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It All Comes Back to Pointing at Stars (Again)

It's pretty disheartening to be at the end of the course and not have any rhetorical matter to write about. After all, by Augustine's own admission, OCD is not about setting down rules for rhetoric, so I can't judge it as a part of the history of rhetoric. It would be an unfair standard with which to judge him.

This is pretty lucky for him, since if he was purporting to teach about rhetoric, he'd be absolutely terrible at it. Rather than telling his prospective orators to study the contemporary standards of rhetoric and oratory style, he finds reading and listening to ecclesiastical works, which are infallible in their wisdom and eloquence, to be the perfect way to learn how to be eloquent. However, the defining traits of those works he dwells on seem to make them horrible teachers: they're cryptic when they should be clear and easily understood, they fail at attempts of harmonious endings, and none of them point out or make clear the rhetorical devices they use, almost as if there weren't hard and fast rules for oratory when most of them were written. He certainly gives examples of when the Apostle Paul was a poetic genius, but one would have to be schooled in rhetorical moves to even recognize what they're doing right, much less recognize what not to imitate.

The three gradations of rhetoric (subdued, temperate, and majestic) that he lifted from Cicero seem to give the fourth book some structure to go on, but linking them to the three main purposes of oratory (to teach, to delight, and to persuade) seems to be as far as he can get with practicality. Naturally, teaching is put above all, but then again it's useless for Christian orators to teach their subject matter if they can't force their listeners into action, so persuasion should really be at the top of his list. Sometimes it's appropriate to the needs of the audience to blend the gradations of rhetoric in one sermon. When is this needed? No clue, but I'm sure if the ecclesiastical writers who never talk about it don't tell you, the Lord will provide. And yes, even in a religious work, it seems like Augustine is throwing up his hands in frustration when he tells us that it doesn't matter how much you prepare, just pray before you speak because it all comes from God anyway.

Critique aside, I find a sense of community between rhetoricians here, not in any defining principles but in their shared need to set themselves apart and prove that they aren't the rhetoricians you've heard about. Augustine, Aristotle, Isocrates, Quintilian, they all knew that the sophists and heathens were ruining their image, and they needed to step up and say, 'My rhetoric is true, not like those other guys, and I'm not just saying that to deceive you.' It's a noble endeavor to want oratory free from corruption, but one can only guide one's students with noble intentions and an honest framework, and hope that it isn't polluted by the content that's unavoidably corrupt. Like Augustine, we all keep pointing vehemently at the stars of wisdom and eloquence we can clearly see, hoping that the rest of the world will turn to look.

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It All Comes Back to Pointing at Stars

Augustine might not appreciate me reading significance into things where there is none, but something pleases me about rounding off this semester with the first book on rhetoric I read for my first graduate class, On Christian Doctrine. Perhaps it says something about how far I've come that despite my rich knowledge of rhetoric, I still read Book II Chapter 11 (where he stresses learning Hebrew to properly understand Scripture) as someone telling me I have to learn Japanese to truly appreciate all the subtlety of an anime that's lost in the English translation. He even recommends the Septuagint and Italia dubs, as the amateur Latin translations just completely butcher the meaning.

But onto the actual analysis, it was interesting rereading OCD with a fuller background in early rhetoric, as now I can see the long heathen tradition that he's adopting almost word-for-word. A great deal of the arguments for the legitimacy of rhetoric we've retreaded in the Greek texts come up here, although Augustine seems to find a much higher and more commanding justification when it's about interpreting scripture. In the preface, he tackles one big question that has plagued rhetoricians: those who have a natural (God-given) talent for rhetoric/preaching Scripture don't need teaching, what good is this book? Amusingly, Augustine has a rejoinder that wasn't available to the rhetoricians: if God gave you the power to see the truth in Scripture, why do you bother preaching when God could give the same gift to everyone in your audience? Like the Scripture, it doesn't translate well into a defense of rhetoric, but it's a clever retort in its context. And as always, sophists are not to be trusted.

He also goes over the same recommendations for enriching your oratory with knowledge from other disciplines, although him calling it 'heathen knowledge' from the beginning is troubling. His emphasis on separating useful knowledge from that which consorts with demons and 'taking it back' for Scriptural study conjures up portents of scientific denial and cultural appropriation for which Christianity would become so popular. However, Quintilian acted just as possessive of oratory belonging to the orators, so we can't say Augustine doesn't have precedent there. Stomaching through that and following his reasoning, he seems fairly sensible at calling out pseudosciences that provide no service to humanity and only seek to create fear and superstition of incongruous things. Without him throwing around the word 'heathen,' he could easily be read as promoting openness of mind and hybridization of ideas, as long as one remains critically-minded and true to one's principles. And I believe that’s a lesson that any discipline can follow, heathen or otherwise.

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Rhetorical Borders and Borders of Rhetoric

It's quite a bold claim that Daniel Boyarin is able to make after five chapters of Border Lines, arriving at the statement: “I am arguing, in effect, that in the doctrine of God there is no essential and crucial difference between Judaism and Christianity.” He does not do this to reduce both religions to the same practice with petty differences, but rather he arrives at this conclusion after examining the points of division between them, and how they arose out of interestingly similar practices. The eponymous border lines drawn between Christianity and Judaism, he claims, have less to do with vastly separate ideologies and were more an effort to establish each one's distinct identity and orthodoxy, especially in the face of diaspora and cultural mixing.

