What Matters about the History of Composition

History of Composition Instruction – Joyce’s Notes
ENGL 6690 Fall 2008

David Russell’s Writing in the Academic Disciplines is certainly not the only text that deals with the history of composition studies as a discipline, or with composition pedagogy as an evolving set of beliefs and practices. Not only do alternate histories of the discipline exist, but these other histories may draw other conclusions about the forces and attitudes that have shaped composition instruction throughout its history.

For example, John Brereton’s edition of collected documents related to the evolution of composition studies, The Origins of Composition Studies in the American College (1995), focuses more closely on the evolution of English departments, and the role that their conception of writing instruction played in shaping institutional approaches to teaching writing. For Brereton, approaches to teaching writing were greatly influenced by the evolution of English departments, and the movement from rhetorical training (largely governed by philosophy and classics programs) to composition training, which focused on the need to understand the English language, particularly in terms of reading and writing about literature.

Russell, meanwhile, notes that “the fundamental reasons for the decline of college-wide requirements beyond freshman composition transcend the specific practices of English departments or individual courses and instead lie in the dramatic growth in the organizational complexity of the American university and the shifts in values as its mission and clientele changed” (62). In addition, Russell focuses on the development of a “research orientation” for faculty (one which valued originality and the written documentation of new findings and ideas) and the role this development played in the evolution of writing instruction. Russell sees the development of this research orientation as an important factor in shaping the attitude that school writing should focus on content that is disciplinary in nature, and the perceived need for students to demonstrate the ability to do original research, to contribute to disciplinary knowledge, or at least to mimic the forms of writing that professionals use to do scholarly work. In Russell’s argument, the perceived need to move writing in this direction was based on the adoption of the German model of university research, and this perceived need then influenced the demise of the recitation model of learning that had previously dominated American Colleges. So one might say (although I would need to complete a better analysis to make a definite claim about this) that for Brereton the shift was based at least in part of the desire to focus student’s attention on the English language, while Russell might argue that the trajectory of the shift towards composition (which Brereton outlines in great detail) was seriously altered by “the new missions of research, graduate teaching, and scientific and professional instruction” (62).

That is not to say that Brereton and Russell necessarily disagree in their findings; rather, each scholar’s approach and study of different documents has led to altering perspective on the impact of the different forces that have shaped the evolution of composition instruction. After reading both Russell and Brereton’s accounts (and several others) it remains unclear exactly when certain approaches to teaching writing developed; for example, why, when rhetoric instruction shifted to composition instruction, did it also become restricted to a single course? And why did this single course become so primarily described in terms of remedial instruction, with “more writing” and “writing about content” becoming the privileged purview of only those students who showed that they were least in need of remedial instruction? Was this the only possible trajectory that could have developed from the attention to research-based writing? Why, if a focus on research required students to begin to emulate writing in a specific discipline did not explicit instruction in disciplinary writing become standard for all disciplines?

One of the key causative elements (which Russell discusses) in the particular evolution of composition instruction in the U.S. seems to be the somewhat paradoxical relationship among the following desires: (1) A search for generalizable writing skills and behaviors, (2) the knowledge (or perceived knowledge) about how these skills can/should be taught and learned, and (3) the relationship of these skills to the kinds of writing necessary in specific discourses. If Writing is done by all academic professionals, then all professionals ought to be able to teach it, but are there basic skills that students need to learn in order to be ready for such instruction? How are such skills learned? For example, one might argue that “correct grammar” is a necessary skill for all academic and professional disciplines (and although that argument would be factually incorrect, it would also be reasonable to a certain extent). Following the flow of such an argument, one might then claim that “Standard American Grammar” should be a required competency for any student entering into disciplinary study” (the idea being that if they already have this generalizable skill, they will then be able to focus on the various genre sets that make up the discourse of the discipline). This is not necessarily a poor argument, except that the research clearly shows that grammar is not learned in school at all – in fact, linguistic competence is a combination of the brain’s hard-wired ability to explore language and construct grammars, and the social environments in which a given language (or language variation) is learned. So in fact, one might argue that “correct grammar” isn’t even a teachable skill, outside of a given social context.

Once we move away from sentence-level grammar, the issue become even more murky, because as David Smit explains, “human beings learn language primarily by acquisition, by subconsciously internalizing what they hear and read; they do not learn language primarily through formal instruction” (p. 10, The End of Composition Studies). Further, when the attempt is made to teach a certain version of either sentence-level grammar or more sophisticated literacy skills, it is unclear what kinds of teaching/learning might best facilitate the school-based acquisition of these skills. This is perhaps the problem that many histories of composition studies eventually highlight, regardless of their perspective on the how and why of various reforms. Approaches to writing/communication pedagogy (and their various reforms) have often been based on often un-interrogated “common sense” knowledge about writing and communicating skill, often with a distinct lack of attention to how such skills might actually (and successfully) be taught. Perhaps I might go so far as to say “without a great deal of attention to either complex cognition or to similarities/differences between literacy acquisition and other forms of knowledge.” As a result we often know much more about what we think students should know, or what they don’t know, than we do about the tools and practices which might best help students acquire these skills (keeping in mind that “outside of school” is perhaps the best response to this question of acquisition).

