Implementing the Master Plan: Undergraduate Writing Requirements and the Changing Face of California by Carrie K. Wastal

For those who do not know, California has a tripartite system for public higher education.  California’s tiered system is composed of community or two-year colleges, state colleges, and universities.  In 1959, California State legislature called on the Liaison Committee of The Regents of the University and the State Board of Education to develop recommendations for public higher education in the upcoming decade.  The result was The Master Plan for Higher Education in California, 1970-1985.  The committee focused its recommendations on the role of each tier, distribution of undergraduate and graduate students, economic considerations, and the physical plants of new and existing campuses.

Over subsequent decades, administrators, academics, and politicians have reassessed and updated the original Master Plan.  This paper quickly outlines the changes in the Master Plan that reflect the shifting cultural, social, and economic concerns in California and in public education.  Additionally, it draws attention to the ramifications for student admissions and student demographics at the University of California.

The original Master Plan demonstrates a distinctively economic viewpoint. Concerned with possible competition from private and out-of-state colleges and universities for qualified students and their tuition, the members of the joint committee examined ways to ensure a future student population and a certain quality of education.  At the same time, enrollment in all sectors of higher education was rising and expected to continue to increase.  As benefactors of public monies, public higher education in California had a legal obligation to accommodate the children of the state’s citizens.  Therefore, the plan had to make provisions for a wide range of students and student ability.

Whatever its concern for economic viability, the most far-reaching recommendation of the Master Plan has to do with admissions standards.  The 1960s admissions standards determined the distribution of California high school graduates in each tier.  According to the standards, the top 12 1/2 per cent of graduates were eligible for admission to the University of California, the top 33 1/3 per cent were eligible to state colleges, and the remaining graduates were relegated to community colleges.  This distribution was an attempt to reduce undergraduate enrollment at the University of California, where education is more costly, and disperse undergraduates to community colleges and state colleges, where education is less costly.  Yet, it concretizes a hierarchical system of student admissions.  In other words, in the plan, more qualified students will be admitted to the University while less qualified students will attend community colleges or state colleges.

Justification for the diversion of undergraduates to the community colleges depended on the following: junior college transfer students achieve higher scholastic records in state colleges and the UCs; community college screens the students most likely to succeed beyond the lower division; and the lower costs of community college as compared to state college and the UC.  Yet, the conclusion of that section emphasizes that the community college system is, in the words of the Master Plan, “noteworthy in that it provides high caliber lower division education . . . at a cost to the state much below that which can be offered by either of the other publicly controlled segments . . .” (65).

The Liaison Committee acknowledges that a myriad of factors prevent many high school graduates from entering higher education.  Such factors as incentive, early marriage, military service, and financial resources are listed. Financial resources could be read as an indicator of class, since some students cannot afford the costs of attending a UC.  However, the word class is not used in the original Master Plan.  The closest the plan comes is a series of recommendations for scholarships, including “subsistence scholarships.” Economics and student quality as a justification for the exclusion of the majority of California high school graduates stands as the Plan’s primary focus.

Race is also not mentioned in the original Master Plan despite society’s growing concern with Civil Rights during the late 1950s and 1960s.  Race, as a factor for admissions, remains unarticulated until later versions of the Master Plan.

The original Master Plan was not above recommending coercion when it suggested that counselors redirect some students into community college by selling them on its benefits.  The words of the plan state, “Whether by conviction or coercion, or both, the segments must divert students from overcrowded institutions to those with unused capacity” (81).  It is understood that this action should take place even if it means that some students will have to abandon their plans for higher education.  It also means that the Master Plan authorizes high school counselors to determine if that student can succeed at the UC.  In this scenario, a decision about education that may have belonged to the family is pre-empted.

Subsequent work on the Master Plan better reflects society’s increasing concern with issues of equal opportunity and affirmative action.  Later versions of the Master Plan raise race as a factor in admissions.  The advent of affirmative action and the adoption of California Legislature Resolution 151 (1974), which requires public higher education to reflect the ethnic makeup of high school graduates, brought race to the forefront of admissions discussions.[1]  Ironically, by the early 1980s, new Master Plan recommendations clearly separate out Asian students from African American, Latino, and Native American students. In other words, the Master Plan does not consider Asian students to be underrepresented, which is a precursor of the position of the UC during the admissions controversy at Berkeley in the mid 1980s.  Briefly, the 1984 fall admissions rate of Asian Americans fell dramatically despite indications of a rise in Asian American population.  Asian American community groups suspected that this fall was the result of a deliberate and hidden shift in administrative policy.  The ensuing admissions controversy lasted several years.

Arguably, the Master Plan attempts to balance rigorous admissions standards, fairness in admissions, and California’s economic realities in planning for public higher education.  Various versions of the Master Plan constitute efforts to implement legislative mandates in different eras of public higher education.  Of course such efforts are not unique to California.  Rather, they are indicative of the requirement that teachers and administrators implement the recommendations of legislative mandates.  This seems particularly important given the ubiquitous presence and often-contested role of writing and writing requirements in the admissions process of higher education.



[1] Assembly Concurrent Resolution 151—Relative to public higher education: “Requests governing authority of various institutions of public higher education to prepare a plan providing for addressing and overcoming, by 1980, ethnic, sexual, and economic underrepresentation in the makeup of the student bodies of institutions of public higher education, and to submit such plan to the California Postsecondary Education Commission by July 1, 1975, and request similar reports annually thereafter.”  Resolution 151 also states that institutions of public higher education should use “experimentation to discover alternate means of evaluating student potential.”

Review – The Art of Spiritual Warfare by Albert S. Moorin

When covering Sun Tzu’s 2500-year-old text of The Art of Warteachers usually notice that students struggle with the translation, the unusual names, and the discursive organization of its message. Taught in history of ideas classes and the military war colleges, this book of ancient wartime strategy was used quite successfully in winning the Gulf War with minimum casualties. Ironic and cryptic to the modern reader, its persistent message is winning the war without fighting is the acme of skill, a theme reminiscent of Lao Tzu Tung’s equally baffling strategy of political rule in the Tao-te-Ching.

Grant Schnarr, author of The Art of Spiritual Warfare, explains how the message of The Art of War is not only confined to battle situations between countries but also to battles within the mind. Strategic disposition to prepare for war is to make the fighting force invincible and watch for the enemy’s vulnerability. Paralleling this position, the spiritual warrior identifies in his thoughts and emotions his own “enemy” traits such as anger, procrastination, laziness, resentment, self-pity, and anxiety. Watching these traits pass by in his mind like clouds passing overhead, he remembers his strength and security and, if necessary, calls on his higher power. Thus he vanquishes his weaknesses, maintains control, and triumphs in the midst of challenges.

In a similar way The Art of War suggests that the warrior avoid futile or needless battles and instead set new priorities. Likewise the spiritual warrior avoids futile emotional scenes by simply not participating in them. Should he have to fight his most formidable enemies – namely his fear or loss of relationships or even death – he could slay these dragons by remembering his strengths: reviewing scripture or studying the ancient tents of wisdom and remaining ever conscious of the present moment, a Buddhist concept known as mindfulness. Perhaps the greatest enemy is becoming a victim of one’s shortcomings, but even these losses will teach the spiritual warrior some valuable lessons.

Overall, Grant Schnarr reminds the reader that The Art of War, seemingly foreign and out of touch with modern life, contains a two-fold benefit: a set of rules to win the battle against another country and, just as important, a secret, less easily discernible message that this same struggle goes on within the individual. The good news is that both enemies can be conquered, not with direct confrontation but with indirect strategies that call on the spiritual warrior’s awareness and willingness to try new approaches.

Traditionally, the theme of the outer world mirroring the inner world is no stranger to the history of ideas. Plato’s “Allegory of the Cave” causes the reader to imagine himself in a cave of ignorance that can be overcome by traversing above the cave to attain enlightenment.  Dante’s Divine Comedy, Milton’sParadise Lost, Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, and the medieval morality plays all portray the archetypal Christian battling the forces of evil, a role model for the spiritual aspirant to overcome his own temptations. The Renaissance man, with his belief in the Great Chain of Being, also recognized the hierarchal order that showed similar correspondences in weather patterns, classes of animals and minerals, with human behaviors, and destinies. Today quantum physicists predicate a protean universe in which each atom is literally a microcosm of the whole cosmos, each human being a collection of millions of atoms that share incomprehensible vistas of space and energy. Such ideas stir the imagination and boggle the mind.

As for pedagogy, The Art of Spiritual Warfare can serve as an admirable ally in producing thoughtful critical essays. The mysterious, paradoxical link between the subject of a text and the inner world of a reader is at the center of rhetorical inquiry. Might students discover and solve conflicts within themselves as they ponder their own relationships or relationships found in other readings? “Letter from Birmingham Jail” shows how Dr. King’s incarceration and letter identify the racial conflicts and their possible solutions. By extension students could write essays about the mental incarceration from the freedoms they deserve. They could then write a letter discussing their own inner techniques of passive resistance. The possibilities are endless. What we read becomes not only what we think about but also what we apply to our own personal lives, a kind of personal myth taking form. Grant Schnarr in The Art of Spiritual Warfarereminds us that reading is not only cerebral but also intrapersonal.

Review – Passions, Pedagogies, and 21st Century Technologies by Page Gaither

Gail Hawisher and Cynthia Selfe have woven their collaborative volume from 23 provocative essays, each written from a unique voice and with a far-reaching relevance to society as a whole. As Hawisher and Selfe show us, the discussions and debates surrounding the blend and clash of pedagogical practice with today’s high-tech inheritance have many voices, but if there is one voice that speaks most loudly in this compilation it is, as the title suggests, the voice of passion.  This passion is coupled with a desire for an open and honest discussion that might ideally result in more useful, less parochial attitudes with respect to composition, learning, and technology.  Hawisher defines such a conscientious way of approaching the concerns of theory vs. practice as a praxisin her notes on hyper-reading to James Sosnoski in Chapter 9 (173).  
I envision “praxis” as being somewhere between practice and theory—actually a thought-ful form of practice.  Let me quote Porter here.  He writes, “Praxis is more than a simple addition of or compromise between theory and practice, conscious of itself, that calls upon ‘prudential reasoning’ for the sake not only of production but for ‘right conduct’ as well.  It is informed action, as well as politically and ethically conscious action that in its functioning overlaps practical and productive knowledge.”

While Hawisher’s words here are specifically directed at the subject of hyper-reading, the basic philosophy of theory-informed-by-practice is one that reverberates throughout the entirety of this work as it pleads with us to think not just outside of, but also, in spite of, the proverbial box.

Part I of this four part volume is entitled “Refiguring Notions of Literacy in an Electronic World” and gives the reader “an historical overview of writing as a technology” The chapters in this section take a variety of avenues in order “to challenge — and sometimes defend — conventional and not so conventional notions of literacy within the context of the current wired world.”  In the first chapter, Dennis Baron’s approach to the questions surrounding writing as a technology takes the reader on a tour of writing and communication technologies through time.  He considers issues of human interface and literacy as experienced during the advent, the rebellion against, and ultimately, the rise and permanent adoption of the pencil, the telephone, the telegraph, and finally, the computer.  Within this discussion Baron looks at issues of fear and mistrust of new technologies, of technology’s affects on learning as we know it, and even of the printed materials our technology helps us to produce.  While cautioning us, Baron challenges and obliterates the technophobe’s obsession with convention by stating that “computer communications are not going to go away” and by speculating that even Thoreau, if he were alive, “would be keyboarding his complaints about the information superhighway on a personal computer that he assembled from spare parts in his garage.”

In “The Haunting Story of J:  Genealogy as a Critical Category in Understanding How a Writer Composes”, also of Part I, Sarah J. Sloane proposes the terms genealogy, medial hauntings, and apparitional knowledge as ways of describing how “a writer’s past writing experiences inform his present choices in constructing the scene of his writing”.  According to Sloane’s case study of a composition student named J, important choices of the writer that are affected by past experiences include “what topic he chooses to write about, what tools he uses to write with, where he chooses to write, and what writing community he chooses to join.”  Sloane relies heavily on portions of Foucault’s work,  Power/Knowledge (1980), where he reconstructs the term genealogy as used by Nietzsche (1956) in his work The Genealogy of Morals.

