"You're Not Confused!"

 
     “I’m confused,” a student says to the teacher.  In his book Linguistic Communication and Speech Acts, Kent Bach writes: "almost any speech act is really the performance of several acts at once, distinguished by different aspects of the speaker's intention: there is the act of saying something, what one does in saying it, such as requesting or promising, and how one is trying to affect one's audience.”  “I’m confused,” is usually delivered, more or less, as whining on several musical notes: “I’m conf-you—oo—zd.”  First, the speech act is a complaint: “You confused me.” Second, because it is a passive construction—you did this to me—it asserts that the speaker is a victim:  “I’m helpless.”  It is fundamentally a relinquishing of power. “I’m confused” makes the teacher a perpetra (i)tor of the confusion, not sufficiently thinking it through for the student’s easy “getting.”  In all, it is often a passive-aggressive confrontation.  Since it is a blaming expression, working on the teacher’s guilt—it creates a sense of helplessness in the teacher, as well. Stalemate.

 

“I’m confused” implies do it for me—it is a demand. Birds, and apes, such as gorillas, orangutans, and chimpanzees premasticate—pre-chew and partially digest—food to kiss-feed their young.  Of course, it is the joy of teaching to predigest material for students—to provide focus, illustrations, experiences, inspiration, and tools to their students.  But, too often, in this world of pre-digested, immediately gratifying, spectator internet offerings, teachers are under pressure to spoon-feed do-it-all for students—mind read, thoroughly map the students’ thinking, and anticipate any concerns for the student. Hence the choruses of “I’m conf-you—oo—zd” ringing through classroom buildings.

To remove the blame/guilt speech act of “I’m confused,” and turn it to an opportunity for mutual discovery and invention, let’s unpack the word “confused,” itself.  The word “confuse” derives from earlier words meaning “to ruin,” “to mingle together,” and “to confound”—to intentionally perplex, defeat, or mix up.  Only in a horror film would a teacher intentionally perplex, defeat, mix up, confuse, or mingle together ideas so as to confound students.  And yet all those textures of meaning are embodied in “I’m confused.”

The other day, my class and I were looking at our Shakespeare Survey syllabus.  One of my students, I’ll call him “Peter,” said, “I’m confused” as to when papers were due. I felt that twinge in the chest that comes with the speech act implications of the expression.  What had happened was that I had made an error in identifying the dates of spring recess.  He was not confused, in the least.  He had thoughtfully caught an error, for which we were all grateful. 

How to circumvent this unfortunate, if only momentarily corrosive, clichéd expression between student and teacher?  Whenever a student sings out “I’m confused,” I say, “No. You’re not a victim, and I’m not a perpetra(i)tor.  What’s your question?”  My speech act implies “You are thinking for yourself.  Let’s have your insight.”  Peter asked the question, “When are our papers due?”  He pointed out that there was an error on the syllabus.  It was a moment of empowerment for us all.

            Whenever you feel the urge to say “I’m confused,” stop.  Activate your own mind. Ask yourself, “What is my question?”  Sorting out and specifically articulating what you know and need to know, will help both you and your teacher discover the wonder(ing) of your mind.

 

Work Cited

Bach, Kent.  Linguistic Communication and Speech Acts. Boston: MIT Press, 1979.

 

The Tree of Knowledge: Binary Oppositions

 

"You will not certainly die,” the serpent said to the woman. 

“For God knows that when you eat from it your eyes will 

be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil."

                                                                      (Genesis 3: 4-5)

            The word “blue” can only mean ‘blue’ if there is also not-blue.  The word “good,” anticipates and implies that “evil” exists; “male,” “female,”; “day,” “night,” and so on with every word.  Language, by nature, separates. Paired binary oppositions, relying on each other for meaning, are called “binary oppositions.” To know, by some philosophical perspectives, is ‘to have words for.’  In this light, Adam and Eve’s eating of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil was the moment they acquired language.

