AWA: Academic Writing at Auckland

 Keywords

 

dialectic

 

authority

 

structure

 

voice

 

persuasion

 

audience

 

Abstract

This essay takes the form of an imagined correspondence between Teju Cole and Aristotle, discussing Cole’s Eight Letters to a Young Writer with reference to Aristotle’s Rhetoric. Over the course of the letters, the two writers’ differing opinions on the function and elements of rhetoric are compared and analysed. I wished to show, firstly, that much of what Aristotle said two thousand years ago remains relevant when critically examined and compared against today’s theorists; secondly, that opinions and theories of rhetoric are not necessarily mutually exclusive, even when they appear to be in conflict with each other; and thirdly, that discussion, interaction and response are an essential part of rhetoric.

 

Dear Mr Cole,

I read with interest your first letter to young writers. As you undertake to offer advice to younger writers, I hope you will not take it amiss if I, a writer even older than yourself, offer my own thoughts. Socrates, teacher of the great Plato, under whom I in turn studied, believed strongly in dialogue and discussion, certain that this dialectic method is the means by which we will arrive at the truth. I think this is what you refer to in mentioning “the community of other writers.”

You say that you are “not qualified to give... advice.” This is dangerous. If you have no authority, why should your reader trust or listen to you? You must be persuasive, and your most effective tool of persuasion^[1] is your character. If you are good, people will believe you.

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

As you should know, Plato says that the character of the speaker is irrelevant. Whether I am a good person or not has nothing to do with the effectiveness or otherwise of my writing.

I think that we have different aims. I write not for moral edification, not to persuade my readers that I am right, but simply to offer them my story. The reader can choose whether or not to accept it.

I agree, however, that writers don’t exist alone, but as part of a wider network of writers, and that we can all learn from each other. I suppose that this is what you mean by dialectic method.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

I read your second letter to a young writer - I am glad to see that you are continuing with the “conversation.” I am concerned, however, at your implication that a writer should learn the rules but can then feel free to break them. Rules are there to aid communication, to help you impart your message to the reader. As I remark in Rhetoric, “[a] speech has two parts. You must state your case, and you must prove it.” To help both you and your reader understand the argument, and to aid you in persuading the audience, the writing should consist of the readily identifiable components of introduction, statement, argument, and epilogue. Without these constituents the reader will become confused.

 

Incidentally, I believe you are wrong when you say that Garcia Márquez “doesn’t judge his characters, and as such we feel that he won’t judge us, his readers...” It is part of human nature to judge - to judge ourselves, but especially to judge others.

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

Perhaps you are right about judgement. It is true that no writer can ever be entirely dispassionate. But I meant that Garcia Márquez understands human nature, and is not afraid to present that human nature as he finds it, without apparent comment or criticism. Such an approach is much more accessible to me - and, I suspect, to many others - than long philosophical treatises such as Plato’s one about the charioteer and the soul. Garcia Márquez shows us what we are, not what we ought to be.

And you are wrong about rules. I agree that writers should have an awareness of the rules, but they should be free to use those rules as they see fit.  As a writer, I know how to convey my message, and I will do it in a way that suits my purpose. If that means breaking the rules, then so be it. Breaking the rules rather than following them blindly can sometimes make for more forceful and effective communication.

As for making the argument clear - it is possible to do that without the rigid structure you describe. Take any work of fiction - Animal Farm, for example. Orwell’s argument is not laid out in terms of introduction, statement, argument, epilogue. Nevertheless it is clearly and unmistakably identifiable.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

I appreciated your third letter on voice. Though you correctly draw a distinction between the voice of orators, who have physical attributes (tone of voice, gestures, and so on) to help impart their message, and the voice of writers, who do not, much of what you say regarding writers reminds me of my advice to orators. In many respects the modus operandi of writers and orators is very alike. What you call voice seems similar to what I, in Rhetoric, call style. We share the conviction that effective style, or voice, must make clear the character of the orator or narrator. It must be unobtrusive, but unmistakable. The voice must sound natural, not artificial, if it is to convince the audience members of its authenticity and draw them in, persuading them to read or listen further.

This section of Rhetoric reminded me of something you said in your first letter: keeping things simple. Often this is advantageous; simplicity tends to give clarity. But it is worthwhile considering that occasional variation from the simple and the direct can also be used to great effect, both in writing and in speech.

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

P.S. Animal Farm is a fable. I consider that a fable does have the elements of introduction, statement, argument and epilogue. That is why it is an effective means of communicating one’s argument.

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

What you say of the orator’s style is indeed, in many respects, also applicable to the writer’s (or narrator’s) voice. Often the strength of a piece of writing lies not so much in what is said but in how it is said: “the story is not in the plot but in the telling.”

