Goodbye, Mr. Chips

     In the final chapter of James Crosswhite’s The Rhetoric of Reason, he dollies the camera back to consider the broader context for applying his theories in university writing programs.  After such an ambitious book on elevating rhetoric for purposes of conflict resolution, this chapter’s bald confrontation of real world conflicts seems to introduce the humbling possibility, or probability, that Crosswhite’s theories might face challenges, if not limited application.  After all, writing programs too often view reasoning -- what some might call critical thinking -- not as a vital means for teaching purposeful writing, but as wrong-headed pedagogy promoted by nutty teachers for “ideological ends.” (271) 
      This brings to mind a recent job interview for the Summer Bridge program at a local college.  After a full semester in English 710, where my colleagues and I worked and re-worked our clever thematic courses, I was excited to put the tire to the pavement.  In an email to the Summer Bridge coordinator, I outlined my thoughts on teaching a critical thinking course that examined the food industry.  She said she liked my approach, and called me in for an interview.  When we met, she seemed very impressed with my ideas.  I felt we were on the same page, and thankful for my studies at SFSU.  “To be honest,” she told me, “we’d never even considered having a critical thinking course in our Summer Bridge program.”  Even if she they hadn’t formally offered me the job, her enthusiastic response to my ideas gave me reason for confidence.  In addition, she handed me a textbook and asked me to consider using it in my course.  A week later, though, she called to say, sorry, she really liked me, but she’d decided that “critical thinking was not appropriate for the Summer Bridge program.”  Seriously?  After calling me in specifically because she liked my curriculum ideas?  Of course, this brush-off could have been a ruse, for all I know, but taken at face value, it echoes Crosswhite’s description of the troubled state of writing programs across the country that see critical thinking as too "edgy." 
     In a similar vein, my only other job hunting so far suggests that entry level positions may not necessarily include a class in argumentation as an option.  A mentor/friend, who teaches north of Sacramento in the Placerville area, was very encouraging about job prospects at her school, but cautioned me that “freeway fliers” -- new adjunct profs who work part time at various sites, flying the freeway from job to job -- have limited choices.   “Early on, most likely, you’d be getting low-level composition or even ESL classes.”  Fine by me, I said.  After all, I taught ESL for years in adult education and I loved it.  On the other hand, it's some bittersweet news after a two-year program preparing us for a dialectic classroom where we're constantly challenging students with difficult readings and raising the bar for them to reveal their ultimate inner writers.  Equally vexing, speaking to this mentor, I got the impression that her English department doesn't exactly champion critical thinking courses anymore than the above institution, especially when she informs me that most of the staff are trained with Lit MAs.  With that background, how could priorities be otherwise?
     Still, I look forward to teaching such a class one day.  In fact, one reason I came Comp was to move away from ESL.  The other reason was that I’d always wanted to lead a dialectic-based course like Crosswhite’s or William Coles’.  This passion began in my undergrad Rhetoric 1A course at Cal, which was all about oral arguments and learning to “qualify my conclusions,”  (275) as Crosswhite’s Chinese student puts it.   I agree with Crosswhite when he speaks of the benefits of dialectic and taking part in the discourse community as “a process of becoming acquainted with new interlocutors
. . . (and) of entering conversations that are already in progress, . . . " (282)  Here he's speaking about my ideal teaching environment: the teacher ignites a conversation and stands back as students battle for their ideas, occasionally stopping in the heat of the moment with a feeling of epiphany as their own ideologies take a new shape.
      I especially enjoyed this final Crosswhite chapter because it offers some rich practical thoughts on choosing themes and materials for a Rhetoric of Reason-type curriculum.  It’s not a good idea, he says, to develop a theme from an issue that teacher and students already have a strong opinion about.  “Some things are simply to important . . . to us to argue about . . .” (283)  Great point.  While I generally feel ready to discuss anything with anyone, even if it means re-examining my own stance and changing it,  I have to remember that not everyone feels the same, and it’s important to avoid topics that don’t lead to fertile debate.  His second suggestion is to avoid yes/no, up/down conflicts, as they “force students into . . . polarized positions.”  (283)  I would like to think we’re all able to be more flexible; but on second thought, this angle, too, can lead to dead ends for similar reasons to the first point.  Popular issues in the news can lead to superficial discussion, Crosswhite says, unless students are presented with unusually penetrating angles.  Perhaps the remedy for this is to have students investigate the issues beyond the basic TV/radio media clips themselves.  Finally, the author warns that having students write about their own personal conflicts can lead to dead ends as well, largely because this lacks publicly accessible information.  Crosswhite doesn't see anything that would justify subjecting the whole class to "group therapy," (284) but I think it could be a potentially strong community builder, unless it's taken to the level where people are nauseated or bored with it.  
    After R of R’s heavy dose of theory, I found these solid tips refreshingly pragmatic.