In our discussion of the history of rhetoric, we've seen similar border lines being drawn, in order to legitimize the practice as its own science, distinct from other disciplines or natural abilities. Quintilian, Aristotle, and Plato's dialogues all address those niggling queries that call into question rhetoric's legitimacy: 'What is rhetoric the study of?' 'What is the content of your discipline?' 'How do you teach something like that?' 'What's the point of teaching when anyone can do it?' and so on. Much the way Boyarin talks about Judaism having the appellation of 'religion' thrust upon it and having to establish a separate orthodoxy to identify itself, we've seen rhetoricians have to explain their practice in terms of more 'established' sciences to be taken seriously. The idea that rhetoric is supposed to teach virtue is something these ancient rhetoricians seem to have thrust upon them, to forcibly distance themselves from the 'heretical' practice of rhetoric to persuade with lies that predates the 'orthodoxy.' In Aristotle's treatise, he outlines and categorizes the proper, orthodox approach to rhetoric, yet appropriates for it philosophical logic and judicial procedure, as well as the turns of speech and emotional appeals that the 'heretics' are misusing. Likewise, Quintilian establishes that in order to create the ideal orators, rhetorical studies should be taken back from the grammarians and only taught separately by those who are qualified to call themselves orators. Even today, the issue of rhetoric losing its individual identity is linked to being subsumed and appropriated by other disciplines in writing and philosophy. For rhetoric, the border lines have all but disappeared. But through reading Boyarin's analysis of Christianity and Judaism, it makes one wonder where the lines were to begin with, and if they were necessary.

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Just let me collect my notes for a sec...

As my interest this semester is focusing on the history and opinions on arrangement in rhetorical works, I was pleasantly surprised to get Quintilian's prescriptive take on the subject. In his pursuit of a educational system that would produce an ideal orator (one might even call that an Institution of Oratory, or something), he makes very colorful use of analogy and parables as Aristotle would call them. He uses them to great effect, I think, in promoting the idea of moderation, by demonstrating the foolishness of going to extreme in either direction.

One of the more biting of his analogies that happens to gel with me is when he's talking about many consider that eloquence doesn't need instruction, following on that age-old misconception that good speaking and the best words can't be taught. He calls them out as such: “those who judge erroneously and who think that what has no art has the more energy, just as if they should conceive it a greater proof of strength to break through a door than to open it, to rupture a knot than to untie it, to drag an animal than to lead it.” (Book 2, Ch. 12.1) There's certainly something satisfying about hearing the class of people you detest compared to absolute meatheads, but my species of structuralists don't get off any easier. While he wishes that all species of rhetoric could so easily be confined by a set structure (prooemium, statement of facts, proposition, etc.), adhering to these rules and not the circumstances of the occasion would be like requiring that an army marches into every battle in the same formation, regardless of changing terrain, obstacles and enemies. (Book 2, Ch. 13.3) He makes this parable mostly to discourage students from thinking they have all the answers just because they know the structure, but nothing makes me rethink my strategy more than feeling like I was jut compared to my high school's football coach.

One conclusion I have to draw from Quintilian's instruction is that structure and discretion should be measured evenly for the perfect orator, one not exceeding the other too greatly. He doesn't discourage the writer from spending long hours in their study in complete silence and contemplation, but becoming a proficient and respected orator does necessitate going outside and getting over your fears of talking without a definite plan (or at least seeming like there's no plan). Being an orator means living in the world, and that means actively observing as much as it does having a set of well-traveled rules to guide you.

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Endless Interpretation, and then some

While Susan Handelman makes a valiant attempt to introduce the most basic background concepts and rules for reading the Torah, The Slayers of Moses lost me consistently and thoroughly. While this may be my cultural ignorance shining through, any attempt of mine to grasp solid guidelines for the interpretation going on was swiftly met by qualifiers and contradictions that seemed unapproachable at best and completely arbitrary at worst. Regardless, I did find familiarity in the endless interpretation of a singular text, and a tradition of adhering to strict guidelines while also taking multiple views of what already exists. More specifically, I'm talking about the tradition of interpretation that we still practice in literary criticism.

At the doormat of literary criticism, we say there are No Wrong Answers, but we've never had a dearth of unspoken rules and guidelines that will make one interpretation of a text generally accepted and another widely discredited. We emphasize the importance of finding evidence in the text itself, but while we have an entire website dedicated to the specific definitions of words in Emily Dickinson's dictionary, the text and even the author's intent should never be the final word on what is really meant by the words within it. Historical context is a double-edged sword as well. We aren't supposed to assume that Walt Whitman was gay based on how blatant the imagery in Leaves of Grass is, but that doesn't mean that reading his works through queer criticism has no value or significance. We're meant to keep a safe distance between the historical context within which a work was written and our modern readings of it, but by participating in literary criticism we are transcending the barriers of time by bringing a past work and a present perspective into the same conversation. Just like the Torah is not limited to its physical text, so literature is an entity that transcends what is written down, and every new field and essay in the body of discourse reveals another aspect of it that was always there.

It's taking part in this literary community that makes one of my fellow classmate's responses perfectly reasonable and understandable to me. Bringing The Slayers of Moses, Aristotle's syllogism and the progressive sci-fi feature Arrival together under one blog post traces a chain that transcends temporal barriers, and reveals aspects of all three that would've gone unnoticed otherwise. While I can't see myself breaking into the complex interpretive community of the Torah and Midrash, I think I understand better how one can be immersed in that discourse and comprehend everything that's expected of them.

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Tries to Instruct on Speeches; Creates the Five Paragraph Essay

With my presentation this Monday on the third book of Aristotle On Rhetoric, I've gone pretty thoroughly over Aristotle's approach to style and arrangement. Suffice it to say, my craving for structure and order in written works (as I've ranted about before) makes me pretty chummy with Aristotle's method, which is essentially the five paragraph speech.

Rather than bore you with those details, I'd prefer to bore you with a tidbit that struck my interest: how Aristotle talks about periods and colons. Considering this is a treatise on speeches rather than written text (and the lack of punctuation in ancient Greek texts), he talks about punctuation in poetic terms, focusing on what's meant to be punctuated. Periods, in this case, are like lines in a poem that represent a complete thought that stands on its own. Cola, similar to how we use semicolons, take the form of two parts of an idea, juxtaposed so that they set up some kind of antithesis or comparison between topics. The use of structuring a speech this way, according to Aristotle, is comprehension, allowing your audience to easily follow your speech and your train of thought when it's not a run-on sentence with no end in sight.

