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Wollstonecraft and Tocqueville on Tyranny

          “A collective tyrant, spread over the length and breadth of the land, is no more acceptable than a single tyrant ensconced upon his throne.”

— Clemenceau

Freedom fighters and liberty lovers are eternally burdened with the threat of tyranny. Power unrestrained threatens liberty and can extend itself to cruelty, and in response, many political theorists have contributed their verse to a body of knowledge that seeks to define and identify tyranny. Contemporarily, US Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice identified a number of totalitarian regimes in 2005, which she referred to as “Outposts of Tyranny.” Our concern does not waver, the vigilance never ends. With regard to governmental regimes, tyranny tends to be defined as a government that is oppressive and operates on cruel or arbitrary use of power (OED).  However, what is essential to tyranny is the concept of power. Governments can be tyrannical because they have power over their citizens; similarly, people can possess absolute power over others and, thus, use it tyrannically in social relations. 

At the end of the 18th century, Mary Wollstonecraft—writer, philosopher, women’s rights activist—gave a voice to women by revealing the reality of domination and hardship in their lives. Wollstonecraft, in her depiction of the state of women, characterized the regime of gender as tyrannical for women. Unlike a tyranny imposed by government, Wollstonecraft described a tyranny imposed via social relationships, by men and women. This argument was met with contention by Alexis de Tocqueville, a French aristocrat writing around 30 years after Wollstonecraft’s early death in 1797. His characterization of the status of women, while being similar in means, foils Wollstonecraft’s in the ends of women’s role and its implications. Fundamentally, he believed women consented to their role, and thus are not victims of tyranny.  I seek to address this contention and illuminate potential faults in reasoning which leads to it. By arguing from a mutually agreed-upon definition, I demonstrate how Tocqueville’s own definition of tyranny invalidates his position on the status of women as being ‘separate but equal’ and not as subjects of tyrannical rule like Wollstonecraft describes. 

Alexis de Tocqueville, in his two-volume collection of observations and theoretical discussions of democracy, Democracy in America, offers several accounts of tyranny. First, Tocqueville describes conditions which are the result of tyranny by government. In his chapter, “Kind of Despotism to Fear,” Tocqueville describes the consolidation of power to centralized government which regulates everything, from “foreseeing and taking care of needs,” to “facilitating…pleasures” (818). This “concentration of power” leads citizens into a “kind of servitude…and obedience” to their government (789, 818). They become completely dependent on a government that has absolute power over its citizenry. While Tocqueville hedges that, particularly in democracies, this condition may exist with some “external liberties,” in the absence of any or most liberty, it is total tyranny (819). But, nevertheless, the “los[s] of independence” coupled with the “los[s] of political liberty” are results of tyranny in government (596, 583). 

Conversely, Tocqueville also described a tyranny which is equal parts social and political. Specifically, he warned of democratic institutions' tendency toward what he called “omnipotence” or “tyranny of the majority” (287). He described the power of the majority as “absolute” in the way its whims are quickly and totally made law; the status of the nation determined by the fleeting desires of the largest group. The “tyranny of the majority” is a power which “oversteps the bounds of justice and reason,” turns people into its “slaves,” and leads to general “abuse” (288, 289). In general, he claims that “the right and wherewithal to do all accorded to any power…lies the seed of tyranny” (290). In summary, Tocqueville regards tyranny as absolute power which is used to abuse and coerce others into submission so that they are essentially slaves. 

In Mary Wollstonecraft’s novel Maria, she discursively paints a picture of the lives of two women who existed under various manifestations of tyranny. Through the narratives of two central character’s lives, Maria and Jemima, Wollstonecraft demonstrates the oppressive regime of gender under which they subsisted, and overtly denotes their condition as tyranny.

To begin, the readers are first introduced to the history of Jemima, a charge nurse at an asylum who tends to Maria. Jemima describes herself as having been “born a slave, and chained by infamy to slavery” (83). She was forced into the servitude of her family, including her younger sister; she was a victim of “neglect and unkind treatment” (80). Jemima overtly refers to her step-mother as being a “tyrant” who treated her as a “creature of another species” (81). Throughout much of her life, Jemima was a victim of abuse and sexual violence, in part a consequence of her status as “a slave, a bastard, a common property” (85). 

After leaving her familial home, Jemima was left with little options to sustain herself, becoming a slave, a prostitute, a thief, and a beggar. However, because of Jemima’s depraved and degraded womanhood, she “had the advantage of hearing discussions, from which, in the common course of life, women are excluded.” (86) In a paradoxical way, Jemima’s status as being beneath a woman allowed her the opportunity to access books and intellectual conversation that ‘real’ women were excluded from. 

On the other hand, whilst Maria is born under different circumstances, she is nevertheless also depicted as a victim of tyranny. Beginning with her father, Maria describes (in autobiographical letters to her daughter) the nature of his parental hand. He was a man “instantaneously to be obeyed” and submission, from both wife and kids, to “his absolute authority” was necessary (95). Maria’s “unconditional submission to [his] orders” was her daily reality, and she soon realized them to be “unreasonable, because inconsistent and contradictory” (95, 96). Maria described her condition as “domestic tyranny,” and lamented the “tyranny of [her] father” (97). In a similar manner as her father, her eldest brother became “deputy-tyrant” and the “despot of his brothers, and still more his sisters” (95). Maria appealed to her uncle; an educated man who plucked her from ignorance, lent her books, and fostered her informal education, after “[her] liberty [was] unnecessarily abridged, and [her] books…taken from [her]” (103). She was looking for his help in escaping the oppressive household rule she lived under. 

Maria’s only option: marriage. Her uncle paid a man, George Venables, to take Maria as his betrothed. This arrangement, however, did not free Maria from her unfortunate status. Venables made Maria his servant, and they were a couple that was neither “friends [n]or confidants” (108). After enduring more “domestic tyranny,” Maria questioned the society she lived in, which made “woman property of their husband” (109). Eventually, Venables has Maria detained in an asylum whilst he attempts to steal her inheritance left by her uncle (despite Maria being totally sane). 

Quite overtly, Wollstonecraft characterizes the experiences of both women as tyrannical. Jemima was subjected to cruel, depersonalizing treatment by those who possessed more power than her, specifically men and their women. Jemima’s body, mind, and wellbeing was at the mercy of their arbitrary power. Therefore, her tragic existence, her “slave” status, her oppression, was the work of tyranny. In a similar vein, Maria was the slave of first her father, then her husband. The men of Maria’s family held absolute power and exercised it in a manner which was “unreasonable.” Save her uncle, they forcibly chained her to ignorance, and “cruelly repressed” the more ‘masculine’ qualities favored in her brothers (96). Then, she was reduced to being owned by her husband, subject to his every beck and call, and [unable to own anything herself] (118). Slavery is an extension of tyranny, as indicated by both Tocqueville and Wollstonecraft. 

The women’s attempts to escape tyranny, which inevitably lead them to other traps of tyranny, symbolizes the systemic dynamics of power which gave men absolute power over women, regardless of other dynamics of power such as class and age. In addition, not allowing them access to education or opportunities, fostering “the dependent state of women,” reinforces the power of men (Wollstonecraft, 115). Because it is artificial, and not based on an inherent superiority, women must be degraded to remain under the tyrannical thumb of men, made to rely on them for sustenance, a home, and the chance to acquire knowledge. 

Furthermore, Wollstonecraft’s insight into the complexity of this tyranny is exhibited in this short anecdote: Jemima obtained the fancy of a tradesmen. She advised him to throw out a woman he both impregnated and promised to marry. Jemima did so because she was starving, and the girl was an imposition on her chance to thrive with that man, to have a home and food. The pregnant girl was tossed out by the tradesman and went to her father’s house, only to be ignored and left on the streets. That night, with nowhere to go, she slept in a tub which horses drank from during the night; Jemima found her dead in the morning. 

This story illustrates how the subjugation of women pits them against one another for the favor and provisions of men. “By allowing women but one way of rising in the world…society makes monsters of them” (103). Men were not the only tyrants of women, but women were tyrants of each other. This is both a result and function of their oppression. A woman’s wellbeing was a zero-sum game; so, to ensure her survival and affirm what little power she may have access to, women inflicted power and pain on other women. 