In a response article entitled, “Dropping Bread Crumbs in the Intertextual Forest”, Diana George and Diane Shoos offer a discussion of critical literacy in a postmodern age. As George and Shoos introduce their discussion of intertextuality via Mikhail Bahktin’s concept of “dialogism”, they also bring to mind remembrances of Derrida who tells us, in the section of Disseminationentitled “Plato’s Pharmacy” (a critical reading of Plato’s Phaedrus) that “reading and writing are actually one”. Based on an assumption of Bahktin’s intertextuality and on a constructionist understanding of reading and writing, George and Shoos conclude this chapter by raising the question of the responsibility that rests upon the shoulders of a modern literate society. “Representation is never innocent”, they state and “it has real effects and repercussions.”  One of their final lines give us plenty to consider: “This is a very serious business in a world in which racism, hatred, poverty, violence, hunger, and fear play no small part in the ways we live our lives and the decisions we make about our communities.”

In Part II, “Revisiting Notions of Teaching and Access in an Electronic World”, the focus is shifted to serious gaps between the ideal and the real where technology and education are concerned.  In “Beyond Imagination”Lester Faigley examines real-world concerns about access, opportunities and the “privatization of education”.  He wonders, “How does education change for a child who begins school with the potential to communicate with millions of other children and adults, to publish globally, and to explore the largest library every assembled?”  At the same time he tells us that “sometimes hidden in these stories about the incredible potential of the Internet are hard facts that classroom teachers know all too well”.  According to Faigley these hard facts prove that, in reality, many schools are under equipped, that the majority of school children are not getting their turn at the keyboard and that this has many implications for our modern literacy.  Faigley follows up by expressing concerns about “how education [will] be affected by the increasing presence of large corporations in making decisions about how children and adults will learn” and warns us that technology itself should not become the center of learning  but rather, it should be used as an enhancement for teaching students to analyze, synthesize, to be responsible citizens and benevolent stewards of technology in a world in where technology is an undeniable pharmakon (Derrida, Dissemination, 1968) and in which concepts of literacy are quickly changing.

In more specific terms, James Sosnoski looks at changing literacy through his discussion of new, less linear definitions of reading entitled “Hyper-readers and their Reading Engines”.  Sosnoski defines and outlines elements of hyper-reading which do not apply to our conventional definitions of reading but which he asserts are much more realistic when considering the “constructive hypertexts” that online readers are being asked to digest.  In addition, Sosnoski raises concerns of “rain clouds on the horizon” in the form of over-theorizing by postmodernists and followers of Baudrillardian thought which might charge hyper-reading with the “destruction of scholarly reading practices” and the potential loss of “norms” that provide “discipline” (173).

In response to Faigley’s, Sosknoski’s and other articles in Part II, Bertram C. Bruce writes to the reader through an understanding of Ludwig Wittgenstein’s work, Tractatus (1961).  Bruce asks us to speak and think outside Wittgenstein’s “circle” of that which is appropriate for discussion.  For Bruce, these things are taboo topics such as access and other issues silenced by the existing mainstream theories of pedagogy, composition, and technology.  Bruce sees that there is a “constant pressure” in the academy “to eliminate the idiosyncratic or the personal, and to mute questions about purpose, goodness, equity, and beauty” which are present in practice but often silenced in theory. As if to break this silence, and in echo of earlier authors in Part II, Bruce closes with what may be the most potent questions of the volume:  “What do we want students to learn?  How can we use new technologies?  How should we?  Why should we?  What will change when we do?  Do we want those changes? What do they mean for us, our students, society?  What is fair?  What kind of society doe we want to live in?  And, perhaps ultimately, who do we want to become?”

More impassioned voices can be heard in Part III of Hawisher and Selfe’s encompassing volume, “Ethical and Feminist Concerns in an Electronic World.”   Susan Romano’s article, “On Becoming A Woman: Pedagogies of Self”, looks at the true nature of online environments as they relate to women’s opportunities for open discourse.  Romano proposes that common metaphors such as “open frontier” and “free space” may not always work when applied to a female’s experience of web-based communications and holds that regardless of physical access, the online conferencing environment can be as “exclusionary” as it is “inclusionary” for women and for ethnic minorities as well.  She maintains a convincing argument that gender, race, and other societal biases do exist even in cyberspace and shows how new forms of oppression are among the side effects of  high-tech growth.  As a possible pedagogical tool and way of providing women with greater opportunities for uninhibited, self-empowering discourse, Romano suggests the use of pseudonymous electronic discussions and explores, in depth, the numerous and not completely controllable possibilities of this type of cyber-talk through real-world classroom experiences.

In response to the articles in Part III, Cynthia Haynes offers her essay, “Virtual Diffusion”, a discussion of “Ethics, Techné and Feminism at the End of the Cold Millennium.”  Here Haynes looks at the potentially dangerous logic (logos) that humans have developed in relation to technology and offers a combination of ethics, techné, and feminism as a salve.  She tells us that, as the contributors of this volume have done, we must not refrain from practicing “safe rhetoric” which is to “look at something from a number of perspectives, to analyze our culture in terms of how discourse shapes culture, shapes material and social conditions, and shapes attitudes.”  Haynes concludes that the Internet and Internet-based educational programs are “upsetting the logos of academy” and that the challenge of introducing the Internet into instruction is “radically changing the way we teach and argue, and with whom.”  For Haynes this upset means the upheaval of conventional practices in higher education and possibly the beginning of “the ground shifting under our feet” (Spivak) as issues of ethics, feminism, and technology evolve in unison.

Finally, in Part IV, in a grouping of essays entitled “Searching for Notions of Our Postmodern Literate Selves in an Electronic World“, Hawisher and Selfe turn our attention back to concepts and definitions of literacy.  In Anne Wysocki and Johndan Johnson-Eilola’s article, “Blinded by the Letter”, we are asked “to unpack” our unquestioned assumptions about literacy and what it entails in exchange for new and more fully encompassing redefinitions of the concept. The two authors ask the question, “What are we likely to carry with us when we ask that our relationship with all technologies should be like that we have with the technology of printed words?”  In this way, they force us to reevaluate terms such as “technological literacy”, “computer literacy”, and “media literacy”, to question our own biases, and to look within our own understanding of our society, technology, and literacy to find alternative ways of articulating our relationship with the new technologies.

Janet Carey Eldred’s piece entitled “Technology’s Strange, Familiar Voices”, also in Part IV, answers Bruce Bertram’s (225) earlier call for more explorations of the personal.  In her poignant and impassioned discussion of voice through technology, Eldred tells how e-mail put her back in touch with her mother’s true essence once overshadowed by waning health and indecipherable vocalizations.  In the style of memoirs, Eldred reminds us that technology and writing are not merely visual but can also be heard and felt.

In summary, the concluding questions of Bertram C. Bruce (227) again seem most appropriate.

“What do we want students to learn?  How can we use new technologies?  How should we?  Why should we?  What will change when we do?  Do we want those changes?  What do they mean for us, our students, society?  What is fair?  What kind of society do we want to live in?  And, perhaps ultimately, who do we want to become?”

It is these questions, along with other provocative ones asked by the editors and contributors that make this volume such worthwhile reading.  In addition, it seems important to remember that although Hawisher’s and Selfe’s introductory words, entitled “The Passions that Mark Us: Teaching, Texts, and Technologies”, as well as the words of their contributors may be especially aimed at fellow academicians, their musings, proposals, warnings, and lessons are wise  fodder for anyone with a keyboard, a mouse, and a monitor.

The Rhetorical Self Fashioning of Technical Communication, 1984-1994 by Chris Werry San Diego State University

Introduction

In the last fifteen years technical communication[1] has undergone an explosive phase of growth both as a professional practice and as a field of academic inquiry.  In industry, U.S. labor department reports show technical communication to be among the fastest growing professions in the country.[2] Within the university, the increase has also been marked.  In 1976 only 19 institutions were listed as offering academic programs in technical communication (Kelly et al, Academic Programs in Technical Communication).  By 1985 that figure had almost tripled, reaching 56.  Since 1985 this rate of growth has only increased.    In the last few years alone the number of doctoral programs in technical communication has quadrupled. According to a study by Theresa Enos, technical communication has become ‘the fastest growing area in English departments, if not the fastest growth area in the entire university curriculum’.  (Enos, page 95)

The field’s growth has been accompanied in recent years by a struggle to achieve disciplinary legitimacy.  Technical communication provides a striking example of an academic field in the midst of disciplinary self-fashioning, fighting to establish and shore up the core components of disciplinarity.  As such, it has tended to exhibit a remarkable degree of self-consciousness about the mechanisms by which disciplinarity is achieved.  In journals and academic forums, discussions about professionalism and disciplinarity have been in the foreground for some time now.  However, little attention has been paid to this process, despite its relevance to the fields of Rhetoric, Composition, and English studies. This paper begins the job of constructing a historical sketch of an important period of transformation in technical communication.  In particular, the paper focuses on a series of key moments between 1984 and 1994 that represent significant shifts in the constitution if technical communication as an academic field.

1985-1989:  Beginnings

David Russell has argued that it is really only after WWII that technical communication in the U.S. emerges as an identifiable field, both inside and outside the academy (Russell, 250).  Rapid technological growth coupled with the postwar economic boom led to a strong demand for technical writers in government and in industry, fueling an increase in technical communication courses and teaching staff.  Russell notes that it is in the 1950′s that the first professional organization (the Society for Technical Communication), the first journals and the first graduate program came into being.  In the decades that followed the field continued to grow at a steady pace.  By 1973 there were 3 main journals (Technical CommunicationTechnical Writing TeacherJournal of Technical Writing and Communication) and an academic professional society (the Association of Teachers of Technical Writing).  Wilcox cites a 1973 survey which found that 32.9% of English departments in the U.S. offered courses in technical communication, (Wilcox, page 59) and it is also in the early 1970′s that the first majors in technical communication are offered in English departments[3].

However, while a certain degree of growth is evident in the decades after the war and some noticeable changes in the field do occur, I would argue that the character of knowledge production remains largely unchanged until around 1985, and that the central components of a disciplinary apparatus are absent.  Until the mid-1980′s there were no doctoral programs in technical communication, and relatively few Masters programs.  There were few professional meetings at the academic level; there was no body of research and hardly any theory.   The field’s journals contained significant percentages of articles by nonacademics and consisted largely of tips, teaching pointers and other forms of what North classifies as ‘lore’.  Furthermore, even academic authors of journal articles tended to see their audience as located as much outside the university as inside it, and it is perhaps significant that most university libraries only begin holding the field’s major journals from around 1985 onwards.  As a field, technical communication held a precarious institutional position both within the university and the English departments (where it was most often housed), lacking an established system of promotion, tenure and certification. In short, the condition and forms of knowledge production identifiable prior to the mid-1980′s are best described as ‘pre-disciplinary’[4].

