October 1, 2008, 10:03 am by Brett

This is a thesis on the general question of whether one ought to study rhetoric. Prompted by the authors, Crowley and Hawhee, on page 287 of our class text:

One should study rhetoric for the same reasons the Athenians studied rhetoric. They studied the art because in order to become a successful citizen, proficiency in rhetoric paid the bills. We as Americans must study rhetoric for the same reason.

Our country has gone from a manufacturer of goods, to a source of intellectual labor. Before the Second World War, our citizens farmed, learned a trade, or found some way to work with the hands to bring home the bacon. Once the GI Bill came around, many returning soldiers were provided the opportunity to gain an education. Their children were expected to go to college, and in turn, the next generation is also expected. Now that the college degree is nearly required to gain any social standing in this country, it is important to reinstate the study of rhetoric into our primary education, just as the ancients did.

It is important to study rhetoric, because it allows an individual to become more rational, responsible, and involved in the political process. One of our rights as an American citizen is the right to vote. With rhetoric, informed decisions may be made about electing representatives that reflect a collective’s view, instead of allowing the politician to gain votes through their own rhetoric, persuading ignorant voters to keep them in office. My pops always said, “politics is a matter of gaining votes from the poor and money from the rich in order to keep the two apart from one another.” It would be harder to keep this process going, if rhetoric were taught to everyone at an early age.

September 10, 2008, 10:17 am by Brett

Kairos: where time meets place with opportunity. This is one of my favorite parts about rhetoric. Seizing the moment when presented is one of the most exhilarating feelings a person can experience. I think that kairos is also one of the most important parts of rhetoric. Without the proper time and place to present a particular point, then what good can come of it? Kairos is like the volume knob on your guitar amp, the moment will determine whether or not you will be strumming your tune at 2, or cranked up like a real rock star at 11.

Progymnasmata. If you want to take a stab at pronouncing that word, then be my guest. While you’re at it, try chreia. According to the authors of our text, a brief saying or action that makes a point is known as chreia, this being one of the four forms of progymnasmata. I coined one of these chreias a while back. Have a gander, if you will:

I do what I can do, when I can do it; because if I don’t do it when I can, then it won’t get done.

It has yet to be elevated to the status of proverb like our man Jefferson and his, “Never put off till tomorrow what you can do today,” but nevertheless, I have high hopes of spreading my little chreia far and wide.

Thinking again about the definition of chreia, I wonder what action could qualify as such? A thumbs up? The bird? Slapping someone in the face? What action could possibly make a point better than a high five? I could be way off base here, so feel free to help me out. Until next time, be on your toes so you can grab hold of that Kairos by the locks of his looney haircut.

August 19, 2008, 11:39 pm by Brett

I found the rhetorical exercises in Chapter One of Ancient Rhetoric, by Crowley and Hawhee to be of great interest. The practice of progymnasmata and declamation in ancient times taught students to prepare for active citizenship. As I read about the techniques and methods rhetoricians used to instruct their students, I reflected upon my own education and realized I had no similar experiences. I figure for my reading response, I will take a stab at the first level of progymnasmata, the fable. Enjoy:

There once was a cheetah named Tuma. He spent his days of youth roaming the grasslands of Africa with his mother and two brothers. Tuma and his brothers needed to learn how to hunt in order to survive. Their mother showed them how to run, lengthening their strides farther and farther. She encouraged the three to race while she hunted for the evening’s meal. 

While Tuma sat in the comfortable shade of an umbrella thorn tree, his brothers raced each other in the sweltering sun. Back and forth they ran, and in between races they approached their brother panting, ‘Come run, with us, Tuma. You must lengthen your stride!’ Tuma said, ‘No, brothers. You go on. I must see to this tree.’

The year came when the mother left the brothers to fend for themselves, so they traveled together for a while. Tuma could never catch his own meal, and his brothers only allowed him scraps of their own. Soon they needed even the scraps to store enough energy for the next hunt. Tuma was forced to leave them. He now spends his time foraging for carrion like a coyote. 

If you listen closely, you can hear Tuma’s cackle, cracking as he attempts his lonely coyote call under his umbrella thorn tree.