            Linguists Ferdinand de Saussure and Jacques Derrida wrote extensively on this dynamic, showing that language “privileges” or gives "dominance" to one of each pair.  Using a numerical analogy, we would then have the privileged, dominant word as numerator and the subordinate word as denominator:

good         male           day

evil           female        night

           

            Philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein wrote, “To imagine a language is to imagine a form of life.” Binary oppositions, as all words do, embody the history of how they were used, including the prejudices and power struggles of those who used and use them.  Notice that “male” is favored over “female” in too many languages; and “good,” assumes a common or dominant view of what “good” means. Even though, for some, day is a dangerous time, and night, as for nocturnal animals, a refuge, English privileges “day” over “night.” Here is another pair that often, insidiously, reinforces destructive prejudices:   

                                                                white

                                                                black

The expression “it’s not all black and white” normally assumes “black” to be negative and “white” positive.  In her book White Women Writing White, R. Curry shows that, for example, Sylvia Plath regularly uses the image of blackness to depict evil.  In our racially rich and diverse world, we cannot afford to reinforce in our daily language the hegemony of white people over people of color. It behooves us to become aware of these patterns and to both undermine and abandon them. A long time ago I abandoned using the word “black” pejoratively in contrast to “white.”  Instead, I prefer the neutral “it’s not one extreme or another.”

            Traditionally, literature was interpreted through a standard identification of conflicts. Note the gender bias:

                        Man against Himself

                        Man against Man

                        Man against Society

                        Man against Nature

                        Man against Machine

                        Man against Fate

                        Man against the Supernatural

These are much too general and, at the same time, restrictive.  On the other hand, identifying binary oppositions to explore is a generative way to engage with and to interpret literature—inspiring surprising points of entry and creative perspectives.  We can clearly see how our language favors the numerator and decide to favor the denominator as our point of entry.

            Here, for example, is a core binary opposition cited by Derrida:

                                                            presence

                                                            absence

Let’s see how we can favor not what is present in the text of a piece of literature, but what is absent.  For example, in Bran Stoker’s Dracula, there is a scene in which three vampire women are descending on Jonathan Harker, an as-yet not undead protagonist, to sexually and hematologically ravage him. Dracula rushes into the room and says, “Get off him.  He’s mine!”  The text at this point goes blank.  When the words resume, we are off onto another topic.

            The absence of what might have happened between Dracula and Harker is significantly more evocative and tension producing in the reader, than any explicit scene might have been, and can produce more interesting interpretations that will then enliven the reading of the rest of the text. Hence, we privileged “absence” over “presence.”  Similarly, the absence of a mother in “Cinderella,” and in its structurally parallel King Lear, can provide us with new and textured interpretations to enliven of our readings of the works.

            The Bible, as popularly interpreted, creates this binary opposition,

                                                                 Adam

                                                                  Eve,

with Eve having all the denominators in the language attributed to her: Evil, instead of Good; Disobedient, instead of Obedient; Weak, instead of Strong; and more.  Let’s rehabilitate her, favor her over Adam, instead, as the one who was courageous and insightful enough to embrace language as our source of power and civilization.  Because of her, we left the paradise where survival was enough, to enjoy a world in which, through language, we can be co-creators of our lives.

            In another post, we will consider how we can use various critical perspectives to manage binary oppositions.  For now, next time you read a piece of literature, see a film, or experience a personally dramatic situation, name some binary oppositions you might use to interpret it.  Privilege the denominator as your source of power and meaning, and notice the freedom you enjoy, thereby.

                                                              Works Cited

Curry, R.. White Women Writing White: H.D., Elizabeth Bishop, Sylvia Plath, and Whiteness. Westport: Greenwood, 2000. 

Goltzius, Hendrik.  "The Fall of Man."  Painting frontispiece. 1616.

Stoker, Bram.  Dracula.  Ed. John Paul Riquelme.  Boston: Bedford, 2002.

Wittgenstein, Ludwig.  Philosophical Investigations. 4^th Ed. Indianapolis: Wiley-Blackwell, 2000.