Mary Wendt
AL882/Lindquist
Final Paper/Exam question
Making Moments: the Intersections of Kairos and Pedagogy
The concept of kairos is not new, dating back at least to the era before Aristotle to the Sophists. Yet this particular rhetorical concept receives little discussion, even though it plays a large part in what teachers do. Discussions of how the theories we ascribe to drive the practices we engage in circulate academia. Being able to articulate how various theoretical principles affect our teaching is crucial. If we consider kairos, then, the question is how do rhetorical theories of kairos inform and shape the practices of teaching composition and rhetoric? How do rhetorical concepts of kairos intersect with composition theory and pedagogy? In other words, what is the connection between the theories we subscribe to and the pedagogies we adopt?
The concept of kairos and its connection to writing pedagogy hinges on more than a simple definition of the term or a simple consideration of its implications; kairos and praxis are tightly interwoven with larger theoretical principles that can determine ways of thinking, epistemological ideals, and classroom pedagogy. Kairos simply defined is the right time in the right measure, yet how “right time” and “right measure” find meaning is without a doubt complex. The complexities of kairos come through several avenues, but what I find most crucial—and what I will address here—is twofold: the importance of creating kairos versus appropriating it as it occurs organically, and the epistemological approach one takes toward learning. Based on these two ideas, I find that creating kairos can have incredibly positive pedagogical effects if the teacher ascribes to a more postmodern theory.
Kairos: Can We Make the Moment Happen?
James Kinneavy, known for his in-depth discussion of kairos and composition, feels that kairos is not something one creates, but rather something one recognizes when it happens. Roger Thompson, in a 2000 article in Rhetoric Review titled “Kairos Revisited: An Interview with James Kinneavy,” discovers Kinneavy’s perspective on kairos: “Kinneavy makes it clear that kairos is central to understanding language’s persuasive force because it accounts for certain elements of the rhetorical act that are ultimately beyond the rhetor’s control” (74). Thus Kinneavy, who has made the concept of kairos central to his ideas of pedagogy, feels that kairos cannot be created but rather that it must be recognized, appropriated, and taken advantage of—yet it is outside of our control. It is just one of those things that happens. In Thompson’s interview with Kinneavy, he outright asked this question: “Do you believe kairos is beyond the rhetor’s control, or can the rhetor manufacture or create kairos?” (77). Kinneavy answers the question rather vaguely; in part, he says, “Well, I can see that a rhetor can choose the right time, and in that sense he can create it. He may realize this is not the right time to bring this up yet, but if he waits too long it’s going to be too late. So timing, or the right time, is sometimes in the hands of the rhetorician, but not always. Sometimes a situation just arises…” (77, 78 emphasis his). It is clear here that, while Kinneavy may say yes, the answer is clearly no; while the rhetor may “choose the right time” he is not really making that right time exist. He is only recognizing it and taking advantage of it. It thus has magical properties; fate and destiny are all wrapped up in his view of kairos.
When kairos takes on this magical, fate-laden property, it may become too mystical for some to embrace it as part of their theoretical framework for teaching. Yet whether one subscribes to it or not, kairos cannot be avoided. As teachers of writing, we are doing ourselves—and our students—a favor if we respond to kairos. When we notice and pay attention to a kairotic moment, we can make the best use of our time and talents. For example, a teacher can be having a discussion about an upcoming assignment and notice that students are looking rather blank-faced. These rather familiar faces mean that students are lost or confused—and we are all too familiar with this sea of faces that stares back at us. A teacher who recognizes this moment as an opportunity to clarify something will stop explaining the assignment, ask what students are confused about, and get everyone on the right track. Confusion about an assignment is actually a great moment: it means that the students are trying to walk their way through the writing in their heads and somewhere are getting lost. They need more signposts. If we see this kairotic moment, we can put up those signposts for them, which will ultimately result in better writing and less frustration for both students and teacher. However, ignoring the momentmeans bigger problems down the road. So, while some may not like to think of kairos as a concept they ascribe to, the fact is that if they are good at noticing these opportune moments and appropriating them, then they are better teachers.