The concept of framing punctuation in a medium that contained little to no writing fascinated me, as it's such a deeply ingrained part of modern language. It brings to mind the idea that we learn language first by immersing ourselves in common speaking, and then learning its formal structures through reading, writing, and grammar. We understand things like periods and colons first by how they sound, and the metrical flow they give to speech. One would think, then, that the use of punctuation in written language open us up to clarity of meaning and, for those who know the rules, allows us to follow a text in the voice and rhythm it's intended.

Because this is a class done with an eye toward modern times, one of my classmates has already linked this question of formal style to the internet and digital media with which we broadcast ourselves. This, too, raises questions about the period and the colon in our bite-sized and often entirely verbal communication. Using punctuation in texts and tweets is considered something technophobe parents do, and as long as the message is short and sweet, periods seem completely unnecessary. In the way Aristotle describes it, would one consider a 140 character tweet to be a rhetorical period, or the common image macro memes (impact font text above; corresponding text below) to be the antithetical cola? One might say that the conciseness and brevity that our internet culture is heading towards is adhering to Aristotle's rules of style, as long as it's done with the intent to enlighten and amuse rather than just repeat everything you hear.

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Such are the characters of the young and the older; as a result, since all people receive favorably speeches spoken in their own character and by persons like themselves, it is not unclear how both speakers and speeches may seem to be of this sort through use of words. 

Aristotle, On Rhetoric (2.13.16)

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Tricks of the Gnomes (Less exciting than it sounds)

I felt at first that I'd have little to report on about Book 2 of Aristotle's On Rhetoric. It continues with a very 'common sense' approach to rhetoric, this time outlining the aspects of pathos, ethos, and logos by explaining a series of emotions, audience demographics, and logical arguments that the rhetorician can use to their advantage. With some changes to the language and updated examples, this is more or less the exact book I'd write to teach the basics of ethical, logical and emotional appeal, and even taking notes to simplify it seemed unnecessary. It's no wonder that this book survived to be applied to rhetorical studies in the modern day, since all these general topics seem to hold up.

However, I did pause for thought when I reached a very poignant note Aristotle makes on the subject of maxims. Maxims (or 'gnomic sayings,' as I'm going to call them from now on) are the general pithy statements that you'll find everywhere, and which often don't have to be thought about too deeply or even given any stated cause or reason for someone to agree with their message. Among the explanation that common knowledge often fills in the blanks, Aristotle drops this provocative statement:

A maxim, as has been said, is an assertion of a generality, and people enjoy things said in general terms that they happen to assume ahead of time in a partial way. Aristotle, On Rhetoric (2.21.15)

This statement happened to trigger the same reaction in my brain as when it first hits a freshman undergraduate that 'there are no absolute truths,' though not with the same results. Defining maxims in this way puts a cynical spin on rhetoric and argumentation as a whole, with the assertion that we only agree with things that just state our opinions back at us, and that we're only really being convinced that our opinions are right because someone else shares them. A similar sentiment is already laid out when he talks about emotions, how friends and people we pity and emulate are often dictated by how similar they are to us, and rhetoric can be useful to making someone seem more or less like our audience for our own purposes.

This is where one could, as many less disciplined rhetoricians have, go down a cynical path in exploiting the more shallow realities of effective rhetoric, using dirty tricks and pithy gnomic sayings to sway an audience to your side, believing it's their own. However, I chose instead to see this as a lesson in what Aristotle's been promoting throughout On Rhetoric: awareness. Yes, the dirty tricks and underhanded pleas work, but our duty as rhetoricians is to recognize when someone's pulling those tactics, and either call them out on it or take steps to circumvent it. As he began this scroll, anyone can be a rhetorician by accident, but those who know the art can accomplish much more than cheap tricks.

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Teaching Common Sense Rhetoric

Aristotle's first book on rhetoric, as some of my colleagues have pointed out, has marked a distinct change in method from Plato's dialogues on the subject. For one, we're transitioning from a discourse to a lecture series which, with the historical background the text gives us, is not a bad move. The most public introduction people seem to have to rhetoric in this era are handbooks they can buy in desperation when they're facing a court case, so it stands to reason that a broad, comprehensive lecture would do the reading public more good than a discourse that demands their input about a topic they're wholly unfamiliar with.

On Rhetoric seems to address that issue with what I'd call 'common sense' training. It definitely seems questionable why he would bother spending entire chapters detailing such obvious things as what happiness, good, and pleasure are, and what generally makes people happy, but that's the sort of comprehensive lesson you want when you're teaching the fundamentals. The fact that he explicitly addresses things about human interaction that should be obvious goes back to a statement he makes at the very beginning:

Now among the general public, some do these things [dialectic and rhetoric] at random and others through an ability acquired by habit, but since both ways are possible, it is clear that it would also be possible to do the same by [following] a path; for it is possible to observe the cause why some succeed by habit and others accidentally, and all would at once agree that such observation is the activity of an art. (Aristotle, On Rhetoric, 1.1.1.)

This speaks to me that teaching rhetoric is a bit like teaching the English language, or more specifically, English grammar. To naturally-born English speakers, a lot of the rules and quirks of the language are unspoken and obeyed on instinct, but when actually asked to explain how and when to use something as simple as the articles 'the' and 'a,' quite a lot of us would be stymied to give a comprehensive answer. In the same way, some of us could probably defend ourselves in court with no training, but at best we'd be guessing at the subtleties of an art with its own guidelines.