Both Tocqueville and Wollstonecraft seem to have a common understanding of tyranny and use it to denote similar conditions. Tocqueville uses the term to describe the state of absolute power of people or government which makes others its slave whilst restricting their freedoms; Wollstonecraft uses it to describe the state of women, whom were made slaves of their fathers and husbands, forced to submit to their absolute power, and repressed from accessing the same liberties as men. Thus, the pertinence of Tocqueville’s discussion of tyranny becomes clear when considering his observations of women and girls. It is peculiar that these two thinkers, who agree on the definition of tyranny, see it functioning in different places of western society. Or rather, that Tocqueville does not see tyranny as being inflicted upon women. 

According to the observations of Tocqueville, for young men, “when boyhood ends, the man stands forth and begins to set his own course,” but when a girl grows into a young woman, she “forfeits her independence forever” (685, 695). Whilst men are allowed to seek wealth and power, women were confined “within the restricted circle of domestic interests” (695). Tocqueville also recognizes that “for a woman the only sources of happiness are to be found in the conjugal home,” they have very limited opportunities to live lives with comfort and wealth in adulthood otherwise. However, Tocqueville justifies these conditions, as “voluntary sacrifice of [women’s] will” (706). Despite their inability to “escape” from domesticity, and women’s “social inferiority” to men, Tocqueville calls this a kind of equality (708). Saying that, despite women not being allowed “the duty or right to do the same things” as men, they have “equal value but different destinies” (708). In brief, Tocqueville regards the condition of women as agreeable because of their perceived willingness to accept their role despite its restrictiveness. 

Unlike Tocqueville, Wollstonecraft provides readers with the internal perspective of women, she gives their experiences a voice of their own. Through a fictional story she gives truth a platform. Tocqueville merely observes women and makes assumptions based on their physical presence and status relative to men; everything which can be seen with the naked eye, rather than parceled from the spoken-word or the inner-monologue of those who live what he attempts to explicate. Tocqueville’s third-person observations of women overlook the implications of their status. For example, while Tocqueville condemns tyranny’s ability to “gain obedience through coercion,” it does not occur to him that the women’s limited opportunities beyond marriage is a sort of coercion into the institution of marriage and womanhood (284). Without the liberty to own property, get an education, or find good work, women are coerced into sacrificing their will for that of a man, and that of their marriage. This is not a “voluntary sacrifice” as he claims, it is a sacrifice of necessity. Ironically, Tocqueville does recognize that they don’t have an other option than the bonds of marriage and domestic servitude without  “jeopardizing her tranquility, her honor, and ever her social existence” (695). 

Wollstonecraft demonstrates with her narrative the ways in which the inferiority of women and their restriction to “domestic interests,” that both her and Tocqueville identify, is tyrannical  (Tocqueville, 695). She reveals how giving men absolute power over women leads to abuse of that power, the cruel treatment of women, and social interactions which perpetuate this pattern of dominance. And, despite this process being exactly how Tocqueville described tyranny within the context of government, his narrow scope limits him from seeing this tyranny functioning in the lives of women. For instance, Tocqueville claims that “no one would want to argue that people cannot abuse [power’s] strength in regard to another people” (289). Thus, he is aware that tyranny is not limited to political contexts, but is a result of total power wherever it may be. 

In some feat of reasoning, Tocqueville is unable to identify the repression of women as a cruel exercise of men’s absolute power; their lack of political liberty, lack of independence, and     condemnation into servitude of power are all conditions which correspond to his own definition of tyranny. Regardless of Wollstonecraft’s direct depiction of women as victims of tyrannical rule, and their agreement on what constitutes tyranny, Tocqueville’s own concept of tyranny should have lead him to the same conclusion. But, it didn’t. In fact, it lead him in the complete opposite direction. 

Yet, why there is this discrepancy between the two thinkers, and Tocqueville’s own reason, may be a result of his priorities. To review, Tocqueville noticed that in America there was the belief that “nature had made men and women so different in physical and moral constitution” so they must “assign different uses to the diverse faculties of each” (Tocqueville, 705). Thus, in the United States, women were, as Maria, confined to the domestic sphere. Tocqueville notes, again, that women were not allowed: to enter business, manage family affairs, run for political office, or forced to do hard labor, or any work to develop physical strength (706). They were confined to a repertoire of manners and duties that were ‘womenly,’ which Tocqueville admits leaves them “dependent” on men (708). Tocqueville observes the Cult of Domesticity, but he also observed the nature of women and girls—not just their station. 

For instance, in reference to young American girls, Tocqueville notes that, “a philosopher might well stumble a hundred times along the nation path these girls travel without incident or difficulty” (Tocqueville, 693). This unequivocal compliment signifies Tocqueville’s understanding that women are intellectual beings, and that “they sometimes reveal themselves to be men in mind and heart” (Tocqueville, 706). While American’s may or may not recognize this thread of equality Tocqueville glorifies, his consciousness of it makes his position on the condition of women more curious. Why is it permissible that Reasonable beings be confined to a gilt cage? 

Throughout Democracy in America, Tocqueville’s warnings about democracy’s pitfalls and his judgement of the quality of American institutions centralized the question of social stability. For example, Tocqueville, in an attempt to prophesy, states “[i]f America ever loses liberty, the fault will surely lie with the omnipotence of the majority, which may drive minorities to despair and force them to resort to physical violence.” Social instability is one of  Tocqueville’s greatest fears in a political society, particularly instability as a byproduct of tyranny.  

But, with regard to women, Tocqueville appreciates how the US “carefully divided the functions of man and woman in order to carry out the great work of society more effectively” (Tocqueville, 705). In fact, Tocqueville does not believe women’s status as a “usurpation of their rights” in the slightest, nor does he believe women see their position as “degrading to submit to” (706). He does not believe women are victims of tyranny because he believes they fully consent to their position. Ultimately, he claims women (and himself) see value in the women’s role. Lastly, he extols, “in the United States, one does not hear adulterous wives insisting on the rights of women while trampling the most sacred duties underfoot.” The ability of hierarchies and imposed duties to engineer and execute society in, what Tocqueville believes, a more effective and long-lasting way is a good which exceeds women’s rights, and more good than women’s questioning or worse, confounding the social order. 

Works Cited

de Tocqueville, Alexis. Democracy in America. Penguin, 2004.

“Tyranny.” Oxford English Dictionary, https://en.oxforddictionaries.com/definition/tyranny. 

Wollstonecraft, Mary. Mary/Maria. New York University Press, 1992. 

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Where is Liberty?

In On Liberty, Mill argues for a kind of freedom that is both freedom to and freedom from. He argues for an extension of individual liberty beyond what has merely been legislated. That is, a liberty which is complete, which resists the limits imposed by public opinion. The embodiment of which is uninhibited individuality. And, by defining and exploring Mill’s argument, I move to reveal its idealistic shortcomings and demonstrate its greater applications in conversations on normativity. 

[What is Liberty?] 

The question of liberty begins as a question of to what extent should the powers of government be limited? For example, Mill states that to “set limits to the power which the ruler should be suffered to exercise over the community…[is] what they meant by liberty” (108). To explicate limits on government power, Mill delineates legislative liberty. First, there are “political liberties or rights,” which are understood as a ruler’s “breach of duty,” or infringements on the power of the people (108). People have the power in the United States, for example, to speak freely; to censor free speech would be an infringement on that right and rebellion or resistance justifiable. Second, government power is also limited by checks on it power from other branches of government of third party agencies. These two measures keep the hands of the government off individual lives and were particularly important prior to democracy. And, despite the erroneous notion which developed as a consequence of democratic government, that these protections were futile when the government was of the people, for the people, and by the people, Mill argues to maintain them as protections against the “most numerous or the most active part of the majority,” or potentially self-serving and/or oppressive factions within the body politic (109). Adopting the language of Alexis de Tocqueville, Mill appellated this threat as “‘the tyranny of the majority’” (109). 

[Social Tyranny]

Under democratic regimes, the threat of a single tyrannical leader may dwindle, but democracies are not immune to other tyrannies. Mill laments about a tyranny “more formidable than many kinds of political oppression”: social tyranny (109). In this specie of oppression “society itself is the tyrant,” either collectively or the individuals within it, and is not limited to the actions and policies of politicians or civil servants (Mill, 109). Society acts as a tyrant by employing its own regulations and deploying penalties extrajudicially. Its vigor lies in its ability to “[enslave] the soul itself” (109). Social tyranny is sourced from the naturalization of customs, the morality of the dominant class, and religion. It is practiced as the “moral coercion of public opinion,” thereby limiting diversity of individual opinion and liberty (112). These are sentiments which have little to do with reason, but rather preference, and are asserted on the masses—by the masses—like law. 

