsher, Williom. The Holt Guide to English, Second Edition ‘New York: Hole, 1972. Keith, Phillip M. “Burke for the Composition Class” CCC 28 (1976): 350-54 ——. “Burkeian Invention, fromm Pentad to Dialectic." Rbsrorie Society Quarterly 9 (1979): 137-41, Kneupper, Charles W. “Dramatistic Invention: The Pentad as a Heuristic Procedure’ RSQ 9 (1979): 130-136. Lentticehia, Frank. Criticism and Social Change. U of Chicago P, 1983, Luebbering, Ken. “Literacy, Power, and Freshman Composi- tion." The Writing Inssractar 4 (1985): 71-79. Rose, Mike. “The Language of Exclusion 341.59. Shor, Ira, Critical aching and Everyday Life. Boston: South Bad, 1980. ‘Young, Richard. “Arts, Crafts, Gifts and Knacks: Some Dishar- ‘monies in the New Rhecori.” Reinenting the Rural Trad rion. A. Freedman and I. Pringle, eds. Conway, AR: L&S. Books, 1980. 53-60. “Invention: A Topological Survey" Teaching Composition: ‘Ten Bibliographical Essays. bd. Gary Tate, Fore Worth: TCU. Press, 1916, 143. ——.. "Paradigms and Problems: Needed Research in Rhetor- ical Invention.” Research on Composing: Points of Departure. Bas, Charles R. Cooper and Lee Odell. Urbana: NCTE, 1978. 29-47. CE AT (A985) “PERSONAL NARRATIVE,” “ACADEMIC WRITING? AND FEMINIST THEORY: REFLECTIONS OF A FRESHMAN, COMPOSITION TEACHER. Irene Papoulis University of California, Santa Baebara Linnette, a student of mine, approached me with a toubling ‘question las spring. We had just Gnished a three-course fe man composition sequence, during which Linnette had go through a dramatic change. She had arrived at college with a fixed idea of the kinds of things one was forbidden to do as a wwriter—for example, use che word “I"—and her papers had bee careful and ponclerous, excruciatingly awkward even as they clearly wished so deeply to be successful. Her personality in class had matched her papets; she had frowned almost continually, raising her hand only eo ask detailed questions about what I “wanted” or to repeat in her own words something I had said. Because I worked under Peter Elbow as a graduate stadent, and have been deeply influenced by his tiching methods, was not the srt of college English teacher Linnecte expected. She strug. gled with me in the beginning, almost begging me to be more Cricical of her in a conventional way, co tell her what to do, She discussed her papers in groups with her classmates because I required her to, buc her resistance was clear; her aim was to interact with The Teacher, and she came co my office hours fee- ‘quently, doing the best she could to force me to give her “cor- rections” about her writing. Gradually, chough, I got ehroug’, and it dawned on Linnette thac all [really wanted was for her t© take responsibility for her own ideas. By her second quarcer she had picked up beautifully on chis and wrote fascinating, subjec- tive papers that examined a wide range of philosophical issues. She became an active member of her peer discussion group and worked very hard on her essays, reworking her ideas uncil they became mote and more intricate. In spite of her metamorphosis, Linnestes facial expression at the end of her third quarter composition class reminded me of the way she had looked when I first met het, and the question she asked revealed a very real concern: "What am I going coo when have teachers who don't want me to think of my own ideas? I'm alraid I'm going to go back co my old way of writing. Not every teacher is like you, you know—most of them have a sec way they want us to write” I tried to assure Linnette that good writing is good writing and thac surely aay teacher would be pleased to see hier personal interaction with the ideas of a course, bue at the same time I was worried for her. In spite of the fact that many people in che field of composition accept what Maxine Hairston has described, quoting Kuhn, as a “paradignn shift” in our ideas about what if means to teach writing, we still tend to worry & ‘great deal aboue the teachers in other disciplines who are com- mitced co che old paradigm, Because we wane to initiate our sta- dents into college-level discourse, we feel we must coach students to write for teachers who demand weiting that is exposi- tory and objective—i.e. abscrace, not connected in any obvious ‘way (0 the writer's experience, aad taking a strict “thesis and support” form- since we are worried that chose teachers will penalize students who try to do anything differently. Linnette’s feats, in other words, are valid ~the vast majority of people who decide what is right for students continue to promote s strict and limited conception of what makes legitimate academic language. ‘This insistence on expository writing can be justified by James, ‘Motfecc’s 1968 “spectrum of discourse” (47), which is a désctip= tion of writing activities that parallel cognitive development. ‘Moifet claims that students move “up” the “ladder of abstrac- tion’ from descriptive writing, which records whar is hap, ing, to theorizing, which records what may/will happen. As one proceeds up this scale, Moffee argues, one moves from personal or private writing Gournals, letters) co more abstract oF public analysis (published essays). Even though Moe himself says, 2s he describes his specerum, that “no greater value is ascribed to ‘one fevel than to another” (25), adding later “[elhis whole theory of discourse is essentially an hallucination. Heaven forbid that it should be ctanslaced directly inco syllabi and packages of serial texthooks” (54). Most writing ceachers I know now, twenty years later, agree that students who weite in abstractions are far more likely to succeed as college writers than those who do not. Such teachers view personal writing as a necessarily more juvenile kind of writing, something that students must outgrow as they become initiated into the conventions of rigorous analysis, ‘The denigration of “personal writing.” along with the relent- less distinction between personal and expository writing, is becoming more and more disturbing to me as I continue to texch, ina large, respectable university. I fel increasingly oppressed by