Another aspect that I admire in Aristotle is his frank admission of how people have effectively gamed the system with underhanded tactics, and more broadly, how and why humans aren't always perfect. In Plato's dialogues, it always felt like everything had to be absolute and placed in neat binary oppositions with no room for error or ambiguity. Here, Aristotle flat out details the many, many reasons why people do bad things for selfish reasons, and the weaknesses in the judicial system that make breaking the law seem like a good trade-off for instant gratification. Likewise, his 15th chapter on judicial rhetoric spells out the tactics that people use to appeal for and against different types of evidence, and while he doesn't explicitly condone them, he doesn't brush them under the rug.

I feel that Aristotle's openness in this lecture gives us a valuable lesson about practical instruction. While it's easy to think that teaching students the underhanded side of rhetoric will breed bad habits, refusing to shelter your students from them and illustrating why these tactics are effective can also promote trust in the student-teacher relationship, and hopefully make them more inclined towards the honest side of rhetoric.

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Good Rhetoric in Good Mentoring

As someone who’s shown their distaste for the Socratic dialogues, I find there is much more for me to enjoy in Plato’s Phaedrus. I would like to say the question and answer format that seems to drag on in other dialogues doesn’t bother me as much here, owing in part to the mythological detours Socrates gives on the nature of souls and true love, and in part to the constructive and sympathetic attitude he takes when dealing with the younger Phaedrus.

On the second point, I’d like to expand on some of Socrates’ subtle movements that speak to me as a teacher and mentor, which take place in the frame between the discussions on love, the soul, and rhetoric. Towards the end of Phaedrus, Socrates lays out the bare foundation for producing good rhetoric:

First describe the soul with perfect accuracy and make us see whether it is one and all alike, or, like the body, of multiform aspect; for this is what we call explaining its nature. […] secondly he will say what its action is and toward what it is directed, or how it is acted upon and by what. […] Thirdly, he will classify the speeches and the souls and will adapt each to the other, showing the causes of the effects produced and why one kind of soul is necessarily persuaded by certain classes of speeches, and another is not. (271)

Put simply, to create good rhetoric is to know the audience you’re addressing, and Socrates practices this on his student before the discussion even starts. He knows Phaedrus is the kind of student who, when attending Lysias’ orations on love, would not simply sit and enjoy but ask questions and drink it all in with the intent of practicing it himself. Knowing this, he doesn’t let Phaedrus hide that he’s studying the written copy, which he conceals in embarrassment. Likewise, when he’s able to coax a recitation out of Phaedrus, Socrates applauds him and praises him for getting him swept up in the divine passion of the text.

What Socrates is practicing here is positive reinforcement to correct a bad habit that Phaedrus had thrust upon him. The way he hides his copy of Lysias’ speech and apologizes for reciting it shows an embarrassment about something about which he’s very passionate and invested. It implies that when he’s gotten carried away by the muse before, people have put him down or shown disinterest and boredom, conditioning him to think he should hide it. Socrates, however, sees the passion Phaedrus has for this subject, and does his best to give him confidence in something he so deeply enjoys. Socrates even goes further to indulge in his own evocation of the muse, getting lost in the divine rapture so Phaedrus can receive his lesson in a way that most appeals to his artistic interests. With this awareness and empathy with each other established, Phaedrus is more receptive to Socrates’ instruction, and even allows himself to completely reverse his position on Lysias’ great oratory. While it’s definitely not at the forefront of the discussion, Socrates’ method of working with Phaedrus acts as its own practical example of how to use good rhetoric as a mentor and a good friend.

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Spitting into an Ocean of Words

“Protagoras, I have a wretched memory, and when any one makes a long speech to me I never remember what he is talking about. As then, if I had been deaf, and you were going to converse with me, you would have had to raise your voice; so now, having such a bad memory, I will ask you to cut your answers shorter, if you would take me with you.”

This demand brought an otherwise straightforward reading of Plato's Protagoras to a halt for me, seeing as the 'long speech' Socrates was objecting to was 210 words long, and part of a much longer dialogue which Socrates himself is relating, word-for-word, to a companion completely from memory. The other listeners later call this out as untrue themselves, more or less openly stating Socrates just wants to set this argument in his rapid-fire question and answer style that always ends in his favor. They decide to act as arbiters to keep Socrates from sticking to pure brevity as well as rein in the self-proclaimed Sophist Protagoras from going on long rhetorical diatribes.

I'll try to save my vitriol against these dialogues for another time, stopping here just to mention that not only does this one just lapse into Socrates' rapid-fire question and answer style anyway, but Socrates himself also goes on endless side tangents that rival the whole length of Protagoras' initial speech on the teaching of virtues. Instead, I'd like to ponder how these two argumentative styles seem like the most common that come up in modern parlance, and while both have their pros, argument breaks down when they're taken to extremes.

First we have Protagoras' rhetorical speeches which, as his listeners say, “go forth on the gale with every sail set out of sight of land into an ocean of words.” I feel like everyone, on this site and others, has had that particular ocean pour out after clicking 'Read More' on a friend's political, social, or otherwise passionate diatribe. While certainly forming an argument, the author never seems intent on arguing, simply assuming that all opposition is drowned in their words and expecting only awe in response, if anything at all.

The Socratic format, while seeming to engage in a logical process towards a conclusion and taking in the affirmation of others, suffers from a similar problem of only wanting to hear assent, if they want to hear anything at all. Socrates builds up his logical statements, pausing between each one to ask his interlocutor if those statements are true, yet all it takes is Protagoras to speak up with anything but total agreement to completely derail Socrates' argument, and cause him to get frustrated and try to leave then and there. We've all no doubt seen these sort of echo chambers in social media groups and the real world alike, where the only opinions allowed are the same ones reflected back on each other, with the only result being everyone within it feels more empowered in their own opinions.

