Long time no talk.
I feel as though I've fallen behind somewhat in the general scheme of things as far as the topics of the day go, so I will take this time to make an update sort of entry.
Actually I am proceeding by reversing and going back a short ways to the rhetoric discussion - and no, Sig, you can never escape that word; it will pursue you to the farthest reaches of the planar universe. Despite my earlier defense of Lanham's writing style as personal expression and capability, I cannot condone its use as far as effectiveness is concerned. Obviously his lay reader finds him esoteric, haughty, elitist, and otherwise incomprehensible, if not altogether full of shit. If he has a point, it is buried beneath a mountain of verbal effluence. I don't think that it was his intent to lose his readers in a jumble of "high-sounding mumble-mush" (well put, Norm); however, as we have established that a writer has some form of responsibility towards his readers, the fault of miscommunication of meaning lies partially with the esteemed author. I agree with Isaac that a writer should be able to express his ideas in an accessible form, provided the nature of his work is one geared towards the general reader. For most purposes the sort of rhetoric that Lanham employs is completely unnecessary. I could say "I leave thee now and on the wings of Hermes shall speed ere I return to thee before the rosy fingers of dawn caress the morning horizon" if I cared to wax poetical and pretend to be Shakespeare. Or I could say "see you tomorrow," and probably be understood by a considerably greater number of people outside the literary world. Rhetoric has been defined as the effective use of language. Very well. Effective for whom? This issue is closely tied in with the reader/writer responsibility idea. The author must think of his target reader, and together establish a space wherein references, imagery, vocabulary, and themes can be suitably grasped and interpreted. Outside these boundaries his language will not be effective to any useful extent. The writer of popular fiction creates a world where the imagination works more than the pocket dictionary, a world of description and colorful characters and adventurous or romantic plots, accessible to anyone with a taste for fantasy. The writer of the integral calculus textbook, on the other hand, assumes that the only people who will pick up his book are at least familiar with some basic concepts of mathematics, as well as being constrained in his use of language by his subject matter, and can write accordingly in a manner suitable for those knowledgeable about such things. A different communicative "space" is in play. Burkean consubstantiality.
Moving on. Education, Lanham claims, should be and is being radically democratized by the advent of electronic text. The arts are digitized, interchangeable, interactive, metamorphic to make Ovid proud. He moves for the replacement of the corpses of unsuccessful lower-division programs with a revitalized new oscillatory (one wonders how long Lanham spent sitting in front of a grandfather clock as a child) system that would reunite the general core curriculum with the specializations of the upper division. My high school had a program of the cadaverous type Lanham describes, grandiosely dubbed "Career Pathways." It was supposed to lay out a logical series of classes for the potential collegian depending on his career and university aspirations. Therefore, there was a sequence of classes designed to "be good for" the hopeful science major going to a four-year university, the public worker looking at a two-year technical college, etc., complete with lists of possible jobs. It was unfortunate then, that most of the pathways were identical. Being a high school, the most variation they could hope for came in the choices of upper-level classes such as AP Biology versus AP European History, depending on which way the student leaned. The result was that myself, the anti-political chemical engineer, and one of my best friends, a government and history major who will probably make a run at being in office some day, graduated having taken essentially identical classes. However, while I could have wished for classes somewhat more helpful towards pursuing my interests, it must be taken into account that at that particular level it is well-nigh impossible to expect the sort of variation and specialization available in a university, and equally ridiculous to expect a decision on the shape of those interests from a graduating 18-year-old who is more concerned about getting the washing machine and the microwave to work than what he will be doing for the rest of his life. Lanham stresses the importance of a liberal arts education for all comers. I do not challenge the importance of such a thing, only the necessity. As Danielle points out, it is not necessary for an engineer or science major to be versed in Latin prose. However, think of the culture and history one could discover through such a talent! The ideal these days, in the eyes of universities and scholarship committees, is a "well-rounded" student. All well and good, but I prefer to be well-rounded for my own entertainment and satisfaction as well. A plethora of interests guarantees a lack of staleness. It's up to you.
