Fount of Wisdom Handbook for Teaching High School Writing

"There is nothing more disenchanting to man than to be shown the springs and mechanism of any art. [. . .] We shall never learn the affinities of beauty, for they lie too deep in nature and too far back in the mysterious history of man. The amateur, in consequence, will always grudgingly receive details of method, which can be stated but never can wholly be explained."

-Robert Louis Stevenson

Robert Louis Stevenson’s “affinity to beauty” and “mysteries” strike the bell so it rings loud and clear. The art of writing cannot be unveiled like the man behind the curtain; a certain nameless wind or muse blows through the ink of the unforgettable writers. Therefore, all of us, amateurs, must settle for method, a sort of disenchanting thing, full of wind and fury in execution and signifying nothing we can explain fully.

The situation demands a critical response. No one with a clear conscience can claim that students in our day write as well as students two hundred years ago, or even one hundred years ago. Besides the obvious trends in technology that have short-circuited our relationships with good books and frazzled our attention spans, the history of rhetoric—told briefly later on in this text—hopefully will clarify some reasons for our diminishing rhetorical powers.

To begin—though while in the trenches of teaching, things are never so clearly defined—let us imagine three trends in teaching writing.

One. The Naturalists. This approach assumes that writing is as natural as speech, and that techniques and outlines and in other "skills-based" approach to writing is either unnecessary or stifling. This approach assumes that students who have read copiously will naturally imitate the styles of the (ubiquitous) authors and ideas will spill onto the page.

The problem is that writing is not the same as speech. While all humans acquire speech simply by living around other humans, humans do not acquire the ability to write simply by reading. Writing does include skills that can be identified and named, skills that can be harnessed like the wind to send a kite flying. Skills must be practiced, sometimes in isolation, in order to make improvements.

Two. The Sophists. Perhaps this approach is the opposite of the naturalists’ approach. The sophists assumes eloquence can be mastered by drilling in certain skills, that writing is a matter mastering certain tricks that can be leveraged to entertain and persuade.

The problem is that writing requires content. Ideas drive writing, not style. Ornamentation without content is like making ornaments without a Christmas tree.

Three. The Formalist. This approach assumes that getting the form right makes a good writer. This approach spends lots of time on outlines, counting paragraphs, and predictable structures.

The problem is that this also does not deal with the content or the style problem.

This book attempts to offer an integrated approach to teaching writing called “Eloquence and Wisdom,” without which beautiful and authentic writing is impossible. Cicero argues, that "it is impossible to achieve an ornate style without first procuring ideas and putting them into shape, and at the same time . . . no idea can possess distinction without lucidity of style" (64) Eloquence is hollow without wisdom and wisdom is dull without eloquence. A good writer draws from the twin rivers of eloquence and wisdom. Any program for teaching writing that cannot navigate both those watery causeways, will dry up.

While wisdom comes from experience, eloquence comes by practice. The method must include the practice of eloquence and provide experience to gain wisdom. Educating students lacking the wisdom of gray hairs demands that we facsimile experience as much as possible by putting the students in touch with wiser minds. Then students must practice the tools of style, so that they become eloquent.