Logical consistency and rhetorical passion both have their places in argument, but they do little good when the grounds of discussion aren't open and accepting of other viewpoints. Socrates does end up convinced of Protagoras' views on virtue, and that should be a successful end to any argument: coming away from it enlightened by new knowledge in spite of your strong convictions.

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An Essay for All Occasions

“If all who are engaged in the profession of education were willing to state the facts instead of making greater promises than they can possibly fulfill, they would not be in such bad repute with the lay-public.” -Isocrates, Against the Sophists

With this rant, Isocrates was targeting the Sophists who, like ancient Greek snake oil salesman or DeVry university recruiters, promised to make any impressionable student into an unparalleled orator for a ridiculously small (and at the same time ridiculously expensive) tuition. The promised to do so simply by teaching them formulas or memorizing a few lines that, regardless of audience, purpose or other circumstances, would always get a desired reaction. In response, Isocrates makes a very reasonable point which, at its tail end I have to refute: “oratory is good only if it has the qualities of fitness for the occasion, propriety of style, and originality of treatment, while in the case of letters there is no such need whatsoever.”

With 2400 years of difference between us, I can't say for certain whether Isocrates would classify essays and other written arguments as oratory or letters, but I firmly believe they belong in the former category if those are his qualifications for what makes a good essay. Throughout my educational career, I always craved structure- I was the kid who needed to know exactly what was asked of me, how long and over what topics an essay needed to be, and I definitely wouldn't turn down a paragraph-by-paragraph breakdown. I always framed my essays in the tried-and true five-paragraph structure, broke down my points in an alphanumerical list, and did everything in my power to ensure there was nothing creative or deviant about it. Does that kind of structure and formulaic foundation lead to bad orators? Only if that's the very extent of it.

As I'm passing gradually from the role of the student to that of the teacher, I've begun to realize the true benefit to having these templates, prompts and 'formal training' as Isocrates would put it: they don't impart godlike wisdom and creativity, but they do get students in the frame of mind to find it on their own. By laying out a structure for students to follow, teachers hopefully get students' minds working on ways to fill those points in, and what questions to ask to make their arguments strong. A decently fleshed out essay prompt should get students to identify what their audience wants and the ideal language to use, so that in the future they consider the 'fitness for the occasion' for every argument they craft. Ultimately, it's down to the student wanting to think critically, but with the right foundation and prompting, teachers aren't completely helpless in this. It's only when the prompting and structure become uniform and impersonal that we lose the student's interest in critical thinking. In that respect, it's not altogether wrong for a teacher to make great promises, if they expect great things from their pupils.

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The Walden Experience (Part 6 of 6)

About fifteen minutes later, my day's work was finally rewarded. Sitting before me was a plate of flaky salmon, grilled to perfection, topped with a savory and aromatic sauce and accompanied with garlic rice. I took in a deep breath to inhale the aroma...and whipped out my phone.

I know, I'm a horrible person. A real camper would have appreciated the dying rays of the sun on the picturesque landscape as they basked in the culinary experience that they worked so hard to accomplish. But I used my half hour of unrestricted access to the outside internet queuing up a random internet video, staying glued to my screen until the fish had disappeared. I honestly don't even remember what I watched, but it held my attention.

According to experts, that's not atypical. One of the main symptoms of many internet psycoses is eating all meals in front of a screen, and any food feeling unfulfilling if you're not watching something with it. They say it's some kind of Pavlovian ritual the mind goes through, and I believe it. I honestly tried to enjoy the scenery while I ate a few times during that summer, but it just never felt the same. But if I was going to give my brain over to the net for just a short time every day, then it was better than...that alternative.

However it happened, I cleaned my plate and filled my stomach. After it was done, I tried to contemplate. This was probably the freshest meal I'd ever eaten, the first animal I'd caught, killed, cooked and eaten myself. And depending on your opinion of cloned beef, it might be the first real animal I've ever eaten. This fish was a symbol of technology's synthesis with nature, of cooperation across time and space, and selfless distance thinking of those who came before me, hopefully carried on to future generations. I was participating in something that may bring America back to nature, back to an appreciation of the world beyond our cityscapes and prepackaged microwave meals. It was a return to primitive humankind, but also a step forward into the posthuman.

It was also pretty tasty, though the lemon and garlic flavors didn't seem to work well for me. Three and a half stars.

I suppose at the time I could also have ruminated over what that rating meant, who I was really giving it to, and if it was a judgment of myself, the technology, the fish, nature, or everyone else that put things in motion so I could experience it. But I was tired, and it was getting late.

I washed up and retreated to my black-walled bedroom/bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed. However that night, a wild idea hit me. I pulled my little cot out of the black room and into the main cabin. I'd finally started living off the land, I thought, so why not start living in it?

I sat there for a good long while. Me, on my cot, in my bedclothes, protected from the wild, untamed expanse of nature by nothing but a transparent, dubiously unbreakable set of walls. That was all that ever separated us these past few nights, but it was different because I could see it all, and it all could, if it desired, see me.

Big Salmon Lake was reflecting the bright, pale moon, perched atop Charlotte Peak resting for the night among a dense forest of greenery. Among them was an old olive tree, a hidden patch of garlic and onions, and under the lake bed a teeming ecology of fish. It all lived there without me, and would keep on living after I left. At that moment, we were part of the same whole.

I reclined back on the cot. My view of the stars was mostly obscured by the solar panels, but I didn't mind. I reached for my phone one last time that night, dimmed the Orison battery to standby, and queued up a story. I had filled up my library with e-books in anticipation of being bored all summer, but so far I had yet to touch it. I chose one of Shakespeare's works that I had only gotten maybe halfway through back home, and set it to audio.

As I laid back down, I felt like I was going to fall right to sleep for the first time in my life. I think I woke up in the middle of the night a few hours later, but for the time being, these were the last words that lulled me to sleep.