The validity of this authority to mandate certain behaviors and scorn others is what Mill seeks to challenge. In addition, he warns that personal freedom may be “exposed to invasion from the government as it already is from public opinion” if the tyrannical majority learn to exert their power as the power of the government. 

[Where is Liberty?] 

Resisting social tyranny is essential to a nation which truly wishes to be free. Mill argues that “there is a limit to the legitimate interference of collective opinion,” and we must find it (109). To curb the despotism of public opinion, Mill exalts the notion of “liberty of action” (112).    It is a libertarian argument beget from other notions of liberty. Liberty of action is predicated on “liberty of conscience,” or the liberty of thoughts, feelings, and opinions; “liberty of tastes and pursuits,” or the freedom to choose a lifestyle which suits you; and liberty “of combination of individuals,” or the freedom to assemble and unite without causing harm (Mill,113). Therefore, the freedom to act as one pleases is but an extension of these freedoms. Without the freedom to act on one’s personal preferences they do not have “liberty of tastes and pursuits.” Without the freedom of conscience, there is nothing to act upon. 

Although, Mill does offer a condition to this liberty; it is referred to as his principle of harm. Society may only interfere or limit (by law or by social tyranny) an individuals behavior is for “self-protection” or “to prevent harm to others” (Mill, 112). The wellbeing of the actor, however, is not a sufficient reason to impede an individuals ability to act. But, to attempt to reason with the subject, or persuade them to not act, is permissible. This liberty is, in addition, limited to adults. Children have not fully developed the ability to reason and rely on guardian(s) to guide them to proper judgement. Ultimately, a “person’s life and conduct which affects only himself or, if it also effects others, only with their free, voluntary, and undeceived consent and participation” should be free from usurpations of the government and the majority (Mill, 113). 

Making space for individuality is an example of allowing liberty of action. It is where liberty of action takes action. It is practiced by allowing people to express themselves and live on their own terms, without social condemnation or ostracizing them. Mill argues that “whatever crushes individuality is despotism” (124). If infringing on individuality is oppression, then individuality is a kind of liberty. By allowing for all possible ways of living and being, all of which are prone to unique errors, but nevertheless guide people to better and more beautiful ways of living. Whereas “despotism of custom” stifles progress, individuality is productive. It yields new ideas, thoughts, and expressions of being, all of which resist a societies dogmas (Mill, 128). 

[Further Analysis and Individualism in Modernity] 

Mill’s argument does encounter challenges with regard to practicality. For example, there is no method of enforcement for this sort of liberty—it rests upon cultural consciousness. Changing laws in favor of liberty is a less convoluted process than attempting to persuade people to change their minds, expand their notion of liberty, and become more tolerant. In addition, custom and tradition do not just dissolve. While they dictate norms and opinions, they are rooted in history and context, both of which are unlikely to be divorced from people’s preferences. And, to use the language of Mill, in the face of constraining customs, the greatest act of individuality is using ones faculties and making the choice not to conform. To be ostracized is of no concern to the deeply unique. However, it may limit societies ability to learn and progress from what these genius have to offer. 

However, Mill’s argument has wider applications and is mimed in more contemporary scholarship. Sociological and philosophical texts in modernity, such as Amy Brandzel’s Against Citizenship, discuss similar themes. To commence, society incentivizes certain behaviors: heterosexuality, marriage, child rearing, citizenship, just to name a few. Citizens submit to the hegemony of society, or social tyranny, “through a process of self-making and self-regulation in which societal norms and values are played out by and through the individual” (Brandzel, 13). In essence, society constructs normative behaviors. Then it performs “normative judgments” when criminalizing people (Foucault, 19). Deviating from the norm, or custom, becomes a punishable offense: de jure and de facto. The penalties of which have evolved “from being an art of unbearable sensations” to “an economy of suspended rights” (Foucault, 11). Foucault argues that rather than punishing the body, contemporary penal systems punish the soul by depriving it of liberty. This echos Mill’s sentiments on social tyranny. Under a Foucauldian lens, this tyranny in itself is a punishment, as it “[penetrates]…deeply into the details of life,” arresting the soul (Mill, 109). Social tyranny deprives people of personal liberty, much like a jail cell. It constructs a citizenry in its own image. It employs “engines of moral repression” through law and media (Mill, 114). Furthermore, in chapter three of On Liberty, Mill claims that “peculiarity of taste, eccentricity of conduct are shunned equally with crimes” (123). This further substantiates Foucault’s claim that “the non-conforming is punishable” (25). 

In the age of social media, liberty of action and individuality has new relevance. Conformity is unabashedly rewarded with likes and follows, whereas eccentrics merely just exist in these virtual social spaces. Individualism is briefly praised when it conforms to pre-determined norms created in social spaces, and it is quickly exploited and replicated en masse. In effect, what we call “unique” on Instagram is just convoluted conformity: existing in one of the many layers of acceptability. While this arguably signifies that definition of what is tolerated has expanded, what is within the realm tolerated is still reproduced. 

Liberty of action, and its offspring, like individuality, are places of freedom to inhabit. Places which can be guarded by laws and mores and threats—places made inaccessible. To protect full freedom from full despotism, or even just an arm of it, limits must be placed on the reaches of government and public opinion. Revering liberty of action as a natural right is a way which we protect the full space of liberty. But, more importantly, one must act within that space to truly preserve it. Rejecting common conformity, accepting personal preference, and pursuing unique tastes are indispensable in the protection of liberty and in the progression of society. 

Works Cited

Brandzel, Amy. Against Citizenship: The Violence of the Normative, University of Illinois Press, 2016. 

Foucault, Michel. Discipline and Punish: The Birth of the Prison, Gallimard, 1975. 

Mill, John Stuart. On Liberty. 

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The Realm of Realism: Camera Arts and its Qualities

“We naturally assume a rough resemblance between the world portrayed in the fiction movie and the real world.”

                                              - Joseph H. Kupfer

Films have a notable power to create all-consuming realities, realities which the viewer, as intimated above by Kupfer, accept as an extension of our physical reality. Agnès Varda’s Sans toit ni loi, the ice-cold and bitter story of Mona, a young vagabond wandering à la campagne de France, is so poignant because it feels real. Her struggle to survive and keep herself safe, her philosophies and nihilistic temperament, her transient relations, and her ultimate demise: it all appears so real. Mona is fictitious, but her story isn’t. In some place, at some time, that life was lived. She personifies Murphy’s Law. This feature — presenting reality — is exemplified by film and photography, as the media are best equipped for the task, and tend toward realism. 

Realism is not entirely unique to film or photography, it is found in other visual arts and in literature, “it is just easier to achieve with a camera than with the brush” (Walton, 249). The camera can’t help but show the world. There is something unique about film and photography’s relationship to reality. A facial composite is not likely not exactly resemble a perpetrator, whereas stills from surveillance camera’s biggest obstacle in rendering a face is their image quality. And unlike a drawing from memory, “photographs of a crime are more likely to be admitted as evidence in court” (Walton, 247). Photographs, and to a greater extent films, have a different effect than other visual arts. That effect: a kind of proximity to physical reality, to an actual moment, that no other medium possesses. 

[What is realism?] 

What realism can be understood as what realism is not — namely, reality.  As the word suggests, realism has a connection to reality, but is not physical reality. To borrow from Kracauer’s discussion on reality, “there are different visible worlds,” the one we manifest in is “physical reality,” but there is also “camera-reality,” and “a theatrical play, for instance, suggests a universe of its own” (28, 29). Realism “records interesting accepts of physical reality,” and attempts to render physical reality as well as it can but, it isn’t physical reality (Kracauer, 30).

For instance, with regard to photography, there is “no such illusion” that when one looks at a picture of an object they are actually seeing the object; a photograph is a “mere projection on a flat surface and easily distinguished from ‘reality’” (Walton, 5). In addition, this 2D image must create depth internally and address the problem of “constancy of size” to more closely resemble the 3D physical reality we perceive (Arnheim, 13). Alternatively, “film represents reality as it evolves over time with unique cinematic techniques and devices,” and is better endowed with the ability to create realism than photography. However, the medium still has its own limits on that ability. 