In the early to mid-1980′s the field underwent some profound changes. To begin with, there was a radical increase in the number of professional writers, (caused in part by new computing technologies) and in the number of courses offered in Rhetoric programs and in English departments.  By 1984, 63% of all English departments offered undergraduate courses in the subject, 31% offered degree programs and 3% offered doctoral programs (Huber, 173). MLA surveys in 1983-4, and 1986 show technical communication as the highest growth area for English majors (cited in Porter, 400).  Of some significance is the role English departments start taking in the accrediting of technical communication specialists during this period.  In 1971, only 15% of members of the Society for Technical Communication were English majors, and 40% were without any university degree at all.  By 1988, 65% of STC members had degrees in English (often with majors in technical communication or Professional Writing) and only 8% lacked university degrees.[5]  This stronger departmental affiliation with English was added to through an increase in programs offering a major in technical communication (roughly one third of English departments in 1984).  The growth of the major enhanced the curricular status of technical communication and marks a significant point in the field’s development.  Porter goes so far as to argue that the establishment of the undergraduate major at this time was crucially important to the disciplinary trajectory of technical communication.  He writes:

The status of major is institutionally and curricularly important. When a group has a major, it can develop and control content of a series of courses for undergraduates, it can argue for new staff and determine their qualifications, it can defensibly conduct research in the area for the purposes of tenure and promotion, and it can argue for graduate programs to educate the faculty to be hired in other like majors. (Porter, 406)

Porter is certainly right to identify the major as helping provide a firmer institutional position for technical communication in the mid-eighties (406), a position that was indeed important in enabling research, greater academic security and the demand for more graduate courses.  However he perhaps overestimates the extent to which the growth of the field can be linked to the emergence of undergraduate majors alone.  A number of other factors must be taken into account.  For example, also of importance was the success of Rhetoric and Composition during the eighties in establishing a research base, a body of theory, a set of doctoral programs (from which many of technical communication’s best known writers came[6]), and in legitimating the study of nonacademic writing as a serious field of academic endeavor.

By the mid-eighties a number of changes are also identifiable in the field’s journals.  There is a pronounced decrease in articles by nonacademic writers, and an increase in those by academics.  An intensive period of discussion takes place concerning technical communication’s status and how it might best be transformed into a ‘proper’ discipline.   And most obviously, there is a dramatic turn towards theory, rhetoric and research as means of authorizing the field’s practices.  Particularly striking is the shift toward research that takes over the field.  Symptomatic of this is a 1985 edition of Technical Communication  which announces a significant change in direction for the journal.[7]  It begins with an address by the president of the Society for Professional Communication, Frank Smith, who writes:

From the earliest days of our profession (discipline? occupation?), practitioners have been solving problems the direct, brute force way…Typically, we work on the basis of intuition and folklore, and when a client asks us why we want to change his expression or his table or his organization, our only answer is that we THINK it’s more effective our way.  The client is perfectly justified in that case to say that HE thinks it isn’t.  We need to be able to say that…research has proven conclusively that our recommended approach is superior (4-5)

Smith’s piece immediately registers a tone of crisis in its uncertainty about what to call the field, and dramatizes nicely the anxiety felt by many at this time about the field’s status.  Smith makes it clear that what is at stake in the elaboration of a body of specialized theory and research is the power and control it affords professionals over their clients.  In Smith’s article the production of research based academic knowledge is seen as essential for claims of professional legitimacy, expertise and jurisdiction[8].  Smith goes on to complain that such professional control is impossible due to the ‘infantile’ state of the field, and concludes that the addition of research will help significantly in this respect. (5)

The presidential address is followed by Thomas Pinelli’s editorial, which begins by echoing Smith’s argument about the status of technical communication:

At present, technical communication is considered to be a field of endeavor to many and a profession to some, but not a discipline.  It is time for technical communication to assume its rightful place with the other academic disciplines.  A body of knowledge derived from research is the key to attaining that position.  To make this transition in status, members of this field must begin to apply the scientific method. (6)

While Smith and Pinelli’s articles differ in emphasis (Smith is more concerned with how an overhauled technical communication will benefit practitioners in industry, while Pinelli focuses more on its status in academia) both seem to share a similar vision of what a ‘respectable’ discipline is.  Both associate true disciplinary status with having a unified research base and following ‘the scientific method’ (4-7).  Both see disciplines as automatically maturing over time through the accumulation of research.  For example Smith talks about disciplines as going through states of infancy, adolescence and finally maturity, which is achieved when a ‘critical mass’ of research exists (5).  Pinelli provides a similar account, but couches it in more explicitly inductivist language.  He writes that ‘each investigation contributes to the expansion of the overall knowledge of the discipline.  The cumulative effort of this gradual process leads to verification; spurious information is identified and replaced by more accurate information’ (6) Such assumptions about what disciplines are and how they function are evident throughout much of the literature in the field at this point in time.

Both Smith and Pinelli’s articles mark the beginning of an assault on lore in the journal.   Smith complains that too much work in the field is ‘intuition and folklore’, little more than the ‘collected experience of a generation of cut-and-tryers’, as opposed to ‘facts and data based on controlled scientific research.’ (4) Pinelli writes that too much of what appears in journals and conference proceedings is based on ‘personal and often limited experiences and preferences.’ (6) This complaint against lore becomes an increasingly common refrain in technical communication circles from this point on.

Smith and Pinelli’s articles also announce the start of several new measures that will have a significant impact on both the journal’s trajectory and that of the wider field.  To begin with, Smith describes a new section to be added to the journal, called ‘Current Research in Technical Communication’, edited by Steven Doheny-Farina[9].  This section marks the start of a new emphasis in the journal, one that will expand significantly over time with the addition of other sections devoted to research.  Further, Pinelli’s editorial lists a series of steps to be taken by the journal and by the Society for Technical Communication to produce the research necessary in the coming years.  He suggests that the society increase funding to scholarly research in the universities via the research grants program set up in 1983.  He argues that STC start lobbying for more graduate programs in technical communication, for more research oriented courses in these programs, and that Technical Communication increase its publication of the products of such programs.  He also proposes the establishment of a category of awards for scholarly research, and that STC start accrediting technical communication programs[10].  As far as I can tell from examining the following issues of Technical Communication, most of Pinelli’s proposals were carried out in some form or other over the next few years (a notable exception being STC’s attempt to set up a formal system of accreditation for professional writers, which was abandoned in 1987) and had an important impetus on the field’s move towards a research orientation.  Finally, Smith and Pinelli’s 1985 articles make it clear that during the mid-eighties the push towards establishing a research literature was driven to a significant extent (in the early stages, at least) by practitioners working outside the university as well as by those inside it (thus differentiating it from the situation in Composition Studies described by North).

If one looks again at Technical Communication  four years later, in 1989, the results of the shift in direction announced by Smith, Pinelli, Doheny-Farina and others is visible.  Graduates from doctoral programs in technical communication and rhetoric have taken up key positions in the journal. Practical, lore-based concerns have given a large amount of ground to theory, empirical research and issues relating to the disciplinary status of technical communication.  Scholarly research appears to have been successfully installed as the dominant practice.  An important figure with respect to this last development is Stephen Doheny-Farina. During the eighties Doheny-Farina, in his capacity as editor of the ‘Current Research in Technical Communication’ section had done much to advocate the importance of research[11].  In the third issue of the 1989 volume he and his collaborators John Beard and David Williams wrote an article analyzing the results of a survey of STC members they had carried out.  The aim of the survey was to find out just how important research had become to working professionals since it had started being published in the journal in 1985.  Doheny-Farina et al claim that ‘the results of this study strongly support the view that practitioners do value and use research’.  They go on to argue for the importance to the field of developing a clearly defined research agenda, and end the study with the following conclusion:

Smith and Pinelli have argued that technical communication will evolve into a substantial discipline only when it develops a substantial body of research.  They call for an accelerated research program in technical communication.  Clearly, the respondents in our study see the value of research and would concur with these authors. (193)

While I would argue that the survey itself was as much part of an ongoing attempt to actively shape the perceptions of readers as it was an accurate measure of their perceptions, it does go some way to showing how widespread acceptance of the research focus had become in the 4 years since Smith and Pinelli’s initial call to arms, and how successful the struggle against lore had been.

The following issue of Technical Communication  (30, 1989) features Karen Schriver as guest editor.  The focus of the edition is on Document Design.  Schriver’s article brings together a set of issues and concerns that had been gaining increasing attention in Technical Communication, as well as in the field’s other journals.  For example she stresses the importance of rhetoric as a source of theoretical knowledge for technical communication.  Schriver writes that rhetoric ‘is providing us with a very powerful historical and theoretical framework for considering how people construct meaning.’ (317).  She goes on to cite Richard Young’s analysis of the shortcomings of technical communication:

The teaching and practice of technical writing has been by and large an ahistorical, atheoretical enterprise, with only the weakest of ties to rhetorical studies. (323)

Schriver’s article makes the argument that it is precisely by strengthening the ties between the two fields that such deficiencies will be overcome.  She also notes the support rhetoric and composition offer the field:  ’Faculty members from Rhetoric have always supported research in both academic and non-academic writing.  Thus, with the rise in status of rhetoric and composition, document design has been nurtured’. (324)

In line with previous issues of Technical Communication, and with Doheny-Farina et al’s survey, Schriver’s article defines the field in terms of an evolving research agenda.  Her review of the decade long history of document design in the US is presented exclusively in terms of theory and research. Everything else simply drops out of the account.  For example, talking about a previous review of the literature she and some others had done at Carnegie Mellon a few years earlier (and on which her article is based) Schriver writes that ‘we excluded anything that did not have an empirical base’.  (318) Schriver’s article ends by proposing a unified agenda for the 90′s, oriented around rhetorical theory and a coherent set of research questions that will ‘put document design on the research map’, and concludes optimistically with the assertion that ‘before long other disciplines will look to our work for ideas.’ (325)

The articles by Schriver and Doheny-Farina provide examples of an emerging set of concerns and directions that technical communication is firmly oriented around by the early 1990′s  (while momentum for these developments had gathered in the eighties, they do not appear to become significantly widespread at the level of practice until the end of the decade.) They also nicely illustrate the strong institutional influence exerted by Carnegie Mellon and Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute at this time.  During the late eighties and early nineties articles by people coming out of CMU and RPI become an increasingly common occurrence, not only in Technical Communication, but in the field’s other journals.   It is worth noting that when Doheny-Farina (who is from RPI) leaves as section editor of ‘Current Research in Technical Communication’ in 1991, he is replaced by Davida Charney, a graduate of CMU.

1990-1994:  Disciplinary self-fashioning

By 1990 a Masters degree in technical communication was a serious requirement for certification in the work place, (this can be seen in many of the job listings for technical writers) thus increasing the demand for Masters programs, strengthening the field’s role in training and credentialing future practitioners, and providing a stronger base for the establishment of graduate work in technical communication.  It is also at this time that graduates from doctoral programs in technical communication and rhetoric take up positions in universities across the country in significant numbers,[12] and begin making their presence felt in the field’s leading journals, conferences and associations. Between 1989 and 1992, 6 new doctoral programs in technical communication were initiated (Michigan Tech, New Mexico State, Ohio State, Purdue, Iowa State, Minnesota). Furthermore, it is around this time that sections devoted to technical communication begin to appear with increasing regularity in academic conferences such as MLA and CCCC.   A significant number of changes (most with their beginnings in the mid eighties) that bear on technical communication’s disciplinary configuration start becoming more widely visible.  Four areas that can be identified are: the construction of a history of technical writing; closer alignment with rhetoric; a questioning of the way technical communication defines itself in relation to its traditional audience in industry; the reconstruction of the field’s leading journal.  Each of these areas will next be examined.

Since the late eighties, many in the field have argued that it is necessary to produce a history of technical communication.  These calls often make an explicit link between producing a unifying historical account of technical communication, and its status as an academic field.  One of the most ambitious attempts to take up the challenge was produced in the second issue of TCQ   by Tebeau & Killingsworth.  In ‘Expanding and Redirecting Historical Research in Technical Writing: In Search of our Past’, the authors present what they describe as a first step in the production of a history of technical writing[13].

