Argument
All writing – not just stories – is, by its very nature, artificial. The concept of argument examines the intentions of this ‘artificial’ (as opposed to ‘natural’ conversation) communication and is concerned with the formal structures of thought and expression. Logic, reason, persuasion are all required to communicate with clarity and force about anything we feel to be important. Part of this is developing an understanding of the three aspects of rhetoric: ethos (appeal to character) pathos (appeal to emotion) and logos (appeal to reason).
Everyone uses rhetoric. Even those who profess disdain for the sleights of hand and trickery of flowery speech and using rhetoric: the denial of this mode of expression is just another appeal to character. Everyone uses rhetoric, but not everyone uses it knowingly or well. Once students learn to analyse the ways arguments are structured and made persuasive, they can start to take part in shaping their world in a much more deliberate way. Not only do they become better able to notice and understand the currents that have shaped their own patterns of thought, they can start to ask what would happen if the levers of argument were placed elsewhere and pressure was applied in another direction.
The ability to think logically and analytically relies on an understanding of sequencing ideas and to build a way of seeing, point by careful point. By examining examples of arguments in different times and places we can better understand who we are as well as being better equipped to choose to be someone else.
Pattern
Human beings are natural pattern seekers. We see creatures in clouds and faces in wallpaper. Our minds are shaped by an ability to make rapid judgements using minimal data and, while this can sometimes lead us astray, it means we can be incredibly efficient at communicating ideas from mind to mind.
This strand of the epistemology of English seeks to explore the various ways we use structure to impose meaning on texts. At its broadest level, texts are structured into books, chapters, sections and paragraphs; plays into acts and scenes; poems into lines and stanzas. But it wasn’t always thus. Ancient texts tend not even to have gaps between words and to find out what a papyrus contains you have to start at the beginning and read through until the end. Over time, as the differences between spoken and written language became increasingly clear, we invented gaps between words, punctuation marks, line breaks, page numbers, indexes and a host of other devices to make it easier to make sense of the written word. This is a way of imposing order on what would otherwise be chaotic.
When we speak we either don’t use patterns or don’t notice the way our speech is patterned. Speakers rarely consider grammar or word order and it’s unusual to spend time considering the patterns of the words we say when considered together. Written text is necessarily artificial because it’s written to be read out of the context in which it was first conceived and communicated. Texts use patterns like assonance, alliteration, rhythm, rhyme, careful word placement and line length to shape the way we interpret and understand them. This is most obvious in poems which are carefully crafted combinations of language and form, but, is equally important, if less immediately apparent, in all forms of writing.
These are difficult, abstract concepts which, when students first have their attention drawn to them, can seem impossible to articulate the reasons for their placement. It takes time for students to become familiar and comfortable to discuss commas and enjambement with the same fluency with which they pull apart metaphor because there’s less to grip on to. It takes training to understand that syntax and structure makes meaning just as much as words and sentences do. If students are taught about these artificial ways of creating meaning they will not only be able to note and interpret their use, but able to employ them in their own writing.
Now what?
These are, I think, at least some of the ways in which English as an academic discipline is different to all others. There may well be aspects I’ve missed and I’d be tremendously grateful to anyone who want to suggest revision or additions.
A few litmus tests on literary knowledge:
1. Is it valid knowledge within the subject discipline?
2. Is it significant?
3. Does it go beyond labelling towards analysis & interpretation? 4. Can it be applied to new texts?
5. Does it build disciplinary thinking & practices ?
I’m not sure whether I’ve fully reconciled these ideas about knowing in English with my four epistemological pillars. I almost think that ‘literary knowledge’ is either an additional way of knowing or subsumption of all others. I think she’d argue that the sort of historical, contextual knowledge on which much of literary study depends is perhaps less valid than our personal responses. I may be wrong.** For my own part I’d argue that my personal response is enriched and enlarged by knowing something of the context in which a text is produced and received. Whatever the case, it’s certainly fair to say that contextual knowledge is an important adjunct to the ways of knowing I’ve described above.
It’s also worth stating that none of these epistemological angles presuppose anything about the activity of ‘doing’ English. However, it stands to reason that students will come to understand and, hopefully, master English, through the mediums of reading the work of others, writing their own critical and creative responses and through discussion, dialogue and argument.
* I’m particularly grateful to Molly Janz for talking through and challenging me on the ideas in this post.
** I was wrong. Barbara got in touch to clarify her position: “Context (specially literary & cultural) is v important & can be highly illuminating. But it does need to genuinely shine light on the text. For me Prof Peter Barry’s views are specially helpful & his ideas on adjacent & distant contexts … [For example] knowing about the ‘southern belle’ in ‘Streetcar’ develops your understanding of Blanche. Knowing about romanticism & modernism & recognising shifts between them in ‘Gatsby’ enriches your reading. Knowing about the sublime in relation to the ‘Ancient Mariner’ is illuminating. But it doesn’t take weeks of student research, or hours of teacher input to inject this kind of valuable & rich contextual understanding. Some of our most valued approaches offer contextual background in ways that are closely related to texts, with the text itself at the heart.”