So as composition instructors consider how to teach writing, we are bound by the evolution of university study, which determines the locations and the frequency with which writing is taught. And although different institutions have developed different ways of dealing with the sticky problem of student writing (including the development of Writing Across the Curriculum and Writing in the Disciplines programs), these various solutions might be said to fail in their efforts to move from what we want students to know (and knowing that what we want is for them to write well) towards what practices will best engage the kinds of literacy acquisition at which (based on research) our brains excel. In discussing various current approaches to composition instruction (i.e., feminist, expressivist, social-epistemic, cultural studies, service-oriented pedagogies, among others), Smit also argues that these pedagogical approaches all call on common sense rhetoric to make arguments for the efficacy of their instruction – that it is simply obvious that it will help students to write better if they can, for example, view culture critically, or learn to think about writing within some kind of “real-world” environment. Smit argues that instead we ought to be framing the issue in the following way: “in teaching our students to write, what is it that we want them to know, what is it that we want them to be able to do, and how should we go about helping them learning what they need to know and practice what they need to be able to do? And what sort of evidence would we accept in order to demonstrate the efficacy of a particular kind of instruction?” (p. 139).

For non-Writing Studies composition instructors, the explicit changes that have taken place in composition instruction (and the individuals, attitudes, and social forces that have shaped these changes) may have somewhat limited value. It is perhaps not as important to have a clear understanding of which forces have most influenced composition pedagogy as it is to understand that different attitudes about what a university education is for, how students should learn, which students can (and cannot) be taught, and the kinds of communication that are critical to successful work at the university and in the workplace have, at various times and in various ways, caused significant changes in composition teaching methods, in the time spent on various communications tasks, on the texts students produce, and on the learning outcomes that communication coursework is expected to achieve.

What may be most important (as a practical tool) for WMU ENGL 1050 writing instructors to consider are the following items:

• How does composition instruction play into/support/oppose/inform current beliefs and attitudes about the value of a university education? What multiple roles does it play, and how does the (or can the) composition instructor perform these roles?

•What beliefs and attitudes about language and literacy are evident in each individual’s exposure to writing instruction – can any of these beliefs be considered universal (or at least extremely widespread) and how do these beliefs impact writing instruction?
•What are the underlying beliefs and attitudes that are inherent to this program’s attitudes toward the teaching of writing? How do these beliefs connect to/oppose the larger goals/aspirations and moral, social, and economic belief systems related to the value and purpose of university education?
•How are the WMU beliefs and attitudes actually manifested in our teaching practices? (this is in response to Smit’s call, above). What do we think students ought to be learning, and how are we teaching it to them? (in the projects we assign, the discussions we have, the way we comment on student papers – or have them comment – the way we grade, the way we discuss and instruct students in grammatical, style and punctuation usage?).
•In what potential ways could our teaching practices be reformed to better match both what we know about how students acquire a sophisticated discourse community literacy, and our understanding of our program’s goals?

Reading Notes (engl6690) Fall 08

Readings for September 11th, 2008:

It seems worthwhile to begin with this very large quote from an article by David Russell, the reading of which marked a turning point in my own thinking about teaching introductory writing courses:


To try to teach students to improve their writing by taking a GWSI [general writing skills instruction] course is something like trying to teach people to improve their ping-pong, jacks, volleyball, basketball, field hockey, and so on by attending a course in general ball using. Such a course would of necessity have a problem of content. What kinds of games (and therefore ball-use skills) should one teach? How can one teach ball using skills unless one also teaches student the games, because the skills have their motive and meaning only in terms of a particular game or games that use them? Such a course would have a problem of rigor beacuse those who truly know how to play a particular game would look askance at the instruction such a course could provide (particularly if the instructor did not herself play all the games with some facility). It would also have a problem of unrealistic expectations, because it would be impossible to teach all -- or even a few -- ball games in course. finally, it would be extremely difficult to evaluate the effectiveness of a course in general ball using because one always evaluates the effectiveness of ball using within a particular game, not in general. Ways of using a ball that work well in one game (e.g., volleyball) would bring disaster in another (such as soccer).

From David Russell's, "Activity theory and its implications for writing instruction." In Reconceiving writing, rethinking writing instruction. Joseph Petraglia, Ed. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Pp. 51-78.


For me, Russell's metaphor (and re-think about the cognitive uses of metaphor when we read the Phil Eubanks article later in the semester). I'd like us to discuss in more detail Russell's idea that generalized writing skills cannot be taught. I'd also like us to think and talk about the idea in the "big picture people" article that a metaphor for social context (how social systems, experiences and knowledges) shapes genres and writing acts should NOT be as a container (interactions -- like the production and reception of a text -- are not "contained" by a certain social system), but rather should be as the warp and woven of a woven garment (deeply embedded and actually and instrinsic part of textual interactions between people). Russell and Yanez discuss this idea on p. 336 of the "Big Picture People" article.

I also think the Ketter and Hunter article, "Creating a Writer's Identity...", is important for us in its discussion of how students can (or might) use the "opportunity space" of first year writing to consider the nature of school writing -- and whether or not we can even hope to combat the academic bias against "experiential knowledge" (as Erin puts it on p.325 of the article). Do you think this bias exists? If we think about a genre studies/activity theory approach to first year writing, what does it do (or not do) to break down this barrier, or to re-define student's ability to understand the gaps and relationships between "school writing" and disciplinary or professional writing situations? This also ties to the Russell Yanez article and their descriptions of how professors and students can/might/should negotiate, define and illuminate the goals and constraints of disciplinary writing.