Metaphors for the sensual; or, of Locke and keys.

Apologies in advance about the length of this post. John Locke apparently just makes me really really excited. That excitement lies principally in the fact that Locke just goes to town about metaphors here. I suppose as reasoning an admission is in order; put simply, in the zoology of everything there ever was, ever, metaphors and similes are kind of my absolute favorite animal of all time. 

(see what I did there)

The title of this post echoes one of my favorite phrases to pull out and mull over in idle moments—‘Words are metaphors for the sensual’. A wonderful professor of mine just threw it out over the crowd in a Film and Photography lecture my freshman year, and it still strikes me every time I think of it. I was struck by it again and again as I read Locke, as it seems he was quite struck with it, too. On page 817, section 4, he writes, “Now…sounds have no natural connection with our ideas, but have all their significance from the arbitrary imposition of men…” This itself was enough to make me dance a little on the inside. The thing is, rather than being as infatuated with the idea as I was, it seems the notion of the vague nature of language—or, rather, the fact metaphors by definition are descriptions of one thing able stand for another—really kind of peeved John Locke. 

Locke seems to say this ‘inability of language’ arises chiefly from the mere human incapacity to transmit the largely untransmittable combinations of sensory input we receive from the reality continually assailing our senses. Rather like attempting to paint a landscape with brushstrokes, or sculpt a body with clay, with words we can come close to mimicking the real, but it will never be a perfect representation. I thought this a Sophistic notion, and therefore a rather liberating one—if we can describe and ‘stand in’ our realities with things like words, we can create and try to control the very colors, in a way, of our own cartographies. But Locke isn’t so interested in this. He wants there to be a direct tunnel from one person’s brain to another, within which no static to garble the meaning of a person’s ideas is present.

Curiously, he seems to think in some cases this is actually possible with words, such as when the thoughts conveyed are very simple, or ‘uncombined’ ones. But in order to make the argument that any idea, no matter how simple, can be transferred, he has to make a claim I’m not eager to buy. He forwards the notion that we as a species somehow share our senses, that we absorb the world, if not in the exact same combinations, then in the exact same ways. Therefore, the idea of tree is in one person’s reality exactly as it is in another. A bold statement at best, and one the hugely diverse spectrum we make as a species would be reluctant to fold into agreement with. Locke states on pg 818 that all he writes about pertains only to those words that are “intelligible”, or, I might say ‘shared’. “Those which are not intelligible at all,” Locke writes, “Such as names standing for simple ideas which another has not faculties to attain; as the names of colors to a blind man, or sounds to a deaf man, need not here be mentioned.” (818) 

The problem is, in the instance Locke is referring to, they kind of do have to be mentioned, because ‘faculties’ don’t exist in black and white. Locke firmly stands with the idea that humankind, staggeringly varied as we are, contains senses as perfectly duplicated as if the things had been pressed in a mold. But when senses are tied to the mind, and the body, and the consciousness—how can such a consistency exist? When you take into account children versus adults, men versus women, or crippled versus the capable, just to scratch the very surface… Well, one is startled to think we can find any connections with each other at all. And Locke is right in that we do. But I think he’s wrong in that the aim is—or should be—through exactitude of transfer.

The notion of words themselves as a metaphor brings to light a curious problem for the direct transfer of even simple ideas. When someone hears or reads tree, they do not see or hear the realities that the speaker or writer has attached to tree. Instead, their own reality of the word rises to the surface. Therefore, metaphors, even at their most basic, do not try to force an exactitude upon a person. They instead present an idea or a series of ideas in combinations unique as skeleton keys with which all those around us can unlock the compartments of themselves to build a reality of their own. It is this immediacy and realism of  construction that makes metaphor—whether presented through words, art, music, science—so intoxicatingly beautiful. We with these tools are not transferring our own realities; such is an impossible task. We are instead bequeathing ancient keys with which others can unlock the doors in themselves to their own realities—realities they never knew existed, and realities which can (quite magically) echo with our own.