I feel as though I've fallen behind somewhat in the general scheme of things as far as the topics of the day go, so I will take this time to make an update sort of entry.
Actually I am proceeding by reversing and going back a short ways to the rhetoric discussion - and no, Sig, you can never escape that word; it will pursue you to the farthest reaches of the planar universe. Despite my earlier defense of Lanham's writing style as personal expression and capability, I cannot condone its use as far as effectiveness is concerned. Obviously his lay reader finds him esoteric, haughty, elitist, and otherwise incomprehensible, if not altogether full of shit. If he has a point, it is buried beneath a mountain of verbal effluence. I don't think that it was his intent to lose his readers in a jumble of "high-sounding mumble-mush" (well put, Norm); however, as we have established that a writer has some form of responsibility towards his readers, the fault of miscommunication of meaning lies partially with the esteemed author. I agree with Isaac that a writer should be able to express his ideas in an accessible form, provided the nature of his work is one geared towards the general reader. For most purposes the sort of rhetoric that Lanham employs is completely unnecessary. I could say "I leave thee now and on the wings of Hermes shall speed ere I return to thee before the rosy fingers of dawn caress the morning horizon" if I cared to wax poetical and pretend to be Shakespeare. Or I could say "see you tomorrow," and probably be understood by a considerably greater number of people outside the literary world. Rhetoric has been defined as the effective use of language. Very well. Effective for whom? This issue is closely tied in with the reader/writer responsibility idea. The author must think of his target reader, and together establish a space wherein references, imagery, vocabulary, and themes can be suitably grasped and interpreted. Outside these boundaries his language will not be effective to any useful extent. The writer of popular fiction creates a world where the imagination works more than the pocket dictionary, a world of description and colorful characters and adventurous or romantic plots, accessible to anyone with a taste for fantasy. The writer of the integral calculus textbook, on the other hand, assumes that the only people who will pick up his book are at least familiar with some basic concepts of mathematics, as well as being constrained in his use of language by his subject matter, and can write accordingly in a manner suitable for those knowledgeable about such things. A different communicative "space" is in play. Burkean consubstantiality.
Moving on. Education, Lanham claims, should be and is being radically democratized by the advent of electronic text. The arts are digitized, interchangeable, interactive, metamorphic to make Ovid proud. He moves for the replacement of the corpses of unsuccessful lower-division programs with a revitalized new oscillatory (one wonders how long Lanham spent sitting in front of a grandfather clock as a child) system that would reunite the general core curriculum with the specializations of the upper division. My high school had a program of the cadaverous type Lanham describes, grandiosely dubbed "Career Pathways." It was supposed to lay out a logical series of classes for the potential collegian depending on his career and university aspirations. Therefore, there was a sequence of classes designed to "be good for" the hopeful science major going to a four-year university, the public worker looking at a two-year technical college, etc., complete with lists of possible jobs. It was unfortunate then, that most of the pathways were identical. Being a high school, the most variation they could hope for came in the choices of upper-level classes such as AP Biology versus AP European History, depending on which way the student leaned. The result was that myself, the anti-political chemical engineer, and one of my best friends, a government and history major who will probably make a run at being in office some day, graduated having taken essentially identical classes. However, while I could have wished for classes somewhat more helpful towards pursuing my interests, it must be taken into account that at that particular level it is well-nigh impossible to expect the sort of variation and specialization available in a university, and equally ridiculous to expect a decision on the shape of those interests from a graduating 18-year-old who is more concerned about getting the washing machine and the microwave to work than what he will be doing for the rest of his life. Lanham stresses the importance of a liberal arts education for all comers. I do not challenge the importance of such a thing, only the necessity. As Danielle points out, it is not necessary for an engineer or science major to be versed in Latin prose. However, think of the culture and history one could discover through such a talent! The ideal these days, in the eyes of universities and scholarship committees, is a "well-rounded" student. All well and good, but I prefer to be well-rounded for my own entertainment and satisfaction as well. A plethora of interests guarantees a lack of staleness. It's up to you.
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