Film lacks particular elements of physical reality which contribute to its “‘partial illusion’” of reality (Arnheim, 15). Most notably, the “absence of the space-time continuum” (Arnheim, 20). We do not experience “jerks in time or space” in physical reality (Arnheim, 21). We cannot separate time and space from the moment before, nor chop it up and rearrange its linear progression; but, we can do this with film. And, while viewing the film, the “limitations of the picture are felt immediately” (Arnheim, 17). In physical reality one can move their head left and right to observe the full visual space, but the screen is a sharp departure from that. When you move your head left and right you see beyond the screen,  physical reality intrudes and the “‘partial illusion’” is broken. Arnheim also mentions black and white film’s contribution to the “‘partial illusion;’” its inability to fool us into believing the sky is the same color as a woman’s lips, for instance, but this is a less relevant point since the invention of color film and digital cameras. 

Conversely, realism may be better defined by what it is and how directors have actualized the concept. Italian Neorealist director Victor De Sica, for example, followed three tenants of realism in his film Bicycle Thieves, “to portray real or everyday people in actual settings, examine socially significant themes, and promote organic development of situations” (Cardullo, 40). Realism employs real people in real circumstances, it “reveal[s] physical reality” (Kracauer, 28). The opposite of realism would be, what Kracauer called, the “formative.” Formative films can be abstract, use models as opposed to real people, and depict “contrived plots for everyday incidents” (Kracauer, 32). However, Kracauer claims staged scenes can still be realistic, and may feel more real than if the incident was actually recorded, as long as it gives the “impression of actuality” (Kracauer, 34). To illustrate the difference, the models used to depict space vehicles in outer space and the science fiction plot in 2001: A Space Odyssey are formative techniques, while the contemporary realist work, American Honey, employed mostly ‘real’ people, told a ‘real’ story with political implications, and was filmed in ‘real’ places. A film or photograph which is realist “record[s] the world about us for no other purpose than to present it”  (Kracauer, 31).

[Why photography and film tend toward realism]

The nature of the medium: its tools, the capabilities of the tools, what it is the tools do and create, and how their results effect viewers, are evidence of photography and films tendency toward realism. To have a ‘tendency toward realism’ means that the media generally behaves in ways which produce pieces of realism. It is an almost inevitable proclivity because of the nature of the medium, despite artist intervention, illusion, and distortion which may occur. Therefore to claim that a medium has a ‘tendency toward realism’ is a generalization, not a rule. But — this is not merely a penchant — it's a quality of the media. 

  Foremost, photography and film tend toward realism because the subject/object of the image must exist. “Only what exists can be seen” by the camera (Walton, 254). That the “subject…must exist” is a unique feature of photography and film also observed by Roger Scruton. Unlike painting, which is “mainly an expression of thought,” and doesn’t always seek to recreate the object or subject of the painting as it actually looks, or may contain objects which do not actually exist; photography, to a certain degree, is bound by the nature of the medium which requires real subjects (Scruton, 24). In other words, without digital intervention, “what we see through a photograph is always before a camera” (Lopes, 41). That the subject exists and appears roughly in real life as it did before the camera is a feature of camera-art’s realistic tendency.

Unlike paintings, which are subjected to the sense-perception of the artist, photographs capture what was actually before them. One observes in a photograph or film how the object or subject actually manifested in physical reality; you are “given a very good idea of how something looked” (Scruton, 25). Photographs and films show physical reality more or less as it really appeared. This feature of camera-arts, in that it inevitably records reality, pushes the media toward realism. Even if the photographer or filmmaker uses an object or subject which is an illusion, the camera still records what is in front of it. For example — while this illusion isn’t the most convincing — the apes at the start of 2001: A Space Odyssey are people dressed as apes, they are not real apes. The camera can be exploited with illusion to make it appear something is real that is really not, but “if cameras can lie, so can our eyes” (Walton, 258). If you saw a person dressed as an ape standing before you, your eyes would perceive an ape. However, the ability to produce illusions considered, cameras are still confined to capturing real materials, real people, and real places which physically exist. Thus the camera is perpetually confined to seeing and recording physical reality.

To examine this notion in other terms, cameras are agents of truth, and “we could not explain realism…unless we invoked the concept of truth” (Scruton, 23). Things which are ‘true’ and thus realistic resemble the object/subject as it actually manifests. For instance, a “portrait of the Duke of Wellington is realistic because the figure we see in the paining resembles the Duke of Wellington” (Scruton, 23). Because painting is subject to the perception of the painter, there is generally less ‘truth' in the medium, and thus less realism. However, because a camera “penetrates deeply into [realities] web,”  pictures produced by cameras are truer and thus better pieces of realism than paintings (Benjamin, 13). 

Furthermore, the concept of transparency is evidence that film and photography tend toward realism.  Transparency, according to Walton, is not the same thing as “reproductions” of the subject nor “substitutes,” but rather a way of seeing. The photograph is a visual aid, akin to a telescope or microscope, which facilitates the seeing: the viewer sees through the photograph to the object (Walton). Despite that seeing the photographed object is not direct sense-perception, like seeing the object in front of you, we are still “really seeing” both the photograph and the photographed object. The photograph is a tool for seeing the object; we see through the photograph, like peering through the looking glass, and thus “we see the world through them” (Walton, 251). The ability to see through the photograph to the object, and that the object typically appears as it did in physical reality, is a two-fold tendency toward realism. The viewer looks through the photo to a moment of physical reality, like a telescope looking backward in time. 

However, these features of photography and film merely push the media toward realism and leave room for illusions and abstractions, rather than firmly grounding the media within the realm of realism. The central property of the media which roots it in realism is not the subject, nor how it is seen, but the camera itself. “The remarkable realism of photographs is considered to derive not from what they look like but from how they come about,” the camera’s role in producing the image is crucial to its realistic nature (Walton, 261).  

Photographs and film excel in realism because they are “uniquely equipped to record and reveal physical reality,” which is to say, because they utilize a camera (Kracauer, 28). Roger Scruton describes the camera’s mechanical capturing of its subject as a “causal” relationship, a photograph reproduces the image of the subject, much like a mirror. While Scruton dismissed to an unfair degree the role of the photographer’s intent in producing the image, the causal relationship between the image and the subject is possible because of the camera. Like your eyes, the camera lens sees what is before it, and photons (isolated by the closing of a shutter) pass through the lens to chemically react with the film and create the image (Mashable). Single Lens Reflex (SLR) cameras, both digital and film, utilize a mirror and a prism which reflect light toward to viewfinder so that the photographer can see the image. Thus, Scruton claiming an image “is like a mirror,” when considering the mechanics, is quite literally true (25). Straight shooting produces a direct relationship between a moment in physical reality and the image produced; this is the result of camera’s recording function, even if it’s “technically imperfect” (Kracauer, 30). The camera’s internal process has little between its ‘eye’ and the image which may distort its likeness to reality, all the more pushing the result toward being a token of realism.

Considering these various properties of film and photography, their inclination for realism is apparent. For example, because the subject must exist, using a subject which is actually what it purports to be logically follows. Consider the film Tangerine by Sean Baker. The film follows two transgender sex workers on Christmas Eve, both of whom are played by women who are actually transgender and former sex workers (Filmmaker). The demand for an actual subject that exists is best satisfied with the actual subject desired. This inevitably produces a film or photo which is more ‘true.’ The viewer is given honest information about how that subject actually looks, and in the case of film, thinks and behaves; and, the camera can’t help but capture it. 

Walton’s transparency, that images are for seeing through to the object captured, also actualizes in realism. Using real people, places, and things, not “fictionaliz[ing] much,” best utilizes the phenomenon of transparency (Filmmaker). While its important “to underscore the independence of accuracy and transparency,” because as discussed above an image is still transparent even if the subject is an illusion; an image is more transparent, gives more information about the world, when it is accurate (Walton, 258). Rather than using formative techniques, which are still seen, using realistic techniques allows viewers to truly see the object intended to be captured. A photo of an actual rocket is more transparent and is realism, while a photo of the model is less transparent and formative. 

[Greater implications of realism]

Walter Benjamin’s axioms of images in The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction, in an eerie premonition, are totally realized in social media. Cameras, in modernity, are ubiquitous. The vast majority of people walk around with a high-quality camera in their back pocket, and just about “any man can lay claim to being filmed” (Benjamin, 12). The democratic nature of film and photography in conjunction with its tendency toward realism has yielded “the adjustment of reality to the masses” on social media (Benjamin, 6). More succinctly, social media is reality which is tailored to mass consumption. 