Ramus ramming against the grain

Even in a world where Christianity is on the rise and classical rhetoric is seemingly on the fall Quintilian has still demanded respect from the medieval rhetoricians.  Ramus, however, argues strongly against Quintilian's core belief "that the orator cannot be perfect unless he is a good man." (683).  When we were looking at Quintilian I also had a problem with this idea referencing Hitler's great speaking skills despite him being a bad man.  While I believe Ramus makes a strong argument against this definition I have a problem with his delivery and style.  By calling Quintilian's definition "useless and stupid" Ramus comes across as extremely arrogant, even though he calls himself humble in his introduction (681).  In a time when Quintilian was well known and respected this seems like a very risky move for Ramus to make.  However, if people believed Ramus was a bad man for disrespecting Quintilian yet admitted he was a good rhetorician it would disprove Quintilian's definition.  Even if it disrespectful Ramus makes a sound argument against Quintilian's definition; we don't judge an artist by his or her ability to do math.  While I may disagree with how he presents his argument I can't deny Ramus has a sound argument and I believe this was the response Ramus wanted.

All ABOARD the Ramus Hate Train.

   It's not that I hated Ramus. As Ian mentioned in his blog, there were some points he made against Quintilian that I found to be in line with comments I had made while reading earlier in the semester. However, I agree with Cicily in her idea of Ramus as "cocky," in that his hatred towards some of these rhetoricians was so great I had a difficult time following his argument.

   Wait! What was that I just said!?!

"I had a difficult time following his argument."

   Could it be that RAMUS -- the very rhetorician who grilled Quintilian on his lack of clarity -- is struggling with clarity??? Of all people, I know what it is to struggle with clarity. In case you haven't noticed -- I have an issue with tangents. I like them. Speaking of which -- Wednesday I'm going to Disney World with the Writing Center and all I can think about is, "THANK GOD, Ramus won't be in my audience, critiquing my clarity, because SHIT!"

   Anyways, one of my favorite lines of Ramus's was on the last page, where he says, "For, good God, why should there be such a great, mixed-up confusion, when the whole matter is very clear and easy?"(697). Something tells me that he wasn't very good with the ladies. Sigh. Poor Ramus. 

“What then can be said against this definition of an orator? I assert indeed that such a definition of an orator seems to me to be useless and stupid: Why? Because a definition of any artist which covers more than is included in the rules of his art is superfluous and defective.  For the artist must be defined according to the rules of his art, so that only as much of the art as the true, proper principles cover—this much is attributed to the artist, and nothing further” (

Style and Culture

     Ramus's not exactly egotistical. It's more of a "if you don't agree with me by now, you're an idiot." Maybe he's just tired of people burning his books.

     Ignoring his (seemingly) arrogance, I'm extremely interested in his claim. He knows and accepts that morality may aid arts (rhetoric being one of these), but doesn't want virtue directly tied to rhetoric. It's almost like he doesn't want one art (rhetoric) to be virtuous and for the others to be left out. He wrote, "I shall not object to your opinion that moral virtue is undoubtedly useful and suitable for the use of all arts, but in no way shall I admit that any art is a moral virtue" (686).
     I like this. It's not his entire argument - and I don't agree with everything - but this I like. I just got out of my creative writing class (yea, Sabrina's going to talk about CW again!). We were talking about a TS Elliot essay in which he claims the poet's own emotions and experience don't affect the art; the method and format do. Is that not the same exact thing?
     I like the argument because it makes any writer focus on the words they are actually writing instead of dismissing sound in place of emotion (i.e. Nicholas Sparks). If the reader feels something, it should be as a result of the poetics, the style. Zack Bean, the creative writing professor, used an example today of writing "profound sadness" on a piece of paper and expecting the reader to feel profound sadness. It doesn't work.
     I also think, though, Ramus ignores the time dependent culture in which Quintilian wrote. Ramus claimed, "The grammarian is defined as skilled in speaking and writing correctly; he is not defined as skilled in speaking, writing, and singing. Why not? Because grammar provides no precepts about the last" (683). In classical times, the wider variety of knowledge, the more wise the man, right? But I'm confused by Ramus because the Renaissance man was the same, was he not? Ramus could perhaps be lost in that gray area between the medieval and renaissance the introduction discussed, but he doesn't match my expectation of renaissance in any case.

Ouch!

Ouch!

While I was in complete agreement with much of what Ramus wrote throughout my reading of Arguments in Rhetoric Against Quintilian, I kept finding myself feeling sorry for the long dead rhetorician Quintilian.