Tebeau & Killingsworth begin their article with the often made observation that ‘we do not yet have either history or historiography of technical communication’. (5)  They propose to begin this task by producing a historical analysis of technical writing as it existed in the English Renaissance, 1475-1640.  To this end they examine all manner of works on medicine, gardening, beekeeping, navigation, household maintenance, etc.  While they do not explicitly address the disciplinary importance of producing such a history (given the context of statements regarding the importance of this it can perhaps be taken for granted), their history makes a number of claims that have obvious relevance.   To begin with, they identify an object that can form the stable center of the disciplinary enterprise.  They claim at the outset of their article that ‘technical writing is oriented toward performance:  it is writing that adapts technology to its users.  Thus, technical writing, in any age, will be writing that enables readers to perform tasks associated with their work in a particular society.’ (8) Given the circularity of such a claim it is not surprising to learn that they discover remarkable similarities between past examples of technical writing and present day material.  They divide their analysis of the Renaissance texts into a series of section headings that clearly reflect modern categories (‘Listing and Spatial Diagrams’, ‘Headings’, ‘Page Design’, etc.), which tends to make the texts seem more familiar and related to present day technical writing than they otherwise might (especially since the categorizations don’t come from handbooks of the periods but are inferred from their appearance).  The article argues further that ‘as all the figures in this article reveal, many of the works’ presentation techniques parallel methods used by modern technical writing’. (11) (The awkwardness of this phrasing in its juxtaposition of ‘all’ and ‘many’ perhaps indicates the stretch that is involved).  To further isolate a disciplinary object they spend quite a bit of time pointing out how technical writing during the entire period can be distinguished from other types of writing such as scientific and religious discourse.  They argue that one of the research questions that a historiography of technical communication must ask is ‘how technical writing differed from other forms of writing of the period..how did it differ from literary, scientific, and religious discourse’ (27)  Here one can ascertain an example of what Shumway and Messer-Davidow call ‘boundary work’, in the construction and regulation of a division between what is a ‘technical writing text’, and what lies outside this concept.  Such work is evident in passages such as the following:

Therefore, we can see that technical writing was a distinct kind of writing and that many concerns of English Renaissance technical writers – page design, format, style, readability, and clarity – that would be shared by technical writers in later centuries had already been established (10)

Such a history has the effect of constructing a distinct subject matter and a stable set of concepts around which scholarly work in the discipline can be organized. In spite of a few gestures toward contextualization, a continuous, uninterrupted narrative is set up whose telos  is technical communication’s present.  The teleological character of the project is evident both in the title of the article, as well in its conclusion:  ’We will continue our research using the same methods to locate, define, and analyze technical writing in the remaining seventeenth century, the eighteenth century, and then the nineteenth century.  We invite you to join us in a search for our past’ (29) Their approach would seem a good example of what Foucault describes as ‘traditional’ history, in that it involves above all the ‘consoling play of recognitions.’[14]  In Tebeau and Killingworth’s account the past is just ‘there’, waiting to be recovered like a sunken wreck. There is little sense of it as something that must be actively produced within specific institutional and disciplinary conditions.

Since the early 1980′s occasional attempts had been made to import (and sometimes export) rhetorical theory into technical communication.[15] By 1990 rhetoric had become secured as the central source of theory for technical communication[16].   Along with empirical research, which rhetoric provided important models for, rhetorical theory played an important role in authorizing work in technical communication (Porter, 399).  Moreover, the connections between rhetoric and technical communication had become increasingly strong at the curricular level, with many graduate programs in both fields linking the two areas (for example Minnesota’s PhD program in ‘Rhetoric,  Science and Technical Communication’, and Iowa State’s program in ‘Rhetoric and Professional Communication’).  The model that becomes most commonly invoked to describe the relationship between rhetoric and technical communication is that of theory and application, or ‘science and engineering’ (Sides, 4).  While the subordination implicit in such a relationship has been resisted by some, it remains nonetheless the dominant one.   Michael Mendelson’s article ‘Professional Communciation and the Politics of English Studies’ clearly marks out such a position for the field.  He describes technical communication as a subsection of Rhetoric (‘Our subject is essentially Rhetoric: the study of discourse and the complex of activities that surround the creation and reception of meaning within working cultures’ 10).  Furthermore, he describes technical communication’s fate as inescapably tied to the ‘parent discipline of rhetoric’ (13), which leads him to claim that it ought thus to be accorded the same disciplinary respectability:

This essay is based on the proposition that professional writing belongs on equal footing with other courses in the English curriculum.  Distilled into its most compact form, the proposition rests on the logic of the following syllogism:
Rhetoric embraces writing in the workplace; English Studies includes rhetoric as well as literature; Therefore, English studies extends (or ought to) to writing in the work place.  (7)

Mendelson proposes an ‘integrated’ curriculum in which technical communication and rhetoric work out a tighter relationship between their courses.  According to Mendelson, this will help provide a disciplinary anchor for technical communication, which otherwise may ‘float about in some ignored eddy of the writing program, totally without mooring in the curriculum and without causeways to an from other courses.’  (9) The metaphors he uses to describe both the status of rhetoric and technical communication’s relationship to it are redolent with images of colonization and struggle, with technical communication occupying a curiously double position: as both a ‘territory’ that rhetoric can explore, and as an ally in the cold war between poetics and rhetoric[17]. For example, Mendelson cites Donald Stewart’s comment that programs in advanced study of rhetoric are ‘islands in the wilderness far ahead of the frontier of the profession and in danger of being destroyed by hostile forces’ (13) Having acknowledged the precariousness of this situation, he goes on to outline a formula by which the situation can be made less precarious. This consists largely of integration between the two fields, the adoption of curricula reform, and the production of theoretical research coupled with historical work. The article ends on an optimistic note by remarking that what is perhaps most appealing is that the field is a kind of disciplinary New World.[18].  Mendelson writes that latter day explorers will find that there is a

whole continent of composition practice out there waiting to be mapped…What we need to do now is to take the additional step of opening up English department curricula to a range of discourse that our research has identified as exciting territory for rhetorical studies.  There is no longer any reason to declare such territory off-limits to our own majors nor as too alien to be surveyed by our tenure-line faculty. (16)

The way technical communication has defined itself in relation to its traditional source of authority, the workplace, can be seen to run into increasing conflict with the effort to build its disciplinary authority.  This has become an important issue in discussions about the field’s future. In the 1990s writers have started questioning technical communication’s focus on the occupational world (for example Tebeau, page 15). This trend is perhaps best epitomized in an article by Gerald Parsons entitled ‘Why I don’t Believe in the “Real World” any more’. Parsons argues that the term ‘real world’ is to be found everywhere in technical communication circles, from journal articles and textbooks to student-teacher dialogues.  He stresses that this usage and the dichotomy it implies severely damages the authority of technical communication as a discipline.  Talking about ‘the real world’ betrays not only epistemological naiveté, but also, in its positivism, makes writing seem merely a process of transcription, and thus a largely trivial affair.  Parsons states that talking about ‘the real world’ privileges the world outside the academy, making it seem as if teachers of technical communication want to disassociate themselves ‘from the very community of which we are part’ (45) He argues that in positioning itself ‘mid-way between the “intellectuals” of academia and the “pragmatists” of the business world’ technical communication risks ending up in no-mans land, and of undercutting its avowed aim of producing respected scholarly research. (45) The worst problem with the term is that it:

establishes as the evaluative norm of any academic course an external authority, rather than some internal, coherent standard of measurement, against which its mission and purpose will be judged.  In short, academic institutions must be the most appropriate bodies for determining the value of any course offering against the larger purpose and reality toward which its curricula is offered.   (49)

The answer for Parsons is to turn inwards, to stress the self-sufficiency and autonomy of the knowledge that technical communication deals in:

Locating the purpose for our teaching within ourselves gives us an autonomy and an authority that the notion of ‘teaching for the real world’ denies. (46)
Although Parsons never actually uses the term ‘discipline’ or refers to postmodern theorists like Foucault, his account of the issue ends up being similar to Foucault’s in certain respects[19].  For he seems to recognize that what is at stake in technical communication redefining its relationship to the world outside is precisely its authority and status as a discipline, its ability to authorize and evaluate scholarly practice relative to a set of ‘anonymous’ disciplinary rules, norms and procedures[20].  Furthermore, while Parson’s solution of editing out references to the real world perhaps seems unworkable (‘we will improve our credibility and professional status among colleagues, I believe, by excising from our discourse such meaningless and hackneyed terms as “real world” ‘. 50) what is interesting is the gains in disciplinary status and jurisdiction that he sees afforded by a more sophisticated theory of language and knowledge.  Many other writers in the field have advanced such a position.  For example Tebeau[21] articulates a similar position to Parson’s, arguing explicitly for the adoption of poststructural theory into technical communication. This perhaps goes some way to explain the popularity that poststructuralist theory has seen in technical communication in the last few years (see for example the last two issues of TCQ).  This has led to some hostility on the part of those who see the use of such theory as divorcing technical communication from the ‘real world’, and from its connection to the work place.  In response to TCQ’s last few issues (and in particular to Tebeau’s suggestion of bringing poststructural theory the curricula of technical communication) Sides writes:
One can imagine the reaction of high-tech professionals if literary scholars cum  technical writing instructors tried to convince them that any interpretation of a Patriot missile deployment manual was possible, even valid.  (3)

This issue remains a controversial one, and the field remains somewhat split on just how much it pays to go postmodern.

One of the most visible signs of the reconstruction that has gone on in the field can be seen in the changes that took place in the journal The Technical Writing Teacher in 1992.   This was the field’s most important academic journal, the one in which the most ambitious claims for disciplinary status could be heard.  In 1992 this journal was renamed Technical Communication Quarterlyor TCQ , and a complete overhaul was done of it.  The first edition of the new journal both announces and embodies changes that are clearly aimed at making the journal appear more representative of a ‘proper’ discipline.  To begin with, there is the change in title.  The old title, ‘The Technical Writing Teacher’, is connotative of a pedagogical orientation, assuming an audience of teachers rather than researchers.  The new journal title emphasizes instead the discipline. Furthermore, its subject is technical communication as opposed to technical writing, bringing together a set of related research topics into a single coherent agenda.   Perhaps most striking however, is the change in the appearance of the old journal. The old journal is rather poorly designed; the title page displays the journal name in a large, low resolution sans serif font.  In contrast, the new journal is well designed. The title page is rendered in a glossy, elegant, minimalist style. Inside, a number of significant changes in format and design have been made.  The old journal’s table of contents had no section headings, just a single list of article titles and author names, whereas TCQ   is divided into sections for the editor, articles and reviews.  In the old journal book reviews occurred haphazardly, while they are a regular feature of the new journal. Technical Writing Teacher frequently began with ‘The President’s Message’, consisting of an address by the president of ATTW (the Association of Teachers of Technical Writing).  This aligned it with a journal like Technical Communication  (the industry journal) that begins similarly with an address from the president of STC.  It thus acts as another sign that the journal’s focus is both pedagogical and centered around an organization, as opposed to a discipline.   In contrast, TCQ opens with the editor’s column.  The older journal is not peer reviewed, while the new one is.

In terms of content, a number of important changes also take place. While The Technical Writing Teacher had been getting more theoretically sophisticated during the 80′s and early 90′s, it continued to contain many articles with titles such as ‘Teaching Technical Communication in Two-year Colleges’, ‘Applications of Kenneth Burke’s Theories to Technical Writing’ and ‘Using Case Studies to Teach Courtesy Strategies’ (all in the winter 1990 issue.)  Articles of such a practical, pedagogic character become extremely rare in TCQ, and the words ‘Applications of’, ‘Using’ and ‘Teaching’ start to disappear.  Also of significance, the first couple of editions of the new journal feature papers presented at the 1990 MLA conference, which had begun to devote a larger number of sessions to technical communication around this time.

The changes evident in the field’s leading journal indicate one more dimension of moves made in the 90s aimed at strengthening technical communication’s status as a discipline. Recently, the journal has published articles that not only describe the path to disciplinary respectability, but which argue that the day has arrived.  For example at the end of 1993, Ornatowski and Staples, guest editors of TCQ could argue that ‘the increasing theoretical sophistication and scope of technical communication have brought the discipline a new respectability’ (245).  The articles featured in this edition of TCQ, and the language used to talk about the field are a long way from the insecurity and despair that could be heard all across the field in the mid eighties, and suggest that a significant change has indeed taken place.

Bibliography

Berlin, James.  Rhetoric and Reality:  Writing Instruction in American Colleges 1900-1985.  Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press.  1987.

Brereton, John.  ’The Professional Writing Program and the English Department’, in Writing in the Business Professions, ed Myra Kogen, NCTE 1989.