Benjamin claimed photography and film were revolutionary because they developed a new purpose for art. Photos are produced to be seen: exhibited. Older art forms and other visual arts were (and are) esoteric, inaccessible and contingent on ritual. This contention is attributed to the ability to create many prints from a single negative, yet each painting is singular and distinct. In addition, he claimed that mass participation altered the “mode of participation” (Benjamin, 17). Participation with photos is superficial, and partially distracted. No longer does the art consume the viewer, the viewer consumes the art. Photos are accessible, plentiful almost to excess, and also deeply connected to reality. 

This has interesting effects with regard to social media. Most platforms are an endless stream of photo and video media, the vast majority of which appears and/or purports to be an actual record of physical reality. Viewers are unable to easily break the illusion of reality by looking around, because the screen occupies the entire visual field. Each users page is akin to a personal exhibition, all their photos displayed for quick, partially disinterested consumption. To increase participation from the masses, to ensure their photos are seen, algorithms and potential for monetary gain encourage users to pander to their audiences. This ultimately means recreating popular styles of images by appealing to superficialities, like sex, wealth, and consumption of goods, and heavily curating and editing the raw image. These images are not reality, but are pieces of realism; they give “impression of actuality” (Kracauer, 34). Viewers, however, consider these images not just to have a “rough resemblance” to reality as with film — they are fooled into the belief that they actually are real (Kupfer). Like film, social media is actually a “great artifice of a reality,” it is not physical reality (Benjamin, 14). Social media is the epitome of a reality adjusted for the masses. 

Film and photography have an undeniable proclivity toward realism and even exemplify the genre. The demands of the media, its various requirements, the way it begs to be seen, and the camera mechanics, almost naturally endows it with realism. The camera reveals the “things normally unseen,” which are too great to observe in the moment or are overlooked (Kracauer, 46). While we succumb to our inability to notice all, “the motion picture camera seems to be partial to the least permanent components of our environment” (Kracauer, 52). The camera captures every thing in front of it. Whatever exists, its moments and movements, even the twitching of a singular leaf, is recorded. However, film doesn’t have to be completely realistic, and films can be quite gripping without a hint of realism. The purely formative works of Stan Brakhage champion the experimental genre and defy the realistic notion. The creative anomaly of Brakhage is the exception which proves the rule — camera arts are naturally endowed to produce works of realism. 

Works Cited

Arnheim, Rudolf. Film as Art. University of California Press, 1932. 

Benjamin, Walter. The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. Schocken/Random House, 1935. 

Cardullo, RJ. “Italian Neorealism, Vittorio De Sica, and Bicycle Thieves. 

Kracauer, Siegfried. Theory of Film: The Redemption of Physical Reality. Oxford University Press, 1960. 

Kupfer, Joseph H. “Film Criticism and Virtue Theory.” Philosophy of Film and Motion Pictures, edited by Noël Carroll and Jinhee Choi, Blackwell Publishing, 2006, pg. 335-359. 

Lopes, Dominic McIver. “The Aesthetics of Photographic Transparency.” Philosophy of Film and Motion Pictures, edited by Noël Carroll and Jinhee Choi, Blackwell Publishing, 2006, pg. 1-43.

Scruton, Roger. “Photography and Representation.” Philosophy of Film and Motion Pictures, edited by Noël Carroll and Jinhee Choi, Blackwell Publishing, 2006, pg. 1-43. 

“This is How Your SLR Camera Actually Works.” Mashable, 15 Nov. 2012, https:// mashable.com/2012/11/15/dslr-photography/. 

Walton, Kendall. “Transparent Pictures: On the Nature of Photographic Realism.” The University of Chicago Press, 1984. 

“‘We Didn’t Fictionalize Much:’ Sean Baker on Tangerine.” Filmmaker, 8 Jul. 2015, https:// filmmakermagazine.com/94799-we-didnt-fictionalize-much-sean-baker-on-tangerine/ #.XNDhGS2ZPGI. 

[alexissleeps]

Stalker Film Analysis

“I can make good work based only on three things -- blood, culture, and history”        

                                                  - Tarkovsky

Bringing the audience into an alternate Russian reality, Andrei Tarkovsky, the “Poet of Apocalypse,” constructs a masterful and existential Sci-Fi world in his 1979 film Stalker (Quandt). At the start of Stalker, through a fictitious government letter, we learn of a realm called the Zone. The letter considers how it came about -- was it a meteorite? Aliens? Nevertheless, when troops were sent, they never returned. To protect the masses, the government secured the area with barbed wire, dense tunnels, and security officers. We learn of this place, then we learn of the Stalker.

A desolate, decrepit apartment. The film is a bold, impossible sepia. We hear nothing but the rumbles and rattles of a train, slowly crescendoing as it approaches the home. In bed is a family: man, wife, and child. On the bedside table rests an apple with two bites missing, tablets of morphine, a syringe in a tin, cotton, and a glass of water. This is the home of the Stalker. Aside from the train, the only noise we can hear is the Stalker getting out of bed. He is preparing for another trip to the Zone--the trade of a Stalker. He readies himself to meet the men whom he will be shepherding through the Zone, so that they may find the Room, the place where one’s deepest desires are fulfilled.

In that striking sepia, we become acquainted with the Writer. A man full of philosophies. In an unknown irony, he laments about the lack of mysticism in the world and the death of excitement. “The world is ruled by cast-iron laws,” he claims, a possible allusion to the Soviet regime which regulates Tarkovsky’s work with resolute vigor. When he speaks, all other ambient sound stops. We are forced to focus on his words, his insights, or lack thereof.  

Shortly after, viewers are brought to a bar, which, much like the Stalker’s apartment, is in disrepair. Everything is covered in a layer of dirt, puddles dot the floors from roof leaks, and the minimal lighting flickers. Here we meet the Professor. The audience learns he seeks scientific discovery, as the Writer seeks inspiration. They name their desires, they assume the stakes. But, in this contemplation, we learn a central theme of the film. The Writer says, stumbling over himself in drunkenness, “...but, how is it I can put a name to… What it is I want? How am I to know?” This admission is pivotal to the film’s message, and Tarkovsky is kind enough to give us this hint before the journey into the Zone unfolds.

On brand-new Kodak 5247 stock film, Tarkovsky fills the screen with symmetrical shots, a style ubiquitous throughout the film. He plays with the depth of field by placing mundane objects, such as a wooden beam, in the foreground to pull the viewer’s eye to the background. These shots set the scene, they tell parts of the story without saying a thing.

The three--the Stalker, the Writer, and the Professor, all referenced only by their professions, a possible communist allusion--embark on their journey to the Zone. Rumbling through sparse, mud filled streets in an all-terrain vehicle, they venture through abandoned buildings and railways. The City they are leaving is incredibly industrial: tight brick-lined corridors constricting the viewer, smog billowing in every direction, further suffocating you. Not a single vestige of vegetation in sight. The sound of stepping through puddles is as loud as the police officer’s engine they are trying to avoid. Sonically, the film is mastered at a consistent level. These staccato, pointed sounds add tension to the film and control the direction of the viewer’s attention, building with the visuals to the moment when the men finally reach the Zone.

After a series of long takes of the men’s faces, typical of Tarkovsky’s style, they arrive. We are greeted with a moment of silence, and color film, as we see the Zone for the first time. The color shows the full glory of the Zone and juxtaposes it to the sepia City. The Zone is a vast, natural landscape. With trees and grasses overtaking what remnants of civilization are left, abandoned cars sulking in their lonesomeness, and power lines, which have given way to the earth, linger in the front of the frame. A clear ecological statement. The Zone, arguably the central character of the film, slowly reveals itself to the Writer, the Professor, and the audience throughout the second half of the film.

Long takes paired with wide landscape views of the Zone envelope the viewers, taking them along for the journey. The scenes are truly immersive. To compound this emotion, the combination of synthetic and orchestral composition by Eduard Artmyev is subtle, and easier to feel rather than to hear. It hovers over the scene, or sinks beneath it, delicately shaping the mood. In an interview Tarkovsky revealed that “one mustn’t be aware of music, nor natural sounds.” Those natural sounds, such as wheels on rails, are synthetically produced and embedded within Western and Eastern inspired melodies, melting otherworldly tones with earthly ones. The music is sparse but effective.