Ramus raises many good arguments about how and why Rhetoric has nothing to do with morality and that effective oration is in no way correlated to the good moral character of the rhetor. Ramus was quick to point out the flaws in Quintilian’s definition of an effective orator, “Quintilian decrees that there are five parts to the art of rhetoric - I shall talk about these afterwards - invention, arrangement, style, memory, and delivery. He thinks there are no more and no less. Yet in no one of these parts does he fit in the moral philosophy which he now attributes to rhetoric. In fact this man was sadly lacking in a knowledge of dialectic. If he had learned from it that in every art and branch of knowledge one must seek out the true, proper, and primary causes of the subject, he would have decided that an orator should be defined quite differently, and he would have learned that he should speculate quite differently on the proper qualities of the arts.” (684)

As many of us have pointed out in previous blog posts, some of the most persuasive orators in history were far from being of good moral character. Undoubtedly Ramus could not foresee the rise of such men as Hitler, largely through his ability to persuade through oration, but he certainly understood Quintilian’s naivety in not understanding that rhetoric is as likely to be an effective tool for a good man as it is to be an effective tool for an evil man.

Finally, A Bad Man Speaking Poorly

Wow.

I find that Ramus is very hard to get through, not because the reading is difficult, but because the guy is... wow.

I think Ramus could have made all of the same points, and made them in a way that his readers may be more willing to accept them if he wasn't such a self-important snot.

His tone throughout his attack on Quintillian is frustrating because it is hard to read past his contempt to even be able to pick out his argument.

The one thing that I can agree with Ramus on is his contempt for the notion that an orator must be 'a good man speaking well.' Finally, we see a division between morality and Rhetoric. I had missed that. Maybe it's because I'm a pessimist at heart, but I think there is more merit to be had in looking at humanity for what it is and not what it would be if every man thought the same or behaved along the same moral spectrum.

If every man in the world saw the world through the same moral spectrum that Quintillian did, then 'a good man speaking well' would be an an apt description for an orator. But not all men who use the art of Rhetoric to further their cause are 'good' and they seem to be able to orate with the best of them.

The illuminating + obscuring = ?

Heedless of his points, I thought Ramus' style was the main focus of this text.
I did truly think he made several very worthwhile connections and attacks, such as his defense of immoral individuals as potentially valid and accomplished rhetors (lower half of second column on page 685). This was spot on in my eyes, a note I had actually made to myself in reading Quintillian that he managed to express much more thoroughly than I ever would have thought to. But he also had a lot of watery ones, such as his first denouncement of Quintillian’s five-part classification through the logic that things such as ‘moral philosophy’ must either fit structurally into one of these parts or occupy an entirely separate one, as opposed to accepting that a philosophy is…well, a philosophy—and not a piece of a framework.
In both cases, his inflammatory style fills the entire work with a sort of blinding flare, like the sun catching an angled windowpane to fill it with light, and obscure everything behind. It some cases it serves him well, such as in the cases where his arguments line up with your own thoughts and therefore make you want to pump your fist alongside him into Quintillian’s kidneys. This is along the lines of what I believe Sadie was hinting at, with his ethos inflating to eclipse his perhaps lackluster social standing.
But is also often fails, as when you flip back to ‘Quintillian’s Actual Writing’ and realize there’s actually not much behind Ramus’ glare at all. In these cases, as Mitch suggested, Ramus’ lack of exploration and defense of Quintillian rather makes you lose your stomach for the whole affair, like a street fight between a braggart and someone who never even wanted to step into the ring at all.

Ramus seems to ride the highs very high, trusting that they will balance out the inevitable plummets enough to carry the reader high enough so that he or she is still on board with him at the end.

A little cocky dontcha think, Ramus??

This reading was incredibly frustrating for me, because it seemed as though Ramus views himself as all-knowing and that his predecessors were wrong or had too many opinions. For example, Ramus cites many of Quintilian's viewpoints surrounding rhetoric as a virtue. He then says, "it must be seen that each of these statements of Quintilian's opinion is false" (685). And all this time, I didn't think opinions could be wrong... Ramus is incredibly critical of most of the major players that have come before him, but his distaste clearly lies with Quintilian. "Now Quintilian follows Aristotle's and Cicero's confusion of dialectic and rhetoric. Indeed he makes it worse by fabrications of his own, and by including in his teachings all the disputes concerning all the arts he had read or heard something about-- grammar, mathematics, philosophy, drama, wrestling, rhetoric" (681). He goes on to further criticize Quintilian as he claims that he "fails to write about the topic of invention, or to make clear any method of arrangement; he expands the whole subject with mere trifles" (691).