Carliner, Saul.  ’What’s Ahead in Technical Communication’,  Technical Communication, 30(3), 1989.

Clegg, Stewart.  Modern Organizations: Organization Studies in a Postmodern World.  Sage:1990.

Enos, Theresa.  ’Rhetoric and the Discourse of Technology’, in Worlds of Writing: Teaching and Learning in the Discourse Communities of Work.  Ed C. Matalene. New York:Random, 1989.

Faigley, L.   Fragments of Rationality: Postmodernity and the Subject of Composition.  University of Pittsburgh Press, 1992.

Farrell, Austin. ‘Membership profile of the Society for Professional Communication,  Technical Communication  18:1-4, 1971.

Foucault,  Michel,  Discipline and Punish.

Foucault, Michel.  Language, Counter-Memory, Practice.  Ithaca:Cornell Press, 1977.

Foucault, Michel, ‘The Order of Discourse’, in Robert Young,(ed), Untying the Text, Routledge, 1987.

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Harkin, Patricia, and Schilb, John, (eds) Contending with words: Composition and Rhetoric in a Postmodern Age.  MLA 1991.

Hartzog, Carol. Composition and the Acadamy: A Study of Writying Program Administration.  MLA 1986.

Herrington, Ann and Moran, Charles.  Writing, Teaching, and Learning in the Disciplines.  MLA 1992.

Huber, Bettina.  ’A Report on the 1986 Survey of English Doctoral Programs in Writing and Literature’, in The Future of Doctoral Studies in English.  Ed, Andrea Lunsford et al.

Kelly, Patrick et al. Academic Programs in Technical Communication. Washington: Society for Technical Communication, 1985.

Maddox, Robert.  Cross Cultural Problems in International Business: the Role of the Cultural Integration Function.  1993.

Mendelson, Michael.  ’Professional Communication and the Politics of English Studies’.  WPA, vol 17 (3) 1994.

Odell, Lee, ad Goswami, Dixie (eds). Writing in Non-academic Settings. Guilford Press 1985.

Ornatowski, Cezar, and Staples, Katherine, ‘Teaching Technical Communication in the 1990s: Challenges and Perspectives’.  TCQ, vol 2, no. 3, 1993.

Parsons, Gerald.  ’Why I Don’t Believe in the “Real World” Anymore’. Technical Writing Teacher,  vol 16(1) 1989.

Porter, James, and Sullivan, Patricia.  ’Remapping Curricular Geography: Professional Writing in/and English’.  Journal of Business and Technical Communication.  vol 7 (4) 1993.

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Shumway, David et al  Knowledges: Historical and Critical Studies of Disciplinarity.  Knowledge: Disciplinarity and Beyond series.  University Press of Virginia, 1993.

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[1]The names for the field I examine vary somewhat.  In some articles the terms ‘technical communication’,  ’professional writing’, ‘technical writing’ are used almost interchangably.  In the last few years there has been more of a tendency to talk about the field of professional or technical communication, thus broadening the scope from just writing to all kinds of visual and verbal text (indicated for example in the field’s leading  journal changing its name fromTechnical Writing Teacher,  to Technical Communication Quarterly.)  I will thus use the term  ’technical communication’, in spite of the fact that a few of the articles I cite use different terms.

[2]A number of reports have projected it as the  fastest growing profession.  For example see Carliner page 187.

[3]Brereton provides an account of the first programs with a major in technical communication.

[4]I rely on the definition provided by Foucault of what constitutes a ‘discipline’ (‘The Order of Discourse’,  Foucault 1987, pp 58-62, and Discipline and Punish,  pp 170-194.    I also follow the elaboration of this definition as set out in Shumway and Messer-Davidow’s ‘Disciplinarity: An Introduction’.

[5]Figures from Technical Communication  18, 1971 pp 4-8 ‘Membership Profile of the Society for Technical Communication.

[6]For example Tate’s survey shows that by 1987 there were 53 doctoral programs in Composition and Rhetoric.  To date, many of the field’s leading writers have come out of doctoral programs in Composition and Rhetoric. At schools such as Carnegie Mellon, quite a few doctoral students come out of Technical Communication backgrounds, and a significant number have produced dissertations in the area.

[7]Although such changes are evident across a range of journals, I have chosen to look at Technical Communication , which is directed more towards professionals in industry,   since this demonstrates two things:  firstly, the extent to which the  emphasis on research had permeated even a non-academic publication.  Secondly, that the call for research (in its early stages at least) was not entirely ‘top down’, imposed on practitioners from above by a band of elite academicians.

[8]One can see in Smith’s editorial evidence of Abbott’s assertion that ‘the ability of a profession to sustain jurisdiction lies partly in the power and prestige of its academic knowledge’ (53-4)

[9]Doheny-Farina was (and  is) one of the most important researchers in the field, and worked hard to raise the status of Technical Communication.  In 1986 he became MLA liason officer for ATTW, in its capacity as an allied organization of the MLA.

[10]Technical Communication, 30:4, page 7.

[11]Doheny-Farina was becoming increasingly influential. He had just won the NCTE  award for best article reporting formal research in technical and scientific writing, and in 1988 had published a book called Effective Documentation: What We Have Learned From Research which was one of the few book length works on research in the field.

[12]For example CMU graduated only 2 Ph.D students between 1984 and 1986, but by 1989 had  graduated 24 Ph.D’s.  Several of these students (such as Rachel Spilka and Karen Schriver) quickly become some of the most important names in the field.

[13] Tebeau & Killingsworth’s article has received much attention,  and is the first of numerous related articles that Tebeau has written on the subject in the last few  years.  Tebeau has a book in press that will provide a ‘complete’ history from the ancient Greeks to the present.  Tebeau’s position in the field is significant – she is the chair of the CCCC Commitee on Technical Communication and vice president of the Association of Teachers of Technical Writing.

[14]Language, Counter-Memory, Practice,  page 153.

[15]Two examples of this tendecy are Edward Corbett ‘A Rhetorician Looks at Technical Communication’ Technical Communication Perspectives for the Eighties, 1981 and  Ardner Cheshire, ‘Teaching Invention: Using Topical Categories in the Technical Wrinting Class’ Technical Wrinting Teacher  8, 1980.

[16]It was also largely through rhetoric that theoretical work in other fields such as cognitive psychology was introduced.

[17]Mendelson claims that curricular reform of technical communication courses will only be possible on a wide scale once the battle between poetics and rhetoric has been resolved (17).

[18]Another common move made by writers in both technical communication and rhetoric is to argue that technical communication ought to follow the disciplinary blueprint drawn up by rhetoric.  This often leads to a related claim, that technical writing is in fact just where these other fields were in disciplinary terms 5 or 10 years ago[18].  In this scenario rhetoric’s history is seen as ‘anticipating’ the present of technical communication.

[19]Compare for example Parsons comments with Foucault 1977, pages 59-61.

[20]Foucault 1977, page 59.

[21]Tebeau writes that ‘modern critical theory suggests ways that technical communication can become a legitimate, recognized member of English studies’. (25)

Review – Page to Screen: Taking Literacy into the Electronic Era by Laura Kijak

With the invention of computers and the Internet educators have been asking themselves if this “new” technology would improve student writing. How would it affect the classroom? Would it revolutionize how literacy is taught?Page to Screen: Taking Literacy into the Electronic Era sheds light on these questions. I read this book in two ways: first, as a first-year rhetoric graduate student and second, as an educator. Page to Screen is a collection of essays broken into four sections that discuss the influence of this new technology: ‘The spaces of electronic literacies,’ ‘Emerging literacies,’ ‘The problems and possibilities of hypertext,’ ‘Changing the cultures of teaching and learning.’

The main themes running through Page to Screen include the debate about the newness of the technology, the need for parents and educators to keep up with the technology, and a shift in our culture. Snyder says, “what is certainly occurring is a change in how we do literacy” (Snyder, xxiii). She is correct. Every chapter in Page to Screen addresses this issue. A cultural shift has occurred and an electronic technological revolution is in progress.

To review Page to Screen I will first summarize the main points of each section and then discuss the weaknesses and strengths found in the book. Page to Screen had a few weak areas. I will concentrate on a lack of discussion of how electronic technology provides an access to power, the lack of conclusive research cited by the authors’, and a chapter topic that does not connect with the ideas and themes running through Page to Screen. I will then discuss three strong arguments in Page to Screen, which are important as a first-year rhetoric graduate student and educator: as a graduate student the background information in the research from the last twenty years, the definitions and explanations of hypertext and email, as an educator the importance of understanding today’s computer game savvy children. But first I will supply a brief summary.

Page to Screen begins with an overview of literacy and technology in the past twenty years. ‘The space of electronic literacies’ provides a platform or framework with which to view literacy and technology today. This section presents a critical overview on research studies and how literacy is influenced by social, political, and cultural changes. These chapters focus on the advent of computers in the classroom, i.e. the impact of word processing programs on student writing, and research studies on first and second language education. It sets up a comparison of what theories were first made about the introduction and use of technology in teaching literacy. Michele Knobel, Colin Lankshear, Elieen Honan, and Jane Crawford have two main points in their chapter: one, the influence communications and information technologies (CITs) have on primary and secondary language education; two, the worry that some educators will view CITs as a magic cure. After reviewing past and ongoing studies, they conclude that even with all of the contradictory evidence, CITs can enhance learning.

The next section ‘Emerging literacies’ “…extends the theoretical boundaries of thinking about new genres, rhetorics and literacies associated with electronic technologies” (Snyder, xxv). This section concentrates on the changes occurring in visual and verbal modes of communication and discusses email and the new computer-enabled media along with the difference between “…these forms of communication and postal mail, telephony and face-to-face communication…” (Snyder, xxv). Gunther Kress explores email as a technical priority or a social priority and the implications of both. Kress also examines the shift that is taking place. In the past writing was the main form of communication; today it is multimedia representation. This shift has social and political ramifications. Kress also addresses the change from narrative to display. He states, “the screen is the new space of representation” (Kress, 72).  One of the most important points Charles Moran and Gail Hawisher make is the argument that the World Wide Web is a limited access place. Only 2 percent of the world’s population has access to it. This means that only a few voices are heard. This is important because the Internet is a ‘gated community,’ as Moran and Hawisher refer to it, and not as free as many seem to feel. Nicholas Burbules explores the ethics of links as related to ‘hyperreading.’ Because of the nature of hypertext, we read it in a non-linear fashion and cannot control where the links take us. Our feelings about a topic can change by how we read it. Burbules also uses literary phrases to explain different types of links. An example is synecdoche. He defines it as figurations where part of something is used as short hand for the whole thing. On the web a clustering of related issues through links can influence how a user thinks about a topic.

Hypertext is not a new concept, but ‘The problems and possibilities of hypertext’ section gives a good definition. “Hypertext—a way of communicating text, pictures, film and sound in a nonlinear manner by electronic links—exists only online” (Snyder, xxvi). Ilana Snyder explores the influence of hypertext on education and how educators should use it. She concludes that using hypertext in the classroom is a good thing. Educators can use hypertext to support new theories of reading and writing or to promote the traditional approaches. ‘The problems and possibilities of hypertext’ takes a turn when it looks at how “sociologists who use traditional print but want to express their ideas in truly reflexive and relativists ways” (Snyder, xxvii). But the most important point in this section comes from Michael Joyce. He says that educators need to find a ‘middle voice’ to teach and use hypertext in the classroom.  Joyce reflects on distance learning and the virtual classroom. He says, “the computer, like our classrooms, becomes a theatre of our desires as well as of our differences” (Joyce, 164).

The final section of Page to Screen is a look to the future. ‘Changing the cultures of teaching and learning’ homes in on computer games and how they affect literacy. This section also reflects on the cultural shift of how we pass stories from generation to generation. Snyder says, “We do not pass stories down linearly from generation to generation but experience them multiply and simultaneously, across global communication networks” (Snyder, xxviii). The section states that children have learned to live in this new place and are comfortable there; however, parents and educators fear this place. Children are more likely to ‘play’ with a game than learn its rules and structure first. Adults have trouble with this concept. Johndan Johnson-Eilola compares this idea to modernism and postmodernism. Adults want to follow a set structure, which is similar to modernist ideas. However, children are more flexible and want to disregard the rules and structure, which is similar to postmodernist ideas. The section concludes with the idea that computer games are changing the way children learn and process information. The main argument of this section is “…a belief that teachers and educators must confront the articulation of these significant cultural shifts or be further marginalized” (Snyder, xxviii).