It is impossible to travel directly to the Room. The Zone, echoing non-entry nuclear zones of Cold War Soviet Russia, demands respect. “The Zone is a very complex maze of traps. All of them death traps,” the Stalker warns his sheep. It is always in flux, and pathways which were once safe become impassable. The Stalker, looking to the heavens, says, “it’s as if we construct it according to our state of mind.” It lets through neither the good, nor the bad, but rather those who are hopeless. The truly desperate souls. In certain places, the land swells like waves, and in others it smokes and smolders. It bends time and space. It challenges the notion that there is no mysticism left in the world, it challenges those “cast-iron laws” that the world is fixed.

However, the Zone, and these men’s journey to the Room, reveal the existential truths we bury in ourselves. “For who knows what desires a person might have?” the Professor sighs. Why is the Room just a rumor? Is it a gift or a message or a curse to mankind? Is it secured by the government, not to protect people from death, but to protect them from what they want? From what their desires may do to society? The Soviet Union, “with its propaganda and party indoctrination sessions – went on beyond an imaginary fence,”  building real fences within its citizenries mind (Guardian). The Zone is a space of personal truth, a space the government can’t penetrate, deep within the Russian psyche. Within the Zone, each of the men is granted a monologue where he can exalt his truths and speak candidly without fear. For fear is the Zone, and within it they have nothing more to fear, not even themselves. This is a space where they can discover what is potentially the most elusive of truths: What do I want?

Stalker offers a cross-section of consciousness. The city is these dull, dogmatic “truths” we tell ourselves to get through the day--particularly those true in communist Russia. God isn’t real. Neither are ghosts. Everything is fixed, and tangible if real. Everything has order and, despite the boredom of it, safety. The city is the superficiality of our own existence. The sepia might be beautiful, but is incomplete: it doesn’t reveal the full-depth and complexity of the world, or the self. However, the Zone challenges these preconceived notions, these walls we build within ourselves. Or, that government and society helps construct. For example, the Writer, overcome in a moment of honesty in the Zone, says he writes because he is unsure. He writes to prove his worth to himself and to others. He doesn’t write because he thinks he is a genius, as he earlier dotes, for if he did there would be no reason to write. The Zone forces us to face ourselves, quite literally, by constructing a world based on the minds of those within it. The Stalker mutters, half-asleep, “people don’t like to reveal their innermost thoughts.” The Zone is where those thoughts foment, without restriction, to the front of the mind.

The Stalker tells us in the Zone of his mentor, Porcupine--or as he knew him, the Teacher. He taught the Stalker everything about the Zone: how to travel through it, how to respect it. How to get out of it. Then, one day, Porcupine went into the Room. Shortly after he returned to the City he became very wealthy, wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Then he hanged himself.

If the Room is the center of the self, the deepest desires of the self, perhaps it is best left inaccessible. Desire is dangerous; its consequences unpredictable. While the death of Porcupine is a critique of humanity’s materialism, and materialism’s inability to truly satiate humanity’s existential needs, I think this film offers a criticism of (selfish) desire more broadly. The Stalker’s desire is not to enter the Room, but to escape his existence. His pleading wife, his daughter crippled by his excursions. Their shabby home. Before the Stalker leaves for the Zone, his wife warns he may find himself back in prison, he replies that “everywhere’s a prison.” He doesn’t need to enter the Room, the Zone is all he desires, it is wild and free, while the City is captivity. 

Additionally, Tarkovsky seems to be pointing at the elusive nature of desire. It’s claimed the Room knows your deepest desires, even those you hide from yourself, and then fulfills them. But, as Zizek claims, “our desires are artificial. We have to be taught to desire. Cinema is the ultimate pervert art. It doesn’t give you what you desire, it tells you how to desire.” If we acquire our desires socially, is there any desire which is independent, belonging to the self completely? Can the Room honestly fulfill someone’s deepest desires, if those desires are by nature inauthentic? Is this why Porcupine commits suicide? The ultimate horror is not the desire, it is not the longing: it is the fulfillment of that longing. Perhaps we ultimately fear fulfillment of desire because it is alien, it is a self-deception -- we don't really want it. Thus, true desire seems to move further from our understanding. Maybe it isn’t that desire is best left inaccessible, but that the Room is an illusion, and desire beyond the superficial is still inaccessible. 

The dynamic nature of the Zone, their journey which challenges the time-space continuum, is an allegory for the cyclical, impossible, and inexplicable journey to discovering one’s authentic personal desires. And, ultimately, its innate inaccessibility and potential untruth. 

This film catalogues, with visual and auditory brilliance, an existential woe of humanity. Stalker is a philosophical text with a three-hour visualizer and sound effects. While Tarkovsky was inspired by the psychological effects of living under the Soviet regime, and the film speaks to that reality, this film is durable regardless of time, politics, or country. Undeniably versatile, it can be enjoyed as a piece of entertainment, a piece of art, and a piece of commentary. If you’re looking to lose yourself, your conscious self, in a film, and find your unconscious self, Tarkovsky’s Stalker will siphon you into that Zone.

https://www.tiff.net/the-review/andrei-tarkovsky-the-poet-of-apocalypse/

https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1111/1468-5922.12365

Gianvito, John (2006), Andrei Tarkovsky: Interviews, University Press of Mississippi, pp. 50–54,

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/nov/06/soviet-union-kitchen-table-russian-revolution-centenary-togetherness

http://www.tasteofcinema.com/2017/the-25-best-mind-bending-movies-of-all-time/2/

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0079944/

[alexissleeps]

The Mining and Transmission of Rhetoric from Antiquity

Before it even had a name, rhetoric was exalted, practiced, and taught—sometimes shamed—but always present. It appears in the works of Homer. It was practiced with care by Gorgias. And, it was ridiculed by Plato. But, what is rhetoric? The most elementary definition of rhetoric is that it is speech, or symbolic exchange, intended to persuade. However, it is contingent upon the person defining it. Rhetoric, and its practice, is perspectival. The foundation of rhetoric, and how it came to be defined, was conditioned by philosophers and sophists from antiquity. Some viewed rhetoric as a virtuous study, others as regurgitated methods of trickery, or, as in the case of Aristotle, as an art which has utility. 

Around 700 BCE, before rhetoric had structure or theory, Homer was featuring it prominently in his texts. Homer’s epic poems illuminate “the importance of the spoken word,” as demonstrated by his featuring speech almost in equal amount to narrative (Pernot, 7). In dialogues and monologues of his work, Homer uses speech, or logos, with the intention of persuasion. For example, as Laurent Pernot enumerates in Rhetoric before “Rhetoric,” Homer employed spoken word as a means of persuasion in prayer, counsel, diplomacy, and assembly. But, Homer also “allot[s] a large space to the deceitful word,” and portrays persuasive speech used to trick other, such as in courtrooms, and to disseminate misinformation (Pernot, 2). Weaponized speech, or spoken word used for deceit, is the second face of rhetoric, which would garner it overt critique later in tradition. 

However, in the structure of a narrative, Homer’s critiques of speech are implicit. Either a speech of trickery would be condemned by a character, or the events in the poem would pass judgement on it by showing it false. The depiction of rhetoric, both in its noble and ignoble forms, in Homer’s poetry by his “gallery of orators,” show his awareness of the power of the spoken word (Pernot, 3). Homeric poetry would become a doctrine for budding rhetorical theorists to, by example, devise “rules of contemporary rhetoric” (Pernot, 5-6). Despite Homer not labelling his use of spoken word as rhetoric, his work suggests that he believed it was a teachable skill, a notion that rhetoricians would later assert as instrumental to the discipline. His work was the precursor for, what would become, a hotly contested field of study. 

Following Homer temporally was a collection of sophists—which are wise or learned people, particularly teachers—who practiced, taught, and spoke of the greatness of logos. Logos here is to be understood as speech or spoken word, be it poetry, incantations, or direct discourse. What is central about the concept of logos, with regards to this group of sophists who shall be called original rhetors, is that it possesses “near divine” power (Gorgias, 3). While these theorists did not call their studies rhetoric explicitly, nor adhere to a consistent vocabulary, they impart and collaborate on the idea that the study of eloquence (logon paideia) is a way of life which encompasses virtue, education, and logos: a tripartite theory of being. 