The point I'm trying to make is that Ramus seems to just be throwing a tantrum about something over which he has no control. In this way, he loses ethos and pathos as it makes me question not only his personal credibility, but also his values. While he claims to know all about oration and rhetoric, he has entirely lost my interest and furthermore, my trust.

Critical style a possible ethos-building tool

I want to take a step back and look not at what Ramus argues, but how he argues. As many people already noted, Ramus’ “rips” or “cuts” into Quintilian. Adjectives like “jerk” floated through my mind as I read this section, but perhaps Ramus chose this harsh, critical style for a very specific rhetorical purpose. A couple people mentioned in their blog posts that Ramus’ authority on the subject is rather weak; we might speculate that because he was born in poverty and had to fight his way to the top (Introduction 674-675), Ramus probably realized his ethos appeal was lacking—and therefore resorted to his over-the-top style of critique. Even though as a reader, I lost respect for Ramus, eventually I started to truly doubt the quality of Quintilian’s writing and theories—perhaps in part because of a few of Ramus’ counterarguments and possibly mostly because of how frequently I was told how “stupid” Quintilian is.

Consider the tone of modern critics, whether they review food, literature, movies, clothing, etc.; most of them sound exactly like Ramus according to the jerk-o-meter, and yet, people look to them as experts and sources of authority on whatever item is being critiqued. Someone may argue that “yes, we regard critics as experts because they are experts,” but the same argument could be made for Ramus. Why then, do they go to extra lengths to incorporate belittling sarcasm and cutting insults into their critique? Maybe such a rhetorical move automatically moves us to discredit, a least a little bit, the person or item under critique. Or maybe the effectiveness of this rhetorical move is culturally-situated; as an American, the ideal to give “everyone a fair trial” and to consider everyone “innocent until proven otherwise” perhaps colors my reading experience so that I instinctively first assume that someone’s words hold some weight or merit. So when I read, “I probably could not be like him, even if I should wish so; but in fact if I could, I would not even wish so” (682, top of 2^nd column), I think, “Huh, maybe there’s something to what Ramus is saying—I need only to wait and find out what.” And by doing so, my trust in Quintilian’s authority begins to slip.

Anyway, I decided to include this short clip from “Ratatouille” for kicks-‘n-giggles; it illustrates my point about the stereotypical critic holding places of high authority. 

"You should think up better advice."

This reading literally made me laugh out loud. I knew things were going to get good when, in the introduction under "Analysis and Summary of Arguments in Rhetoric Against Quintilian", Bizzell and Herzberg themselves describe his piece as a "damaging attack", and note the "arrogance" of his style with its "highly agonistic tone" (678). We see this emerge in Ramus' side comments about Quintilian, used to reinforce his point: "I probably could not be like him, even if I should wish so; but in fact if I could, I would not even wish so" (682, right column).  He also describes Quintilian's method of constructing an argument as "scrap[ing] together the most stupid trifles", and goes on to let him know that next time, "I expect better words than this, or you should think up better advice" (686, left column). A little entitled, are we? Although, with the freedom that comes with attack without fear of rebuttal, one can expect such superiority and condescension from Ramus' end. How else is he going to enact such widespread change about these authors without really causing a scene?

I wonder if the context of his work influenced the way he wrote. (Again, kairos catches my eye.) We learn that Ramus was a professor at the University of Paris, a "charismatic teacher who soon attracted a large following" (674). Writing to appeal to a crowd of young college students while attempting to be edgy and break free of traditional methods could certainly result in a cocky, argumentative tone. I found it easy to draw modern parallels; I think there is a universal sense of frustration with the old and outdated method of doing things. We grow and modernize, and huff with impatience at how ancient works of literature differ from our new ideas. However, I do wonder at the sheer anger of the entire piece. In contrast to the general apathy seen by the public about these classic authors (we may agree or disagree, but do so half-heartedly), Ramus retains an immense anger throughout Arguments in Rhetoric Against Quintilian. Is it more because of his passion in his own ideas, or his distaste for former ideals? Do his concerns lie in the past or the future? Perhaps it is both, but either way, it made for an entertaining and enlightening read.