While Page to Screen has several themes running through it, Snyder introduces the idea of access to power as a main theme in the introduction. While it is a logical conclusion given the nature of power and the subject matter, only one chapter referenced this idea. Moran and Hawisher discuss the ‘gated community’ idea in relation to the World Wide Web. This is an extremely important idea. But, they only hint at the problem of access. They say that only 2 percent of the world has access to the World Wide Web and discuss the complications of this. This was a fascinating argument, but it was not discussed at length. So, how then can this idea of power through the World Wide Web be a main theme if they are the only ones who explored it?

The first two sections of Page to Screen discuss and summarize important research studies conducted on technology and literacy. In Hawisher and Selfe’s chapter they site a study conducted by Dubrovsky in 1991. Dubrovsky and his colleagues studied four person electronic discussion groups between first-year college students and MBA graduate students. The researchers found that the ‘lower status,’ first-year college students asserted themselves more and influenced the group more in the electronic discussions. This behavior is called the ‘equalisation phenomenon.’ This study is important to literacy educators because it allows all students to participate on equal footing (Hawisher and Selfe, 9). While this was a fascinating study and researchers gained important data, many research studies referenced had inconclusive findings. The authors’ would go on to suggest that obviously more research is needed, but no one ever suggested how or why the other studies didn’t work.

On the other hand, the location of the studies cited was limited. Many are from controlled classrooms, but Australia seems to be a major place to study literacy and electronic technology. While I can see why, it would have been more convincing to have studies from a variety of places. I realize that there may only be a few of such studies, but a disclaimer would have been useful.

The arrangement of the chapters, from past to future, is key to understanding the major themes in Page to Screen. However, in ‘The problems and possibilities of hypertext’ section, the middle chapter seemed out of place. Jane Yellowlees Douglas discusses sociologists and their search for reflexism through hypertext. The subject matter is not closely related to education and literacy in the classroom. It provides a shift in the focus of the book, and the reader has trouble making the connection. So, I have to wonder what was the importance of including this chapter. What ideas did it contribute to Page to Screen?

As a first year graduate student of rhetoric, Page to Screen has provided a window into literacy theory and electronic media. The review of research studies for the past twenty years is an efficient way to bring the reader up to the present day. Hawisher and Selfe review research on the affect of word processors, electronic networks, and hypertext and hypermedia. They answered the question, does a word processing program help a student to write better? They stated that while student produced longer texts and had fewer mechanical errors, the quality of the writing had not changed. Hawisher and Selfe found that computers can change cultural values, but more importantly that computers can maintain cultural values as well. But, these studies indicate that as teachers using email for discussion groups and as supplemental to the classroom, structure is the most important element. How the educator uses email, such as weekly or biweekly occurrence. How ever the technology is incorporated into the classroom it needs to not become the focus of the class, only a supplement to the class work.

The explanations of hypertext and email were informative. Moran and Hawisher discuss privacy issues concerning email and the difference between email and postal mail. Because email can be copied, stored, and retrieved readily it is an easier and faster way to communicate. With the current debates about who has access to your private email account, this chapter brings to light some of the contemporary concerns. Moran and Hawisher also look at the language of email. They state that email is a new medium. It evolved and incorporated all styles of communication, both written and spoken. Since we are still trying to understand the rules of email it makes sense that people are having trouble adjusting to this new medium. Hawisher and Selfe, in the first chapter of Page to Screen, also discuss this idea in a research study that found emails often contain ‘flaming’ or emotionally charged language. The writer seems to lose their inhibitions and sense of audience. Both of these examples point to a lack of language and style conventions for email. This discussion is important because as a first-year rhetoric graduate student we are looking at the changes in communication from an oral tradition to a written one. Email combines both with no apparent rules. This makes it fascinating to explore.

The last section, ‘Changing the cultures of teaching and learning’ was the most informative because it spotlighted the difference between school-age children and educators. Johndan Johnson-Eilola discusses a profound cultural shift. Children growing up with computer games have a different outlook on the world and approach to things. The ‘just play’ mentality is crucial for an educator to understand. These children figure out the rules of a game through trial and error. Johnsan-Eilola provides a dialogue between himself and his 8-year-old daughter Carolyn. He says,

To someone raised in an historical worldview—one valuing linearity, genealogies, tradition, rules—Carolyn’s explanations of the game sound haphazard, unplanned and immature. But to someone familiar with global information spaces such as the World wide Web, games such as these provide environments for learning postmodernist approaches to communication and knowledge: navigation, constructive problem-solving, dynamic goal construction (188).

His most important point for educators is to embrace this new technology and understand it. Otherwise, students will drift away from their teachers. Catherine Beavis says, “The study of electronic games helps [educators] to identify the shifting forms of contemporary narrative, to see how textual forms emerge in the orbit of rapidly evolving technology, and to determine what engagement with texts might mean in a multimedia, multiliterate environment” (Beavis, 252).

Page to Screen provides a quick look at literacy theory for the rank beginner. The prose of the authors’ and approach to the topics is consistently accessible. The themes of newness, shifts in culture, how important it is for educators to stay abreast with the technology are intertwined throughout. There are multiple discussions about hypertext and email and how this new space is changing the way we communicate and form opinions.

I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book. The ‘new’ medium concept in Page to Screen is both correct and misleading. All of the authors’ address this issue and I conclude that electronic technology is still a new medium because it is constantly taking on a new form. It changes every day, and that is why educators have to try so hard to keep up with the technology. I was raised with computers and I know that when I try to explain how to use a game or a simple computer program to someone of an older generation I always tell them to ‘just play with it.’ And every time I get a funny look. In the academic world we are continuously revising and rewriting theories. The concept of literacy is no different, so it makes sense that we would have trouble defining it and teaching it with another concept, electronic technology, which is continuously changing as well.

I would recommend this book to anyone who wants to learn about literacy theory and how educators are grappling with electronic technology. As Snyder stated in her introduction this book was published at a timely period. Everyday the rules change. How are we expected to keep up? Page to Screen offers a little theory for the student and a few pointers for the classroom.

Review – Interface Culture: An Investigation of How the Modern Interface Influences Our Society by Anne Tropeano

The computer interface is the software that translates digital information into a symbolic system we can understand. Steven Johnson’s Interface Culture: How New Technology Transforms the Way We Create and Communicate traces the evolution of interface design and explores its broad cultural and social impacts on our lives. We also learn the limitations of the current interface and catch a glimpse of its future directions.  Building his argument with analogies to literature and art, Johnson renders a startling vision that situates interface design as the foremost technological innovation shaping our cognition and our interaction with one another.

Interface Culture has three central claims: (1) modern interface design has broad creative, cultural, and social impacts on human communication; (2) the visual metaphors used in interface design are as important as the functions they signify; and (3) a new type of criticism must emerge to fully grasp the societal effects of the interface. Johnson supports these claims by probing five aspects of the interface: the desktop, windows, links, text, and intelligent agents.

Interface Culture speaks to two audiences — the general computer user and the expert programmer. Johnson provides a history of interface design that is useful to both, and asks us to survey the cultural consequences of the design choices made by those in the industry. Because Johnson focuses on the social impact of technology, he doesn’t alienate the general user with esoteric terminology. However, techies won’t be bored; Johnson distinguishes design work as some of the most important computer development to date. He contextualizes these technologies with cultural analogies to the Dickens novel, the invention of the automobile, and Gothic architecture. He elevates the interface to an art, and, in so doing, provokes programmers to think in new ways.


Summary

Broad creative, social, and cultural impact. Johnson argues throughoutInterface Culture that interface design impacts our society in both minor and momentous ways. For example, the significance of the first modern interface, invented by Doug Engelbart in 1968, is that it represented the computer for the first time as a spatial environment. Engelbart invented the window, significantly changing our cognition; information space was transformed from an abstract idea (in the days of the C prompt) into a landscape. In addition, Engelbart affords us representation in this landscape in the form of a cursor that is controlled by a mouse. The mouse provides us with the illusion of direct manipulation; instead of telling the computer to perform an action, we appear to do it ourselves (e.g., open a file). With windows and direct manipulation, Johnson regards Engelbart gave us what Johnson regards as “the first machine worth living in” (p. 25).

Secondly, Alan Kay gave Engelbart’s spatial environment the most effective metaphor to date: the desktop. Our cognition of information space was altered again; the landscape now had an illusion of depth enacted by overlapping windows.  Macintosh enriched Kay’s initial metaphor by adding “personality and playfulness” (p. 49), manifested in windows that zoomed open, charming icons, and an appealing graphic design. This desktop metaphor had a vast social impact: the once cryptic command line was replaced by a metaphor far less intimidating, which, in turn, made the computer more appealing to a widespread demographic. The personal computer revolution ensued, and our lives began their irrevocable shift into the desktop landscape.

The import of visual metaphors. Because the interface is the filter through which we view information space, Johnson reasons that its visual illusions are as important as the functions they signify. We cannot understand raw digital data; it is translated through the metaphors imagined by interface designers. Currently, the architectural metaphor shapes our concept of the Internet. The Palace site, for example, added a spatial element to the textual chat room genre by providing visitors a three-dimensional “visual presence” that floats through a palace setting. The architectural metaphor is pushed one step further by the video game Quake where users build their own three-dimensional environments and share them with others. For Johnson, the lens of the architectural metaphor influences how virtual communities are built as much as the building itself. Users see a graphical representation of themselves interacting in a particular scene; certainly, even if the same information were transmitted, the encounter would differ if, say, it were experienced in a redwood forest as opposed to an urban downtown.

Secondly, Johnson argues that windows are not spatially organized but instead provide us with only the beginnings of such an illusion. Users still generally think of files in textual terms; “we pretend that we’re remembering ‘where’ we put the file, but what we’re remembering is the name of the folder that contains it” (p. 78). In contrast, Apple’s Planet X imagines the data as a galaxy where the documents and folders float around planets. The user therefore relies on remembering the spatial location of a file. Johnson states: “At a few, enthralling moments, I found myself thinking … its back there somewhere, up and to the left a little, about two or three planets deep” (p. 80). Applying a more spatial metaphor would exercise our “innate capacity for visual memory” (p. 76), possibly making us more efficient users.

Johnson also asserts that the role of text in our current interface has been sorely ignored due to our preoccupation with graphics. To indicate the possibilities, Johnson notes Apple’s V-Twin software, which achieved a creative breakthrough by using text to organize our data by meaning.  V-Twin uses text pattern recognition programs to statistically detect linguistic attributes, such as word choice frequency (i.e., how many times specific words — unique to the document analyzed — are used). We enter in textual criteria into V-Twin, then the software creates a View folder that contains files matching our stipulations. In this case, the perception of organization, the function signified, is altered by the metaphorical shift from an illusion of location to an illusion of meaning. Each metaphor has benefits, and these benefits emerge precisely because of the metaphor’s design.

A new type of criticism. Johnson calls for a new type of criticism that can only spring from a raised consciousness regarding interface design. The interface affects many aspects of our lives; therefore, this new type of criticism must extend beyond the realm of interface design to explore legal and ethical issues. For example, web frames, which carve up windows into separate units (usually separated by a scroll bar), have sparked a struggle for intellectual property rights. A frame within a web site can point directly to another site without asking permission:

If I show you a copy of Newsweek through my personal window, is that like selling a tape of the World Series without the ‘express written consent of Major League Baseball’? Or is it like inviting friends over to watch a ball game from an apartment that happens to overlook Comiskey Park? (p. 96)

Furthermore, the ethics by which companies conduct business must be explicitly defined. Johnson points out an egregious ethics violation that went unnoticed by the general public. The Wall Street Journal struck a deal with Microsoft to waive the Journal’s annual web site fee if users accessed it with Microsoft Explorer. This pact clearly violated their journalistic integrity, as the Journalclaimed to be objectively covering the browser war between Microsoft and Netscape. Without new type of criticism to explore such unfamiliar territory, Johnson believes we will not be able to adequately resolve issues that threaten honesty, integrity, and fair play.