In the litigious times of ancient Greece, logographers, who claimed to be sophists, wrote court speeches for pay. Isocrates, a sophist not to be confused with Socrates, claimed to teach philosophy, as a means to separate his work from the unscrupulous acts of logographers. However, in contrast to contemporary understandings of philosophy, Isocrates defined it as the “arts of discourse,” or logos (2). At the heart of philosophy is “practical intelligence,” a characteristic of a good rhetor which gives way to virtue (Isocrates, 2). Isocrates challenges his audience to evaluate his virtuousness by the way his students practice philosophy, none of which appear on any lists of “genuine trouble-makers” who use rhetoric in distasteful ways, such as logographers (3). Isocrates felt compelled to write a whole speech in defense of fictitious charges of producing unethical students, underscoring the importance of being ethical to original rhetoricians. In addition, they actively denounced speech utilized for manipulative ends. As Isocrates asserts, “speech which is true…and just is the outward expression of a beautiful soul,” meaning rhetoric which is ethical reflects that the rhetorician has good, orderly morals (4). And, to live a good life, one must be virtuous. 

Cicero expands on original rhetoric by imparting on his audience the necessity of education to being a great rhetorician. Again, Cicero doesn’t call logos or speech rhetoric, rather he refers to it as oration and eloquence. He claims great orators are scarce because it’s an incredibly difficult skill which requires knowledge not only of the techniques of oration (logon techne), such as delivery and structuring and argument, but knowledge of all things. A great orator is one who “can speak about all subjects with fullness and variety” (Cicero, 72). For one cannot be truly persuasive if they only possess “ornaments of speaking;” excellent speech fully understands the topic at hand (Cicero, 68). This nature of rhetoric necessitates a deep, well-rounded education to the practice of speaking. Oration, therefore, is an accessory to knowledge. But—not just knowledge of facts of history or science—one must know the facts of human emotion. Oration relies on “soothing or [on] exciting the feeling of an audience” (Cicero, 61). All of which is to say that oration relies on being educated on every facet of human existence. 

Virtue and education marry in the practice of logos. Those who practice “good” logos, ethical logos, are virtuous and educated. Three notable original rhetoricians—Gorgias, Isocrates, and Cicero—agree on the monstrous power of logos. Gorgias sees its affect on the soul “akin to that of the power of drugs” (4). Which, when practiced with education and virtue, has the power to remedy maladies of the soul. The power of logos to do good and bring goodness to the lives of those who practice it is an irrefutable notion in original rhetoric. Isocrates echos this when he claims that “people can become better and more capable human beings if they commit to serious study of the arts of discourse” (4). They will perfect their skills of eloquence, but also their morals and their understanding of human nature. Through the power of logos, “we confute the bad and extol the good” (Isocrates, 4). Cicero likewise revered the power of logos and its potential for goodness, going so far as to make the bold assertion that civilization itself is predicated on logos bringing men together into society.

However, this vision of rhetoric as logos, virtue, and education was fiercely challenged by Plato in his dialogue Gorgias. Here, rhetoric is named for the first time, and is, through dialectic, separated from philosophy and all other arts. Plato refuses to classify rhetoric as an art (logon techne), rather claims it is “a matter of experience and repetition” (47). In opposition to original rhetoricians, Plato (through the mouthpiece of Socrates) claims rhetoric panders to an unknowing audience who is unable to see any other truth beyond the ornamental speech of rhetors. In this way, “rhetoric is simulation,” it appears to know things it does not (Plato, 48). Rhetoric, while not necessarily full of lies, is full of well-spoken words which masquerade as expert testimony. This is the antithesis of pure truth and knowledge, or the ends of philosophy. This cosmetic rhetoric characterized by Plato could be a response to the precarity he may have felt from competing with Isocartes for students. This assertion, however, moves toward the realm of conjecture when Plato is put in conversation with Aristophanes. 

Aristophanes’s In the Clouds characterizes two kinds of arguments: the better and the worse. For sake of scope and focus, I shall only delve into the worse argument. Through his play’s narrative, Aristophanes depicts the worse argument as a deceitful one. For example, the character Strepsiades wishes to utilize the worse argument to talk his way out of debts he owes, illuminating for the audience Aristophanes distaste for argumentation (logos) used for personal advantage. Even Socrates is characterized by Aristophanes as a fraudulent sophist, concerned with speculations. While in contrary to Plato’s sympathetic renderings of the thinker, their texts find a point of collaboration in their condemnation of rhetoric and the sophists who use it for their own selfish ends. 

Aristotle, a student of Plato, had an entirely fresh perspective on rhetoric, and one that greatly differed from his teacher. Aristotle saw the ways in which rhetoric are related to dialectic, the vehicle to truth used in philosophy, and claimed that it was its “counterpart” (133). Exemplified in Plato’s dialogues through Socrates’s discussions, dialectic and rhetoric are not limited to any particular field of study nor used by only certain people, it is a tool all try to use (especially rhetoric). However, dialectic is superior because it relies on more strenuous form of reasoning, the full logical syllogism. 

Rather than focus on the nature of rhetoric as bad or good, Aristotle focused on the ways in which “rhetoric is useful” (136). Aristotle defines rhetoric the ability to see and utilize any available means of persuasion in a particular situation. To persuade is “a kind of demonstration,” such as demonstrating reason through enthymeme, a simplified syllogism, as a means to procure assent to a claim (135). One is persuaded when they feel that something has been demonstrated, when logics are mapped out—which enthymemes attempt to accomplish—however faulty they may be with regards to higher theory of reason. While Aristotle agrees with Plato that, to an extent, rhetoric can be habit, and even something achieved by chance, he asserts that rhetoric is an art: logon techne.

Paralleling the tripartite nature of original rhetoric, Aristotelian rhetoric offers three kinds of rhetoric: deliberative, forensic, and epideictic. Deliberative rhetoric is used in law-making, it keeps an eye to the future and considers the universal. Forensic rhetoric is the rhetoric of the courtroom. It is entirely concerned with the past and hashing out competing truths. This rhetoric aims to win over a jury, however; it requires that rhetors “not lead the juror astray by provoking him into anger or envy or pity,” essentially hijacking their emotions (Aristotle, 134). This is an interesting omission which mimics original’s rhetoric understanding of rhetoric’s power over the soul, and Cicero’s focus on rhetors learning the depths of human emotion. Lastly, epideictic rhetoric, or praise/blame rhetoric. It is a casually and commonly practiced kind of rhetoric. From advertisements to obituaries to political speeches, epideictic rhetoric is versatile and accessible.  

Each element of Aristotelian rhetoric is defined by its utility: what the rhetoric is concerned with and what it does. Aristotle proposes the theory of rhetoric as a tool, as something purely instrumental. Like a shovel, rhetoric can dig holes in someone else’s argument. Like a hammer, it can nail together its own sturdy position. However, like Plato, Aristotle sees rhetoric and philosophy as two separate fields, as evidentiary by his dissociation of rhetoric from dialectic. 

In contemporary times, rhetoric is all around us. Some rhetoricians assert the “we are made in rhetoric,” and that we are made of it (Booth, 141). Gender can be rhetoric, sexuality can be rhetoric, even the law, which we consider neutral, arguably is trying to persuade citizens of something. Rhetorical studies in modernity are far more expansive than these three theories of rhetoric from antiquity. But, they all these share some common ground. They all, in some way or another, believe that rhetoric tries to persuade or impart a belief on an audience. However, we can see the roots of rhetorical studies in modernity, too. 

When President Trump calls the media “Fake News,” that is a critique of rhetoric in the Platonic tradition. He is calling out ‘bad rhetoric.’ However, that claim is arguably bad rhetoric in itself. But, when a student in higher education is forced to take a basic writing class, they will likely be taught instrumental or Aristotelian rhetoric. Original rhetoric, the rhetoric of virtue and education, has been immortalized in less obvious ways. While there may still be overt practitioners who champion its values, original rhetoric is the foundation of a liberal arts education: the creation of virtuous, interdisciplinary, and well-spoken students. Modern rhetoric and rhetorical studies are still closely wed to their foundations in Ancient Greece and Rome. 

Works Cited

Aristophanes. In the Clouds. 

Aristotle. “Rhetoric.” Plato: Gorgias and Aristotle: Rhetoric. Hacket Publishing Company, 2009.

Booth, Wayne. Modern Dogma and the Rhetoric of Assent. The University of Chicago Press, 1974.

Cicero. De Oratore. 

Gorgias. Enocomium of Helen. University of South Carolina Press, 1972. 

Isocrates, Antidosis. 

Pernot, Laurent. Rhetoric in Antiquity, translated by W.E. Higgins, Catholic Cl of America, 2005. 