Be not afeard; the isle is full of noises, Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments Will hum about mine ears, and sometime voices That, if I then had waked after long sleep, Will make me sleep again: and then, in dreaming, The clouds methought would open and show riches Ready to drop upon me that, when I waked, I cried to dream again.

(This journal made public by the Walden Experience project, on behalf of the Department of the Interior and the Yellowstone to Yukon preservation initiative. To learn more about the program and this cabin's availability, follow the link to the Walden Experience website...)

[driedleavesboiled-blog]

The Walden Experience (Part 5 of 6)

Finally returning back home, I waved my I.D. over the door and it popped open, magnetically clasping shut behind me. With the light from outside starting to fade, I tapped the Orison battery to life and it bathed the room with a pleasant glow of flourescent light. With the power on, I booted up the OneCook and plugged in my phone to the charger, uploading the recipe I was about to embark on. I laid out the containers of ingredients on the countertop that dominated the south wall and brought out the salmon from storage, still smelling as fresh as when I caught it. Unsealing the three containers of lemon, garlic and tarragon, the mingling of aromas that met my nose hinted at the culinary experience I was about to enjoy, and made me even more happy that no bears were able to smell it too.

The start of the recipe would have to be filleting the fish. As easy as the online walkthrough assured me this was, I still needed a laser-guided Holly to reassure me I wasn't including any pieces that would give me food poisoning or cancer, or whatever fish can give you nowadays. After a tense minute or so, I was left with two servings of bright red salmon fillets, the second of which I sealed away for tomorrow. The guide also suggested I use whatever's left for fish stock, removing any fear I had that it would kill me. I still didn't know when I'd need it, but I'd leave that up to the OneCook.

Next came the olive oil. I'd already gotten the juicer out for the lemons (which was about the only task I had any experience with before this), but after the visceral experience before, I decided to do it hands-on. As I expected, there wasn't much of a science to it, and squeezing out the required 2 tablespoons for the fish and 2 for the sauce was more of a pleasure than a chore. I took the opportunity to squeeze about half a cup into a bottle for later, but it was less about preparedness and more about fun.

I worked the oil over the salmon and the grill grate of the OneCook, taking a bit more time to do so than I should have. It felt like I was giving the fish a post-mortem, pre-dinner massage, and if I had the clean fingers to queue up a video to distract me from that thought, I would have. Once the preparation was done and the timer was set for 5-10 minutes, I wasn't shy about just wiping the oil on myself before the next task.

The lemon, garlic and tarragon mingling in the olive oil as I stirred didn't disappoint on aroma, and felt like a perfect complement to the fish I'd just shared a moment with. True, it would've had more substance to it with mustard and mayo, but in the wild, we have to make some sacrifices.

After the wet work was done, I still had some time on the clock and decided it'd be appropriate to prepare a side dish. Gathering up the ingredients I didn't use in their containers, I waved my I.D. over a hatch on the floor, and descended the ladder to the claustrophobic 10x10 cellar.

As close to nature as I was, and as far away from society and people as I'd been this whole time, I never felt alone more during my stay than when I was in the cellar. The walls were just as airtight as those up above, but the fortified steel separating me from the dirt felt like it cut off everything else, which it was supposed to do. The containers for the various dried goods were just as artificial, thought perfectly suited to preservation. I understand why some people choose to have old fashioned wicker baskets and garlic braids in their cellars instead, since that gives it something of a less desolate atmosphere.

After depositing the fruits and veggies where they'd be safe, I popped open the lid to a huge drum of rice. I scooped out a serving, reminded of the words from the manual. “The rice and beans provided with this option will provide assured sustenance for the entire summer. While we encourage honing your survival skills, this guarantees that you will never go hungry.” As far as pure utility was concerned, I could have spent my entire summer down here, never once seeing the sun, the grass or water that wasn't properly filtered for me. I would be all alone, but I would survive.

With a deep breath, I resealed the container, grabbed some salt and pepper for seasoning, and beat a hasty retreat back upstairs.

[driedleavesboiled-blog]

The Walden Experience (Part 4 of 6)

Now that I was reconnected, I took a seat under the olive tree for a moment, contemplating my next move. I was lucky enough to find this one on my own, but it occurred to me I had no idea what garlic looked like in the wild, or what tarragon looked like, period. “Holly, pictures of garlic...plants. And tarragon.” Some distant memory seemed to recall that garlic was a root vegetable, and tarragon was like...green stuff put on as garnish, but that didn't exactly help.

Getting the images from Holly confirmed my worst fears. “So...it just looks like grass.” She clarified with a search that both could survive this climate, and they both usually grow in shade usually at the base of other trees. “So it's grass...that grows under trees.” I knew I was going to need more help.

Navigating back to the Walden Experience app, I brought up the map of my immediate area again. Just like with the mint and the lemon and olive trees, people had been leaving AR markers with notes all around this lake even before it was purchased by the Y2Y initiative and established as a Walden cabin area. A lot of people established camping spots and, since the cabin got started, more notes concerning daily living started to pop up. If there was food sources, this is where you'd find them.

After a lot of tapping and getting sidetracked, I found one note on the south side of the lake in another cluster of trees. Seems one of the first campers was a bit of a foodie, since he left a long note about refusing the dried cloves or garlic salt that came with some ration plans, and decided to grow his own for a fried rice recipe. He included a photo of the final product from the end of his stay, and it looked well worth the wait and effort. His garlic bulbs would be my next destination, and I made notes of where he also grew onions for later.

Finding tarragon took a bit more searching, during which I'm not ashamed to say I got distracted. Someone had suggested great fishing by the falls down by Flathead River, where they'd done some out-of-cabin camping and swimming, which reminded me that I'd yet to do either one. There was a one-man tent included in the cabin, so it was entirely possible, just felt like I'd be giving up the little security and society I had left out here. And like most people I'm sure, I had only used the rainwater shower in that blacked-off area of the cabin.