This new type of criticism will also benefit in the evaluation of intelligent agents. Intelligent agents are programs designed to partially mimic human intelligence by anticipating our needs. For example, traveling agents, which represent us in dealing with other agents, are dispatched from the user’s computer on a mission (such as to purchase the lowest priced airline tickets). The significance of operating the traveling agent stems from the forfeiture of our authority that is required for the computer to make decisions on our behalf. Because agents cannot distinguish our subjective tastes, they could return volumes of information that, in fact, do not meet our tastes or requests. For instance, “you might be a huge Dickens fan, but that doesn’t make you a lover of Victorian serial novels written by men” (p. 193). In addition, corporations will design their own traveling agents, causing advertising to “transform into the art of controlling agents” (p. 183). As a result, we will receive scores of “push” media — information sent to us by agents that anticipate our need before we ask for it. Johnson concludes that these agents are “an excuse for poor interface design” (p. 191); instead, we should be focusing on “better ways to pull” (p. 191) information. Johnson warns that if we don’t begin this dialogue, we are bound for junk mail purgatory.

 

Review

Interface Culture’s principal strength is the originality of Johnson’s decision to investigate interface design in the context of our larger culture. Computers have permeated every aspect of our daily lives; they have changed our workplace, the way we bank, the way we teach, and how we converse with our loved ones. Like architecture, “each design decision echoes and amplifies a set of values” (p. 44) and because “there is no such thing as digital information without filters” (p. 38), we must analyze interface design in a larger sociological framework.

The web is particularly significant because it has created new relationships between individuals and businesses. We currently appear to be judging the web by the same standards as print: freedom of speech protects our rights to place any idea in the public domain. However, the difference is becoming increasingly clear — the web is a virtual world with virtual communities. Therefore, “how we choose to imagine these new online communities is obviously a matter of great social and political significance” (p. 19).  What we read in a newspaper may greatly affect us, but we are not experiencing it directly. In contrast, as technology becomes increasingly more realistic and the experience more authentic, how will we handle sites that, say, offer a virtual experience of raping and torturing a woman or molesting a child? If it looks like a crime, and feels like a crime, is it a crime? Will we legislate criminal laws for the web, establish Internet policing agencies? Johnson does not bring the discussion to this point; yet, it is appropriate as his most compelling argument is our need to awaken an awareness while these technologies are still in their infancy, so that we may make better informed decisions regarding their development and implementation.

Another strength of the piece is Johnson’s foresight of a more effective interface. He has a remarkable grasp of the limitations of the current interface, and provides us with a sense of vision. For example, Johnson resurrects Vannevar Bush’s Memex machine, a hybrid microfilm computer developed in the forties. Johnson praises its radical method of categorizing information; Bush regarded information as valuable not because of the group it belonged to, but because of “the connections it had to other data” (p. 119). In contrast to our current method of bookmarking singular sites without tracking the thought process that leads us to those sites, the Memex allowed users to build their own trails of interest, which were retained in the machine’s memory. Johnson encourages us to adopt these benefits of the Memex, to use the web “as a way of seeing new relationships, connecting things that might have otherwise been kept separate” (p. 123).

Johnson also dares us to be more creative with our links, possibly integrating hypertext as active parts of a sentence. Johnson probes Suck web site, which approached links quite differently from the typical homepage: instead of providing a link as an addendum that leaves the site’s message essentially intact, the Sucksters use links to withhold information from the reader. The links, integrated into the sentence structure, provide important context to the web site’s message; without them, the article reads differently. Therefore, the links are “like modifiers, like punctuation – something hardwired into the sentence itself…the links [are] a way of cracking the code of the sentences; the more you [know] about the site on the other end of the link, the more meaningful the sentence [becomes]” (p. 134-5). Johnson is intrigued by Suck’s links, and explores how such a decidedly nonlinear narrative would impact us. Because Suck’s web site is quite tedious, Johnson is not suggesting that it be used as a model for a new type of literacy but instead uses it to prompt us to think in new, creative ways.

A third strength of the Interface Culture is its style. Johnson is extremely engaging and provocative; he constructs his arguments with an effective blend of technical explanations, historical narratives, and cultural analogies. For example, he captivates us with the possibilities of the social agent, a feedback-driven intelligent agent that searches for patterns in the behaviors, tastes, etc. of the thousands of people who have run the agent. For instance, Firefly, a web site that recommends albums based on musical taste, has the user rank a certain number of albums, then compares that profile to thousands of others in its database. Firefly presents the user with a list of albums based on people who expressed similar tastes. Most importantly, though, users rank the albums recommended, “plugging information right back into the database, and allowing the agent to evaluate the success of its picks” (p. 197).

Johnson presents an exhilarating vision of how social agents could produce a democratic, chaotic revolution of music culture if they were allowed to direct radio and music television programming. Currently, corporations make the decisions as to who gets seen and heard; however, if social agents were employed, corporations would no longer decide who would get airplay as popularity would be determined by “a collective bottom-up process” (p. 199), with each individual listener deciding what s/he wanted to hear. The separation between mainstream and subculture would probably disappear, and our tastes would diversify. And, just maybe, talent and song quality — instead of physical attributes — would play a larger role in the success of a recording artist.

The weakness of Interface Culture is that some of the analogies and examples Johnson uses do not fully support his points. For example, Johnson draws an analogy between the Dickens’ novel and the hypertext links of the web. The Dickens novel is known for connecting the lives of his characters across social and economic barriers, making sense of the new unclear social roles wrought by the vast changes of the Industrial Revolution. “Where Dickens’ narrative links stitched together the torn fabric of industrial society, today’s hypertext links attempt the same with information. The imaginative crisis that faces us today is the crisis that comes from having too much information at our fingertips, the near-impossible task of contemplating a colossal web of interconnected computers” (p. 116). The purpose of an analogy is to clarify one thing by drawing out its similarities to another; however, this analogy creates confusion because it feels forced. The analogy to Dickens springs more from Johnson’s goal to equate the interface with high art rather than to illuminate the role of hypertext.

In addition, Interface Culture’s main audience is the educated computer user who is not necessarily an expert. Because his audience is so varied, Johnson’s frequent references to pop culture, art, and literature will probably be understood by each reader only in part. Nonetheless, whether the reader may miss the connection he is making, or Johnson may miss the mark, his analogies and examples are extremely thought provoking and fun to read. Furthermore, his central claims remain intact and he accomplishes his overall goal right from the outset, forcing us to think in new ways if we are to follow his journey.

Johnson’s words present an interesting fusion of ideas explored by literacy theorists Walter J. Ong, Eric Havelock, and David Olson. First, as Ong states, “print both reinforces and transforms of the effects of writing on thought and expression[1]”. Interface Culture particularly extends the idea transformation (not reinforcement) to the medium of the computer. At various points in his piece, Johnson connects interface design to changes in cognition, such as when he describes the effects of Engelbart’s spatial landscape and Kay’s desktop metaphor.  The connection to Ong is most explicitly made when Johnson posits that learning to compose on keyboard has affected the way we conceive our sentences:

The older procedure [writing with pen and paper] imposed a kind of upward ceiling on the sentence’s complexity: you had to be able to hold the entire sequence of words in your head, which meant that the mind naturally gravitated to simpler, more direct syntax… The word processor allowed me to zoom in on smaller clusters of words and build out from there… The computer had not only made it easier for me to write; it had also changed the very substance of what I was writing, and in that sense, I suspect, it had an enormous effect on my thinking as well (p. 143-145).

Furthermore, Johnson’s primary point is not how the computer has changed our cognition, but how the lens of the interface transforms the way we experience the information sphere, and subsequently the way we think and express ourselves.

Johnson also supports Havelock’s idea that “literacy when it came did not create a culture; it transmuted one which it inherited[2]”. This sentiment runs throughInterface Culture: Johnson is interested in the medium’s effects on our culture as they “trickle down into the broad cross section of everyday life, altering our storytelling appetites, our sense of physical space, our taste in music, the design of our cities” (p. 213). Furthermore, Johnson views the invention of the interface similarly to the way Havelock views the invention of the alphabet. Havelock recognizes the alphabet as a symbolic system that makes literacy accessible to a widespread demographic. Unlike logographs and syllabaries, Havelock contends that the alphabet has a small number of components (i.e., letters) that can be combined to represent sounds “with relative accuracy3”; therefore, the alphabetic system creates “the possibility of a popular literacy4” because it can be learned more easily by the majority. Likewise, Johnson asserts that the modern interface transformed the specialized C prompt into an accessible metaphor the majority finds comprehensible; the interface established the foundation for the computer literacy revolution we are currently experiencing.

Johnson postulates that the metaphoric illusions filtering our experience of information space not only imply a specific mindset, but help to create it. In other words, our value system as a people and the design of interface are interrelational, shaping one another as they evolve.  This argument strongly echoes Olson’s theory that writing systems “provide a model for language and thought5”. Olson believes the first people to use writing were not consciously trying to transcribe language and its structures (letters, words, phonemes, etc.); instead, the act of seeing the visual symbols provided an awareness of linguistic structure. Although interface designers are consciously trying to translate digital data, the possibilities are so vast that the interface is essentially providing us with a model for communication; its visual presence allows us to scrutinize it, uncover its components, change its syntax and grammar, and propel it in new directions. In addition, Johnson recognizes the interface as what Olson calls an “illusion of a full model6”; the interface creates blind spots to effectively translate the indecipherable world of raw digital data. However, the difference is that where Olson points this out as a drawback of the alphabet, Johnson sees the blind spots as a necessity for filtering the overload of available information.

Interface Culture, in Johnson’s own words, “is a preliminary survey of the field, a glimpse of the new medium in its formative years as it gropes uneasily for new ways to represent information” (p. 215). But more than this, Johnson’s book is a concentrated effort to raise our collective consciousness, to enlighten us to the enormity and pervasiveness of the impact that interface design decisions have on our culture. Certainly programmers and expert power users benefit from Johnson’s piece, but more importantly, the average, nonexpert user is empowered by Johnson’s grasp of interface design and his vision of its limitless possibilities. Whatever our background and level of computer expertise, Johnson engages our imagination and kindles our creativity. Interface Culture is a read that transforms us from passive users to active investigators, shifting our idle stares to inquisitive wonder.

Bibliography

1.      Ong, Walter J. Orality & Literacy. Routledge, 1982.

2.      Havelock, Eric. “The Coming of Literate Communication to Western Culture.” Perspectives on Literacy. Eugene R. Kintgen, Barry M. Kroll, Mike Rose (Ed). Southern Illinois University Press, 1988. 127-134.

3.      Olson, David. “What Writing Represents: A Revisionist History of Writing.” The World on Paper: The Conceptual and Cognitive Implications of Writing and Reading. Cambridge University Press, 1994. 65-90.

Review of The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe by Carolyn Jensen

Elizabeth Eisenstein’s, The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe, is a comprehensive overview of the second major communications shift: from manuscript culture to printed communication. This edition is abridged from Eisenstein’s two-volume academic work, The Printing Press as an Agent of Change.

According to the author, in the early 1960s, she became curious about the “specific historical consequences of the fifteenth-century communications shift… What were some of the most important consequences of the shift from script to print (x)?” These are the questions Eisenstein seeks to answer. In doing so, the book focuses mainly on how printing changed written communication.

Interestingly, the author writes that when she began research on this topic, to her surprise she found that no one had yet attempted to survey the consequences of the 15th century communications shift. Therefore, her two-volume work, published in 1979, became the first full-scale work on this subject, and it is still considered to be the defining work on the effects of the development of printing. The edition I am reviewing is abridged for the general reader. The footnotes have been dropped from the abridged version which, at times, makes for difficulties in identifying the source of materials cited and for determining which statements are factual and which statements are the author’s interpretation.