Plato. “Gorgias.” Plato: Gorgias and Aristotle: Rhetoric, Hacket Publishing Company, 2009.

[alexissleeps]

Consumption of Identity via Food Packaging

Consumption is an expression of personal identity, from the clothes one wears to the car one buys, these material goods are an outward reflection of personal taste, lifestyle, and values. Less obviously, food is also an extension of personal identity. Veganism and vegetarianism, for example, are dietary choices which may reflect values, personal health concerns, or simply preference. In this context, food itself represents a faucet of someones individual identity. Less overtly, the packaging the food is in also reflects the identity of the consumer who purchases it. The packaging is more than a protection for the product but a marketing tool, a method of communication from producer to potential consumer, a rhetorical device to influence the buying habits of those examining isles in search for essential food stuffs. By applying Burkean lens on the rhetorical power of co-identification, consumption habits of individuals can be understood through the ability for packaging to resonate with personal identity of a potential buyer. 

Marketing and psychological research has demonstrated that packaging (of any kind) appeals to the subconscious of buyers and elicits irrational buying choices (Kniazeva and Belk, 748). This allows producers to capitalize off of short and informative (although typically misleading) claims on the front of food packaging, a rhetorical exchange which takes seconds to influence the customer. How exactly does it do so? In a 2009 article by Maria Kniazeva and Russell W. Belk, titled “Supermarkets as Libraries of Postmodern Mythology,” they explore the methodology of this phenomena. Kniazeva and Belk organized a sociological study which included nine long interviews of participants, first gathering data on their buying habits and personal philosophies then asking them to interpret the personality of a product based on its packaging. The results of the study unveiled that if the narrative a potential consumer subscribed to a product matched their own sensibilities or lifestyle habits, they were typically drawn to buy it. Buzzwords, such as “homemade,” for example, “imbues food with superior quality (…) [or] is emotionally equated with continuity [and] tradition” (Kniazeva and Belk, 752). It’s not surprising, then, that participant who responded to the homemade claims was a health professional from the baby boomer generation, and refused to purchase products which were processed and frozen, or otherwise stood in antithesis with “old-fashioned” fresh food. Homemade claims on food packaging resonated with her personal identity and values. 

Identity has briefly been shown thus far to operate as a rhetorical device in the food market, yet how identity can function in this manner is a theory greatly attributed to rhetorical theorist Kenneth Burke. Most concisely, Burke refers to identity as “the statement of the thing’s nature” (20). The nature of a thing could refer to it’s properties, physical and material, it’s beliefs or factional alignments, it’s interest, activities, or motives. Burke then establishes a paradigm of the process co-identification or “consubstantiality,” starting with defining person A and person B, who are not identical but, “insofar as their interests are joined, A is identified with B” (Burke, 20). A may identify with B even when their interests are not joined unless he assumes or is persuaded to believe they are. Since “identification is compensatory to division,” consubstantiality assumes cooperation and common interests, both of which are the “characteristic invitation to rhetoric” (Burke, 25). When two or more peoples interests are at least perceived to be conjoined, especially on a particularly poignant or impelling belief or value, it becomes a point of accessibility to employ other rhetorical devices in order to maintain consubstantiality (or conversely division) to achieve the ends of persuasion, in this case buying food. Identity therefore is a powerful rhetoric device in itself and assists in the greater rhetorical process. 

The process of consubstantiality is particularly evident in the Kniazeva and Belk study which uncovers the dual narratives of a product- its identity is a collaboration between producer and consumer, “[w]hile corporations craft the packaging stories by reflecting on societal trends, consumers utilize packaging rhetoric to fit their own individual objectives and desires”  (752). This conceptualization of how identity influences purchasing choices in conjunction with current dietary trends, largely a product of the media creating a more “informed public, but also a more [health] concerned public,” work together to produce a new realm of consumption habits for a particular subsets of consumers (Welford, 4). This realm is that of Whole Foods, Co-operatives, and stores of the like which boast their organic goods and ethical consumption options. 

Beyond just purchasing products which reflect personal identity, stores like Whole Foods allow one to be immersed in their identity and lifestyle. The store itself constructs a narrative which appeals to a particular consumer subculture, defined by advertising researcher Michael Serazio as “bourgeois, bohemian, and baby boomer,” through its carefully curated organic and ethical groceries (159). The name of the store itself boasts the ‘wholeness’ of their products,  word steeped in holistic connotations. Similar establishments, like Wild Oats, also has a name which “anchors the store in nature, in the wilderness” (Dickinson and Maugh, 261). Some producers even donate a small percentage of their profits to various charities which align with the social, political, and spiritual ideals of the typical consumers. Health conscious and global consciousness woven into consumption offer wealthy but liberal buyers “absolution of [their] excesses,” it allows them to reconcile their beliefs and their bourgeois status while buying things (Serazio, 166). Stores like Whole Foods give shoppers the opportunity to “buy values through grocery products… leftist values, 1960s values, environmental values, (…) even anti-consumerist values,” all which align with the lifestyle and identity of the typical shopper (Serazio, 166). Through the process of consumption one is buying more than groceries or food they like, they are buying products which reflect facets of personal identity. 

Identifying with the culture of store or the identity of a product allows other rhetoric devices, such as visual rhetoric and diction, to more forcefully influence the consumer. 

Supermarkets and health food stores act beyond just selling food products, “they materialize consumer culture in tidy, colorful packages” (Dickinson and Maugh, 259). The bohemian bourgeois, for example, identify with consumer culture found at whole food markets and cooperatives. This identification endows producers with more opportunities to employ more direct rhetorical techniques, the most overt of those being diction. Serazio states stores like “Whole Foods rhetorically roots the shopper in this natural utopia” (168). Consumer fads and mainstream lifestyle habits are reflected in these popular buzzwords employed by producers. Words such as ‘natural’ and ‘fresh’ are often boldly plastered on green packaging, all of which act to bolster the ethos of products inside. But what is naturalness and do these buzzwords truly reflect the identity of the product? It is the co-narrative and myth making process between producer and consumer as theorized by Kniazeva and Belk. Legally, these words mean very little, the “FDA has declined to define the term ‘natural,’” and it can be used as a rhetorical tool on almost any food product. (Pomeranz, 628). The identity of the product is therefore defined through the packaging itself and the consumers perception of the its identity. 

Diction employed by food producers allows the process of Burkean consubstantiality, the co-identification of person and product, to deepen and further rhetorically move the buyer in the direction of purchasing a good. These words are considerably more effective because the “majority of consumers are perplexed about how to interpret these ads and labels” (Welford, 4). A misguided and irrational consumer is easily persuaded to buy a product which boast claims that align with personal interests, values, and taste.- a product which is an extensive of themselves or their lifestyle. 

Kenneth Burke’s theory of identification and consubstantiality can be used as a lens to interpret and examine how food packaging influences buying habits directly, beyond formal advertisements. When the interests of the buyer and the product are conjoined or aligned, the confused buyer in a vast marketplace is more likely to purchase those types of products. Possibly the product is more corporate, and therefore cheaper, to align with the lifestyle needs of students and working class individuals. Or, the product claims to be ‘natural’ or ‘low fat,’ or employs other buzzwords which may impress in the minds of the health conscious buyer, or a buyer from an older generation who detests processed foods that are high in fats and sugars. Food products then are not just nourishment, but a reflection of the personal identity of the buyer. 

Works Cited

Burke, Kenneth. A Rhetoric of Motives. University of California Press, 1969. 

Dickinson, Greg and Casey M. Maugh. “Placing Visual Rhetoric: Finding Material Comfort in Wild Oats Market.” Defining Visual Rhetorics, pp. 250-265. 

Kniazeva, Maria and Russell W. Belk. “Supermarkets as libraries of postmodern mythology.” Journal of Business Research, vol. 63, 2009, pp. 748-753.

Pomeranz, Jennifer L. “A Comprehensive Strategy to Overhaul FDA Authority for Misleading Food Labels.” American Journal of Law and Medicine, vol. 39, 2013, pp. 617-647.

Serazio, Michael. “Ethos Groceries and Countercultural Appetites: Consuming Memory in Whole Foods Brand Utopia.” The Journal of Popular Culture, vol. 44, no. 1, 2011,     

pp. 158-177.  

Welford, Win. "SUPERMARKET SEMANTICS: The Rhetoric of Food Labeling and Advertising." ETC: A Review of General Semantics, vol. 49, no. 1, 1992, pp. 3-17.