Questionable Ethos in Ramus

Ramus’ straightforward attack at Quintilian and his predecessors is shockingly bold and proud.  He begins by creating a sense of ethos based in humility that to me feels really false. In his opening he declares, “Although I have been engaged in the study of rhetoric and dialectic for many years I should not, like other people care to boast about them; rather I feel ashamed to look back upon them due to the very meager results they produced.”  He follows that up with “I have a single argument, a single subject matter, that the arts of dialectic and rhetoric have been confused by Aristotle, Cicero and Quintilian.”  Anyone with any knowledge of the history of rhetoric would realize that there is nothing meager about this claim.

Ramus softens the blow of his arrogant posturing by claiming he is not superior to these Classical philosophers, but that he is merely superior in this one area because it is the only one he studies. He observes, “that if they had applied as many months as I have years to judging these precepts accurately and to arranging them in order I certainly do not doubt that they would have left us arts that are far truer and more distinct.”  Despite these feeble attempts, it is easy to see that Ramus thinks highly of himself.  “And so all you dialecticians—that is, whoever can form a judgment about this questioning with truth and constancy--Come here, pay attention, sharpen your wits..”  In modern English: “watch and learn.”

One of the major ways Ramus build his ethos for challenging these rhetorical pillars is by stressing the fact that rhetoric is really his only serious pursuit.  He backs the importance of this by claiming, “ a definition of any artist which covers more than is included in the rules of his art is superfluous and defective.”  It is interesting to see such a distinct division of disciplines in a writer whose period inspired the term “Renaissance Man.”  In truth, Ramus is not against mastering multiple disciplines, he just thinks it important that each be mastered and considered in and of itself. 

His criticism of the Quintilian stems from this.  Quintilian and his predecessors’ were philosophers as much as, if not more than they were rhetoricians.  As a result there rhetoric includes stray ideas like moral philosophy and elements that according to Ramus belong to dialectic.  He argues that invention, arrangement and memory are all part of dialectic and style and delivery only are what make up rhetoric.  Ramus criticizes scholars who “have naively accepted at a first hearing, without ever giving,” proper consideration for the truth in renowned texts.  I must now avoid that flaw while reading Ramus.

Ramus boldly defines what rhetoric and dialectic should be, but he provides little proof for this foundation of his argument.  He claims that Aristotle was the first to confuse these disciplines, and yet if the very definition of these disciplines is under debate Ramus cannot claim the division is in a certain place that nullifies renowned work without clear proofs of why his definition is most worthy.

Selfish Virtue

Peter Ramus’s Arguments in Rhetoric Against Quintilian is exciting in its stance against a historically huge figure, but irresponsible in its style.  These are some of the clearest examples of insult that we have seen so far, except the insults hold no weight (for me) because Ramus has almost zero credibility.  Additionally, as Mitch mentioned, I found myself wishing for a rebuttal.  Not that it’s wrong to critique the works of the dead—I think all works have infinite room for improvement.  But Ramus seems to attack out of selfish interest instead of for the betterment of a theory.

In Quintilian’s Institute Of Oratory, Quintilian depicts an ideal orator, one that does not yet exist but is well within the possibility of existing in the future.  “The perfect orator, whom I would have, above all, to be a good man…” (389)  This is a humbling statement that asserts that Quintilian is not writing about himself, but encouraging others to reach this status of an ideal orator.  If this ideal of the orator were widespread, the world would be full of ‘good men speaking well’ who are virtuous and noble.  This seems a respectable platform to rise to but Ramus is unwilling to reach this ideal, and instead tries to hide it by urging others not to even read the works of Quintilian.  This is where Ramus’s selfish agenda comes in. 