I agree that departing from the simple can sometimes be useful and appropriate. In general, however, most writers agree that you should never use two words where you can use one, and never a big word where you can use a little one. But there will be, certainly, exceptions to the rule, and, as I said earlier, you should not be afraid to break the rules.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

P.S. There are many other works of fiction that are not fables and yet make their message clear. What about the works of the Brontës? John Steinbeck? Joseph Conrad? etc.

 

There is more than one way to skin a cat.

 

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

I respected what you said in your fourth letter regarding the audience. It was perceptive to link the audience to the voice, and to note that the latter often determines the former. Also, I liked the distinction between the voice and audience of “genre works,” and the voice and audience of what you call “serious writing:” writing that goes deeper than merely pleasing or entertaining but instead speaks to something deep inside us. Perhaps for you such “serious writing” is that of Garcia Márquez.

The “pact” between the reader and author is not something I explicitly discuss in Rhetoric, but the relationship between ethos and pathos is, I think, similar. The character of the author (ethos) works with his appeals to the audience’s emotion (pathos) to gain agreement in the audience.

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

I disagree. Your description of ethos and pathos puts the control of the speech situation entirely in the hands of the author. You apparently think of the audience merely as a passive receptor submitting meekly to your persuasive force. However, a pact requires the willing contribution of both sides. An audience is capable of thinking and reasoning as well as an author; it may be provoked into a response, but it can never be forced into agreement. Agreement is the choice of the reader, not the right of the author.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

You are unjust. I accept that the audience and the author are of equal importance. I have said in Rhetoric that the audience judges the author; however, I chose to give greater weight to the role of the orator. These are decisions one must make; it is impossible to discuss every aspect of rhetoric in one book. You will find, however, that other philosophers - Chaïm Perelman, for example - discuss at length the role of the audience.

Meanwhile I am considering your fifth letter, which is concerned with structure, and therefore links back to our earlier discussion on the subject. I think you see now what I mean by the parts of an argument, even if you will not admit it. Do you not agree that your exposition, development, recapitulation and coda are comparable to my introduction, statement, argument and epilogue?

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

Yes and no. I never denied, or wished to, that having a structure to shape your writing can be useful. What I resist is the idea that only one particular structure is acceptable. I may choose to use the sonata form to structure my writing, or I may choose not to.

You have to be careful that form or structure does not take precedence over the substance of your writing. Form can be helpful, but it is not the sole or even the primary concern of rhetoric. What you have to say is more important.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

I have never gone so far as to say that form is the primary aim of rhetoric. I consider persuasion to be the foremost objective, as you will find if you read Rhetoric.

However, I think we shall have to agree to disagree regarding structure. I believe it is important; you think it less so. 

“Write what you know” is essentially what you are saying in the first half of your sixth letter. And so we come back to the question of authority. To be authorised to speak or write about something, one must of course know about what one is discussing. If it is otherwise, the audience will soon discover it, and your authority and hence your persuasive force will immediately dissipate.

I continue to hold that character and moral goodness are an integral part of authority, but knowledge is also important, I grant you.

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

As you say in Rhetoric:

“... a writer must disguise his art and give the impression of speaking naturally and not artificially. Naturalness is persuasive, artificially is the contrary...”

I agree with you here. And I believe that the key to naturalness is indeed, as you succinctly put it, to write what you know.

Apart from this confounded moral goodness, for once we seem to agree!

 

Sincerely,

T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

I have been considering the second part of your sixth letter, as well as letters seven and eight. I have nothing to say in Rhetoric about the internet (probably because it had not been invented when I was writing). However, I was struck by what you said towards the end of the sixth letter: “write for an audience.” You accused me earlier of not considering the importance of the audience. I maintained, and still do, that the accusation was unjust. Whom does the writer or the orator address, to whom does he direct all his persuasive force, if not the audience?

The internet seems to me both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because writers can reach more people - a wider and bigger audience - than ever before. And yet a curse: how can one persuade an audience one cannot see and does not know?

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

As I said earlier, not all writers wish to persuade.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

Yes, they do. Otherwise, why do they write?

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

Writers write because they have to.

 

Sincerely,

 T. Cole

 

 

Dear Mr Cole,

Well, we must again agree to differ.

 

Sincerely,

Aristotle

 

 

Dear Aristotle,

Yes, I suppose so. But sometimes differences can be more fruitful than wholehearted agreement, don’t you think? You realise things you never thought of before. What is language for, if not to communicate and share ideas?

“To strive, to seek, to find and not to yield.” Even if we do not yield our own opinions, if we seek for and consider others’ against our own, we will be the richer for having had the discussion.

 

Sincerely,

T. Cole

 

 

^[1] See my book Rhetoric.