The website and orientation constantly reassured me that I wasn't really alone up here, that if I needed help it wasn't far away, but there's never much talk about how much privacy you really have. Part of the reason the cabins are out here is to monitor this area that even the government can't constantly keep tabs on, so if I'm not taking pictures or writing it down, no one knows about it. So when you've got the options of hiding in a dark room to shower with rainwater and letting the natural spray of a waterfall cleanse your body from head to toe miles from civilization, which one sounds more crazy?

Lost myself for a second there. Another camper had brought a tarragon plant with them and transplanted it closer to the cabin on the northeast side of the lake. She encouraged anyone to help themselves, but not to take the whole thing, since it apparently couldn't regrow from its seeds. I didn't feel like questioning someone who, compared to me, was an expert, so I marked the spot and got ready to adventure again.

The hike back through was uneventful, having put my phone away again to make sure I didn't slip and fall while crossing any of the creeks. I mentioned my fear of breaking myself earlier, well that was nothing compared to the danger of breaking my phone. I know it's against the ideals of the program, but when your device is literally responsible for your survival and emergency services, instead of just seeming like that, you tend to get even more protective of it.

The garlic shoots were just where Mr. Foodie marked them, and it seemed like quite a few more buds had sprouted up since he planted them. I yanked a bag full of bulbs out, confirming with Holly that these things were, in fact, garlic, and made a note to replant at least as many as I took later on. The program acknowledged that it was difficult to stay here so long and still 'leave nothing but footprints,' but they at least encouraged us to leave things better than we found them if we could. I don't know if planting garlic here is better for anyone but humans, but it certainly made me feel good thinking about providing for someone else's next meal.

The tarragon took a bit more effort. I had to ask Holly to guide me on what to cut off and what to leave there, afraid I was going to hack the whole thing off and ruin anyone's chances of eating...aromatic grass for the rest of the summer. Her lasers guided me accurately, and after about five minutes I had a full batch of tarragon to store for later. On the walk back I found out it goes with chicken, fish and egg dishes, and is a main ingredient of Bearnaise sauce, along with egg yolk, butter and vinegar, which was apparently delicious on steak.

Not sure why I mention any of that, especially since only one of those items I could conceivably find and eat up there. I still have it on my list to go out and make some bearnaise sauce to see if it's true, but I've just been too busy lately.

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[driedleavesboiled-blog]

The Walden Experience (Part 3 of 6)

With no clear direction where to go, or if these other three ingredients were even around, I called on Holly again. “Where can I find olive trees?” I asked, making the deductive leap that olives grew on trees, which turned out to be correct.

Glancing over the history of olive cultivation, Holly derived that they thrive anywhere with mild winters and long summers. Most species require drainage and not excessively fertile soil, so slopes above rivers would be ideal. I figured the best place (if they were anywhere) would be down south where the little rivers ran through the slopes of Charlotte Peak. I hefted my rucksack back on, picked up a sturdy stick to walk with, and made my way south.

Back on the trail, I kept myself occupied with the view of that gorgeous lake, and Charlotte Peak towering into the sky and down into the water on the horizon. I'd never considered myself much of a climber, but I considered how feasible it'd be to make a try for the top. I shook the idea out of my head, since I didn't have anything close to climbing equipment even if there was a straight trail up there. Pangs of fear about accidentally missing a step and slicing my arm open or breaking my legs made me want to focus on something else.

The people in charge assured me that if I was ever in distress or injured that help wasn't far away, and during orientation it was comforting. The few instances they had of people injuring themselves or screwing up a meal and getting food poisoning or just having a panic attack from being alone, they'd reportedly responded pretty quick. But there was always the fear, and not much could distract an online-oriented mind from it.

I broke the rule I set for myself just a short walk earlier, and pulled out my phone again as I rounded the lake. I told Holly to tell me more about olives, and how exactly you get oil from them. Probably sensing the panic in my voice (can she do that?) she gave me the full tour of the history of rendering olive oil, when she quite easily could have told me to mash them up in a press or just feed them to my OneCook. I figured when the time came that I'd do the former, just for the experience, but if I found a few more it'd be useful to store some in a bottle for longevity.

Unintentionally this got me on another tangent. “Maybe I could whip up something Italian later on this summer? I'll have the garlic and olive oil, but I guess everything else would take a lot more doing. Anything with pasta would take actual flour and dough, and tomatoes. Is it more than just tomatoes in pasta sauce, Holly? and cheese and all that. Oh wow, cheese...that would take a cow and I don't know what else. Could I even bring a cow up here, Holly? I know I couldn't slaughter it, so that's steaks out of the picture for the summer. Holly, do people even eat moose? No, what am I thinking, they're protected, that's the point. But are the geese? That's like chicken right, Holly? Holly?”

Holly had been keeping up with my queries up until now, but after that last question her screen had turned black and shut off completely. I'd forgotten one of the features they imposed on my phone: if I was in danger of going into the wiki-hole by asking too many stream-of-consciousness impulsive questions, I got locked out and had to cool down. Reluctantly, I put her back in my pocket and returned to the real world.

Unconsciously, I'd made it to one of the little creeks running out from Big Salmon Lake, and it wasn't far before the ridges of the mountains started up to the south. I steeled my legs up for bracing against slopes, but just a few paces down the creek and I spied something that might've made my trek a lot shorter: practically choking the sides of the creek were a tangle of little trees lousy with olives!