He notes Quintilian’s ideal orator “identifies those virtuous qualities of character as justice, courage, self-control, prudence, likewise knowledge of the whole of philosophy and law, a thorough acquaintance with history, and many other attributes worthy of praise.” (683)  These are all excellent and attainable qualities, so what’s the issue?  In short, I believe the criterion is too difficult for Ramus himself to attain.  Instead of mentioning how much society could benefit from people aspiring to the virtuosity of Quintilian’s orator, he “assert[s] indeed that such a definition of an orator seems to me to be useless and stupid.” (683) What seems stupid and useless to me is someone who tries to silence someone else whose only aim was to create ideals that could possible better mankind.  Can Ramus make this claim for himself?  I think not.           

clarity in ramus

While Ramus tore Quintilian’s argument apart, I found this a relatively enjoyable read.  “We shall distinguish the art of rhetoric from the other arts…we shall separate its true properties, remove weak and useless subtleties, and point out the things that are missing” (681). Short, sweet, to the point. I can deal with that.

Ramus’ overall goal, to me, seems to be simplicity. Rhetoric does not need to be complicated; in fact, Invention and Arrangement do not belong in rhetoric but rather in Dialectic, which is logic. Style and Delivery make up rhetoric, and I’d agree with him after reading this. In the little exposure I had to rhetoric in high school, we were always told that rhetoric was the way you used your language to persuade people, even if you didn’t know what you were talking about. When it comes to the first three pillars, invention, arrangement and memory, they are classified as dialects, which are based on reason. Ramus is arguing that dialect, made up of invention, arrangement and memory revolved around one of the “two universal, general gifts bestowed by nature upon man” (684). On the other hand, speech, the other gift from nature, is where rhetoric falls. The five pillars are divided according to what they appeal to, where invention, arrangement and memory appeal to reasoning of a human being, while style and delivery appeal to how the act of speech is done to impart reason into other people. It can therefore be viewed that rhetoric will be used to deliver a speech to others, while dialect is the reasons behind the speech.

“Yet what do we think will happen if we seek for practical application of such foolish, useless confusion?” To keep the dialectic and rhetoric separated is to avoid confusion and become clear, effective orators.

Rhetoric, Reduced to Frosting

Ramus makes some pretty sweeping claims in Arguments in Rhetoric against Quintilian as he strives to establish a new way of thinking about dialectic and rhetoric, but few are as far-reaching as his claims concerning the power of dialectic and the relatively menial position of rhetoric. Ramus first insists that men have two universal and general gifts "Reason and Speech, dialectic is the theory of the former, grammar and rhetoric of the latter" (684). And because reason has been removed from the purview of rhetoric, Ramus goes on to claim that Quintilian "has confused dialectic itself with rhetoric, since invention, arrangement, and memory belong to dialectic and only style and delivery to rhetoric" (686). In a few short paragraphs, Ramus has put forth a theory that removes all logical reasoning from rhetorical study and has reduced the five rhetorical canons to two (as the other three are no longer attributed to rhetoric at all).

If we accept Ramus's claim that all that is related to reason belongs to dialectic and is utterly removed from the rhetorical realm, his claims seem valid. It clearly takes reasoning skills to formulate an argument, organize it so that it can be understood, and memorize it in an ordered fashion. Ramus even goes so far as to claim that things which concern the mind belong to dialectic (687). I could even see how Ramus could go further and make the claim that style and delivery belong mainly to dialectic, as no figure or tone can exist without the direct influence of the mind. They don't just spontaneously erupt from the mouth of the speaker, after all. But that's assuming we accept Ramus's rigid framework of reason and the mind belonging to dialectic and allow rhetoric to be relegated to the background. And I submit to you that this separation makes little since at all.

Imagine the rhetorical situation as a cake. Yes, that beautiful one to the right. According to our friend Ramus, rhetoric is just the frosting, the nice fluffy buttercream stuff that makes that cake taste delectable. It's the tropes, figures, tones, and gestures that add flavor. But the essence, the cake underneath all that frosting, is the dialectic. It's the actual argument that's being dressed up. And we can certainly think of it this way: the cake and the frosting, two separate things touching but never together. But my dear Ramus, how much sense does this make? When I want a cake, I say I want a cake. What I don't say is that I want a cake and some frosting, because without frosting my cake is not really a complete cake. So why separate the two? Why take a thing that appears as a whole and break it into irreconcilable pieces? It's like bringing me a cake with no frosting, but with a bowl of frosting on the side because you think I need them separated for my convenience. You're killing me, baker's boy. You're killing me.