Everyone knows what happens to kids with too much math and science in their systems. They sit in dark corners of basements scribbling furiously on chalkboards – alpha this, antiderivative that. Utterly socially inept, they are disproportionately wetter than their peers, who generously lavish them with spitballs during class. I’m just kidding, of course. But what could save Urkel and the rest of us? A class on rhetoric.
What is rhetoric? Gerard Hauser, a professor at University of Colorado, says it “engages another person in an exchange of symbols to accomplish some goal.” That would be everything: ads, newspaper articles, TV shows, everything you say and everything you don’t. An education in rhetoric teaches you to read between the lines, to find motives and layers of meaning in everything. It’s the science of how the world tries to makes a sucker of you.
We can weed those sun-deprived science geeks out of their dark holes, but without a grounding in the art of communication, they’re stranded on the blacktop at the mercy of scrappy pug-sized Amazonians. Kids don’t mess with kids who can come up with caustic comebacks – hurling out a clever one would persuade any bully to stay in his own corner. It’s the ones who know how to use their smarts who come out strong. In the research world, graphs are doctored to meet conclusions while data is framed and manipulated or conveniently forgotten to please the right people. That’s why even the genius who doesn’t get out much needs to know how to play the game.
Subconsciously, we’re already down with rhetoric. Those hysterical girls in chick-lit novels know it best. A guy doesn’t call back, and they get their silly girlfriends together and shake, spin and twist the details till they’re ragged: Does that mean my V-neck wasn’t low enough, I didn’t act dumb enough, or that I didn’t debase my womanhood enough? Even your Facebook is rhetoric. Boys, make sure you fill out who you’re interested in, or you’ll end up in some girl’s room, painting toenails. Zoom out of the college campus, and then it’s not so personal and even harder to call out.
An evangelizing economics professor can bias unwitting students against Keynes for life by simply using unflattering adjectives in a lecture. President Bush, with his “Support the Troops” slams, could very well make you feel obligated to support his Iraq policies, too. Ethos, logos and pathos make cameos in English 101, but I’m not sure if people walk out of the class realizing the magnitude of those concepts. You’re expected to build up your math skills from the cradle. But there is no class at any grade level that teaches you to analyze your world. No one gives you the tools to pick apart a speech – it’s taken for granted, and it shouldn’t be.
In The World Is Flat, Thomas Friedman sas that we have to supplement our high-tech brains with “high concept” and “high touch” aptitudes. And Daniel H. Pink wrote, “Our ancestors weren’t plugging numbers into spreadsheets or debugging code. But they were telling stories, demonstrating empathy and designing innovations.” Yes! And their grunts and unintelligible moans were indeed full of rhetoric and persuasion. Heck, didn’t a snake get those kids to eat the apple right in the first week?
Ideally, we would have a mandatory class in rhetoric. Because many of you are already snickering and about to toss this fine newspaper (in a recycling bin, I hope), here is a mini-alternative. Next time you watch Dave Chappelle or Jeff Foxworthy (the redneck comedian – give him a chance!), swish their jokes in your mouth for a little. Why are they funny? Who is the target of their jokes? What are they assuming about their audience? Why would it be bad if Foxworthy covered Chappelle’s material for him? Try it on this column. Why are you still reading this? Do you care what I say? How am I making my point? Does anyone even care? It’s late, and I’m going to bed. Just know that everyone is always trying to convince you of something. Go Democrats ;)!!!1
Nandini Jammi is a freshman English major. She can be reached at jammin@umd.edu.