The way the book is structured helps to create a better understanding of the historical consequences of the development of printing.  The first section reviews the shift from script to print in Western Europe and summarizes the main characteristics of the introduction of printing. The second section relates the communication shift from script to print to three historical developments: the Renaissance, the Protestant Reformation, and the rise of modern scientific thought.

In the first section, Eisenstein provides a brief overview of scribal culture and the difficulties it presented which printing, at least in part, overcame. It may have been helpful to include a more thorough overview of scribal culture, as this would have provided a background for a better understanding of the magnitude of the changes affected by the printing revolution.

Nonetheless, in the first section, Eisenstein presents numerous examples of historical developments that were brought about or impacted by the development of printing beginning in the 1460s. These include:

  • The increase in the quantity of books published and the reduction in the number of hours required to produce books.

  • The change in the method of producing books while retaining, for a time, the look of scribal manuscripts.  Not only did early printers seek to copy the text of the manuscript as accurately as possible, they also sought to duplicate the look of the manuscripts right down to the typestyle and page layout. Yet while the books looked alike, the method of production was radically different.

  • The ability for identical words and images to be reproduced and then viewed simultaneously by scattered readers

  • The development and bringing together of new occupations and diverse skills

  • In the new print culture, the master printer handled machines, edited and translated texts, marketed products, and promoted writers and artists. The sheer volume of activities brought about by printing is significant.

  • The development of personal celebrity in the form of authors and printers and the development of literary rights.

  • The development of new printed products, including “how-to” books (printers may have been the first technical writers!), Bibles, indulgences, calendars, and maps.

  • The opportunity to review a variety of publications and do comparisons. These comparisons lead to the development of new knowledge and new ideas.
Eisenstein cautions against using these developments as the basis for conclusions. However, in the second section of the book, she gives closer attention to the three historical developments for the purpose of providing some “tentative conclusions concerning the effects… which seem strategic in the shaping of the modern mind (107).” The three historical developments are the Renaissance, the Protestant Reformation, and the rise of modern scientific thought.

In the case of the Renaissance, which is often difficult to understand or pinpoint, Eisenstein suggests that the Renaissance can be better understood by looking at an event which really did happen, which had crucial importance, and which occurred in the 15th century and at no other time. Of course, she is speaking of the shift from manuscript to print culture. She then shows how printing was able to bring about “the most radical transformation in the conditions of intellectual life in the history of Western civilization (115).” In showing this radical transformation, Eisenstein develops some of the effects that we have already mentioned from the first section of the book.

She claims that certain achievements of the Renaissance could not have come about until after printing. I accept this as truth, but I venture this claim may subject Eisenstein to criticism from Renaissance historians who do not wish to have the intellectual revolution affected so dramatically by something as mundane as a mechanical process.

Regarding the Protestant Reformation, Eisenstein says it was a “movement that was shaped at the very outset (and in large part ushered in) by the new powers of the press (148).” In just three years, between 1517 and 1520, Martin Luther’s 30 publications probably sold more than 300,000 copies.  This is significant even by modern standards.

Based on my career in Christian publishing and my Christian beliefs, I could comment at some length on Eisenstein’s analysis of the impact of printing on the Reformation and on the rise and use of religious publishing, but space does not allow. (I believe she is, for the most part, correct in her analysis. In her review of the Reformation, she has shed light on some trends in religious publishing that continue to this day.) However, one personal note may be of interest.

Eisenstein’s history of the Reformation, and specifically of Luther’s posting of the 95 theses on the church door, is quite different than the account of the Reformation I was taught as a child in my Protestant (non-Lutheran) Sunday school. My training would have said that it was God who enlightened Martin Luther to the importance of an individual having a personal relationship with God and to the importance of personal Bible reading. Furthermore, my teachers would have said that it was the blessing of God that made possible the Reformation and the ability for common men to read the Bible for themselves. The printing press was never mentioned. While this is an oversimplification, I do believe in God’s power at work to bring about the Reformation and make His Word available to the masses. From Eisenstein, however, we have learned of the tool — the printing press — which was the agent of change in the Reformation.

On the other hand, in some ways what I was taught about the Reformation in Sunday school is not far from the belief of the reformers. They believed printing was a means by which God conferred a special blessing. My Sunday school teachers believed God blessed the Reformation movement; they just forgot to mention (or more likely were not aware) that the reformers themselves believed God’s blessing in the Reformation was associated with printing. After all, Martin Luther said printing was “God’s highest and extremest act of grace.”

This is not the place to debate Martin Luther’s definition of grace. However, I must note that no matter how pivotal printing is to historical development or the spreading of God’s Word, to raise printing to the level of God’s grace is to ascribe to printing far greater attributes than any man-made invention deserves. Printing may have been influential in many ways, but it was not God’s grace!

The third historical development Eisenstein investigates is the rise of modern scientific thought. The effects of the printing press on scientific thought were quite different than the effects of the printing press on religious thought. In the Reformation, printing gave legitimacy to the message. In the development of scientific thought, printing created skepticism and drove thinking people to find the truth through study of the natural world and through comparisons of knowledge within printed books.

With the advent of printing, learning by memory and “slavish copying” became less necessary. At the same time, errors and inconsistencies in text became more obvious, because readers were able to access a variety of books and make comparisons. As a result, “all manner of curious men (194)” became distrustful of the old schools of thought and took a fresh look at the scientific evidence. This created new discoveries and ideas and the growth of scientific thought. Until data could be compared and recorded, science could not be studied effectively.

Eisenstein claims another way in which printing affected scientific thought was through the “process of feedback (200).” Before printing, there was no way to make observations public or universally accepted. After printing, observations were published and feedback was made to the author and within the scientific community. Thus, information was shared and developed to the betterment of all.

Because Eisenstein’s work centers on the shift from one literate culture — script — to another literate culture — print, this book is important within the context of literacy studies and it provides a comprehensive continuation in the saga of literacy development from oral to scribal and then to print cultures.

For many other literary studies, especially those regarding electronic literacy, Eisenstein’s book provides the starting point for consideration of this fourth communication culture. Without an understanding of oral culture and its effects (which we’ve studied in Ong, Schriber and Cole, Clanchy, and others), we cannot understand the significance of scribal culture. Without an understanding of scribal culture and its effects (which we’ve studied in Ong, Clanchy, Hoskin, Olson, Linell, and others), we cannot understand the significance of print culture. Without an understanding of print culture and its effects, which Eisenstein presents so comprehensively, we cannot understand the significance of the new electronic culture.

In Hypertext 2.0, George P. Landow demonstrates the importance of understanding other literary cultures, including print. He writes, “hypertext… promises to have an effect on cultural and intellectual disciplines as important as those produced by the earlier shifts in the technology of cultural memory that followed the invention of writing and printing (Landow 110)”. If one does not understand the significance of the earlier shifts, one cannot fully understand the significance of the current shift. Thus, Eisenstein’s work on print culture, both in its uniqueness and its completeness, is central to a fuller understanding of literacy in all its forms.

Eisenstein notes that her work is “primarily concerned with the effects of printing on written records (xii).” While this does not in any way detract from the importance of Eisenstein’s excellent work, I would have liked to also read of the effects of printing on thought or consciousness.  Walter J. Ong mentions one of these effects when he writes, “Print suggests that words are things far more than writing ever did (Ong, 118).” In this regard, David Heckel does what Eisenstein does not do. In his essay, “Francis Bacon’s New Science: Print and the Transformation of Rhetoric,” he helps us to understand the effects of printing on rhetoric and thought. He writes, “shifts in consciousness (are) attributable in part to the growing interiorization of the printed text as a model for intellectual activity (Heckel, 66).” As a result, Heckel’s essay, along with the writings of Ong, neatly compliment Eisenstein’s book to provide an even more comprehensive understanding of the effects of printing.

The implications Eisenstein presents of the development of a print culture are fascinating, both as they fit into the framework of literacy, as I’ve mentioned, and also because of numerous parallels which can be drawn between the print culture of the 15th century and the electronic culture of the 20th century.  This, too, could be a separate study, for which there is not space here to pursue.

Interestingly, Eisenstein’s book was written in 1983, long before the current communications shift to electronic culture, and thus without foreknowledge of the dramatic shift that is in progress. In some ways, this makes her observations even more valuable, as they can be a guide to the effects we can expect as the communication shift to electronic culture continues.

In the first section of the book, Eisenstein’s concludes that printing “brought about the most radical transformation in the conditions of intellectual life in the history of western civilization… its effects were sooner or later felt in every department of human life (107).”

This is just one of the broad claims Eisenstein makes for the effects of printing. As I read, I found myself questioning if these claims were exaggerated in the privilege they afford to the printing press. On the other hand, throughout the entire book, Eisenstein expertly backs her claims with historical accounts. Whether these historical accounts and the claims and interpretations Eisenstein bases upon them are accurate would require further study. hopefully with footnotes, to make an informed conclusion about their validity.

Were printing’s effects felt in every department of human life? Likely so. Would the changes (or some of the changes) she chronicles have occurred without the aid of the printing press? Perhaps. (Some of the changes she mentions could not have occurred without print because they are closely based on the existence of actual printed materials. However, other changes could potentially have occurred as a result of other developments because they did not rely so directly upon actual printed materials.)

On one hand it is easy to wonder if some of Eisenstein’s claims privilege the printing press too much, while on the other hand it is difficult, if not impossible, to imagine modern thought and culture without the involvement of print. She says she regards printing as an agent of change, but not the only agent of change. I strongly agree with this philosophy. However, despite her protestations, its seems to me that, at times and on certain issues, by the privilege Eisenstein gives the printing press, she implies that printing was the agent of change.

After reading this book, I asked myself if Eisenstein is a great-divide theorist. She seems to privilege print culture over the scribal or oral cultures. While she acknowledges the merging of the scribal and the print cultures, I believe she sees relatively mutually exclusive categories between scribal and print cultures. Perhaps this makes her a partial great-divide theorist: she recognizes the merger of and the mutual dependence of scribal and print cultures while privileging print culture.

In her look at science, religion, and intellectual development, Eisenstein makes a strong and well-defined case for the revolution caused by printing. Is she practicing technological determinism? To a degree, yes, in that she continually shows that the effects of printing, while they could not be predicted, were determined by a sequence of causal events independent of the will of the people.

Nonetheless, by showing the dramatic and far-reaching effects of printing on written communication and historical development, Eisenstein has provided a framework for us to understand factors that brought us to the present state of written communication and the ability to look more intelligently at the current communications shift from print to electronic media. On a web site devoted to information for investors, I found the following statement about Eisenstein’s work: “This book is a ‘must read’ for anyone wondering how the World Wide Web will affect our civilization… You will understand our present Information Revolution far better for having read this book (General Investing).” I agree with this author that Eisenstein’s book will benefit anyone, not just scholars, who want to understand both past and present communications shifts.

For me, reading this book helped position more clearly the characteristics and effects of the shifts from scribal to print cultures and the effects of print culture on written communication and historical development. It also provided many interesting insights that could provide the basis for further personal or academic study.

Overall, The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe is an important and pivotal work that provides compelling arguments of how and why the printing press forever changed Western civilization.
Works CitedEisenstein, Elizabeth L. The Printing Revolution in Early Modern Europe,Cambridge, United Kingdom; Cambridge University Press, 1983.

“General Investing & Historical Perspective.” IPS Funds Virtual Bookstore.
12 Oct. 2001 <http://www.ipsfunds.com/bookstore.html#eisenstein>

Heckel, David. “Francis Bacon’s New Science: Print and the Transformation of Rhetoric.” Media, Consciousness and Culture: Explorations of Walter Ong’s Thought. Ed. Bruce Gronbeck et al.
Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1991.

Landow, George P. Hypertext 2.0. Baltimore, MD; The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997.

Ong, Walter J. Orality and Literacy The Technologizing of the Word. London; Routledge, 1988.