“Perfect!” I busted out a pouch and was almost on them, but a second glance at the little stunted trees filled with thorns right on the creek shore called something to my terminally digital-addled memory. Olive trees did spring up near rivers, but not right on them because they needed drainage. Wet and fertile soil was bad for them, and the pics I'd seen were of actual trees, not thorny little shrubs. I backed off of the creek, but plucked a few of the olive-looking-things anyway; Holly wasn't back online yet, but when she was I hoped she'd be proud of me.

The little valley that this creek forged through the mountain range felt oddly peaceful. The wind was calmer, and sounds seemed to echo in different ways. The sides weren't too towering to block out the sun, and the slopes were gentle enough to walk on. Mentally, I scheduled this for another nature walk, at least so I could find some more fruit-bearing trees along the waterway.

I managed to pick out the gnarly, swirling trunk of an olive tree just where the creek bent, and hiked up to it to observe the fruit. Sure enough, it was in season and olives were clustering around the leaves and bowing towards me. I plucked a few ripe green ones off, and for the hell of it crushed them in my palm, letting the slick, satisfying oil ooze out in victory.

Of course, it was at this moment my phone came back online and beeped a notification that I was near someone's diary. I unceremoniously wiped the oil on my jeans and answered it, legitimately laughing out loud as I read. This olive tree, planted ten years ago by a vacationing family, showed up on practically everyone's camping trip as a great resource they just happened upon. It started bearing fruit just around the time the program started, and according to the many photos, it's always looked this good.

Naturally, all the campers warned me not to go after the 'little olive-impersonating bastards' in thorns on the shore, as some of them had. After confirming with Holly, I discovered those were Russian olive trees, an invasive species brought here sometime in the 1920's that just never stopped growing. With that little tidbit I closed out the window, returning to my primary gathering task.

I filled up about three pouches with olives, not sure how many I would need, and muched on a few for the road. I wasn't quite sure whether to feel triumphant about doing this simple task without my phone for five minutes, but I was willing to call it a victory.

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[driedleavesboiled-blog]

The Walden Experience (Part 2 of 6)

Wandering back up the gentle grassy slope with a much more placid salmon hanging on my hook, I came up to the cabin that had been my home for about a week now. Looking about the size of a ten-man tent, three sides of it were walled with durable bulletproof glass. The only shade the roof provided was from the solar panels, so the place always had lots of natural light and a gorgeous view. Aside from the black-walled bedroom in the back and the 10x10 cellar, the whole thing was plain and visible, but not as defenseless as it looked.

For one thing, only I could open the door, and the airtight containment would keep bears and moose from going after the smell of the salmon I stored in the kitchen area for later. I hadn't seen any sign of either so far, but the mandatory camping safety course made me take every precaution to make sure I didn't attract them. According to the program, all the cabins were placed strategically so that they wouldn't disrupt natural migration and habits of the protected species, and I aimed to do the same.

I parked myself in my chair and brought up the recipe again, aiming to put together a shopping list. I already had the salmon, probably enough to make at least two meals, and the stores in the cellar had salt and pepper just for luxury. I grimaced upon seeing that the sauce required more than just lemon, tarragon and garlic: ½ cup of mayonnaise, 2 tbsp Dijon mustard, and 2 tbsp olive oil.

With a few swipes I made the list two items shorter, but I figured olive oil wouldn't require a culinary degree. So now my shopping list was lemons, tarragon, garlic and olives. I scooped up my rucksack with a few wateright pouches and set off back into the wilderness.

I called up my nature walk from a few days ago on my phone and scrolled through my notes, and found the pic of the lone lemon tree in a copse just southwest on the trail. I had already pinned it to the map, so I plotted the course so Holly could direct me there.

While the GPS went onto autopilot, I did some searching on lemons. I figured I could take a few more than the recipe asked for, and store them for some day when all I do is chill out on the porch with a glass of lemonade. I was pretty sure the stores I picked included some sugar, so it wouldn't be just lemon juice and water, but it didn't feel like it would be the same without big cubes of ice clinking around in the glass.

According to the first nature site I clicked on, lemons weren't seasonal and just depended on warmth and rainfall, which was good news for me and whoever would be here next. I figured I could keep the lemons stored for a few weeks in the cellar, and maybe even try to grow my own with the seeds, but the site said 6-8 months, so it'd be better to just scatter them wherever. Maybe that's what someone did with this tree, but they couldn't have done it the first summer of the program since trees take at least-

“You have arrived.” My screen jolted back to the map, displaying a picture of the lemon tree I snapped my second day. I looked up and just to my right I noticed the genuine article, the fruit looking just a few shades more yellow than they did before. I shook my head and shoved Holly back in my pocket, ashamed that I'd spent the whole walk on my phone.

Stretching up to pluck a few lemons off a branch, I focused my attention on my real-world task, keeping my mind on the physical, tangible objects I had to work with. This was one of the techniques my psychiatrist had taught me for when I got lost in what most people call 'the wiki-hole.' I'd been diagnosed with Online Attention Disorder (OAD) and Compulsive Screen Absorption (CSA) last winter, and like most sufferers of internet media disorders, they recommended the Walden Experience.

Mostly people with illnesses around social media and FOMO come up here on doctor's orders, and it's a good way to wean you off without going cold turkey. My disorder actually seemed to work for me, since all I could really access up here was info about camping, wildlife and general survival, so I'd become a hypothetical expert by the end of the summer. It was usually a toss-up whether people would be cured when they got back home or go into social media overdrive, but at the very least I was learning something.

After I filled one of my pouches, I pulled out my survival knife and sliced one of the lemons in half. The inside looked nice and juicy, but like the site said, the only indication of ripeness is taste. I bit a good chunk of the flesh out, and the sour and tinge of sweet aroma was intoxicating. I'm by no means an expert, but that tasted fresh enough for who it's for. I boldly feasted on the rest of it, depositing the seeds and the rind at the base of the tree for future generations. One ingredient down, a few more to save for later, and I was feeling like a survivalist.

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