However, if one believes that we can create timeliness, then kairos is much more than something that happens. It goes beyond fortuitousness and luck, beyond being intuitive and paying attention, and beyond feelings and hopefulness. Kairos, if we believe that it can be created, can be a clear construction of momentous occasions set up by those who feel the need for this “right moment” to be under their control.
In a sense, this sounds like playing god: we can take all that surrounds us—all the social, cultural, and historical instances and work them together to create a situation that is ripe for our goals. If we take the current situation and mold it to make it “the right time,” this is creating kairos. If kairos as a concept is “the right time and the right measure,” all one needs to do is take the current circumstances and make it the right time using the right measure. For example, Hitler was a master of “creating kairos”: he convinced a nation that was economically floundering to adapt his views. One could argue that Hitler was kairotically in-tune and knew that his people were susceptible, and this is true: he knew that it was the “right time” to peddle his goods, and the historical moment was not something he created (although that could be argued as well). What was Hitler’s creation, however, was the perspective that he needed from the people; they had to see things as he did—he had to create the right moment for everyone—in order for his manipulation to be successful. In this sense, Hitler created kairos.
While the time is never right for world domination and genocide, morally speaking, the time can be right for those in power to abuse it. Thus creating kairos in this circumstance translates to an abuse of power. Patricia J. Williams would likely agree. In her book The Alchemy of Race and Rights, she examines the rhetoric of power relations. Her ideas revolve around three “features of thought and rhetoric”: the urge to simplify the complex and make things dichotomous; the belief in universal truths; and the idea that “objective, unmediated voices” exist to tell these “truths” (Williams 9). Williams’ purpose is to show that when these three features of thought and rhetoric are the most strongly in force, there is the scene of injustice. In other words, the more simplified someone makes things, the more one ascribes to a universal truth, and the more one believes that the voice telling of the truth and the simplistic notions is objective, the more likely there will be injustice. If we take these ideas and apply them to the circumstance under which kairos is created, we again see another scene of injustice.
Hitler convinced the masses that he was telling them this universal truth, that things were simply right and wrong with no in betweens, and that he was merely the messenger, objective and unbiased in his views: in other words, he created the right time and measure for those he convinced and, of course, great injustices were then conceived. On a smaller scale, the same kind of injustice can happen in the classroom. If we convince our students that what we say is true, that it is always true, and that we are neutral and simply transmitting that truth, then we, too, are creating kairos—and likewise creating an injustice.As teachers, we have the power to convince our students that something is true—whether it is or not. We have the power to make them believe something is important—whether it is or not. We have the power to make them see things our way—whether we should or not. This power is what can create kairos; even if the time isn’t really right, we can make others believe that it is. So just as creating kairos can have negative consequences in the world, it can in the classroom as well; the time is never right for the teacher to push his own views and ideologies down the throats of his students. If we create kairos in this way, then the ends are selfish and the means are manipulative. This kind of manipulation can never bring about good.
If we hold this concept up next to other rhetorical concepts, kairos has some similarities. Logos, pathos, and ethos, for example, are certainly created; as tools of persuasion, they are deliberately and methodically employed to make the greatest use of them. And the five canons of rhetoric as well: they are deliberate and man-made. Should kairos, then, not be the same? Should we not, if we are trying to persuade, make the time right? That depends. Just as extreme pathos, for example, can cloud a listener’s judgment by getting their emotions too heavily involved, kairos can cloud a listener’s sense of timing. Making the time right can be, as Williams believes, a manipulation, a show of power. If it is done for selfish reasons, it creates more than kairos; it also creates injustice, because the “right moment” is only the right moment for the one in power. Because whenever we posit our kairos as everyone’s, as soon as we portend that the right timing for us is the right timing for everyone, then we forget that we are not all the same.
Maurice Merleau-Ponty would agree. His existential ideologies expressed in a book of his writings, Maurice Merleau-Ponty: Basic Writings, might make one think otherwise, that we are all manifestations of one existence and should, therefore, all hold to the same truths. But Merleau-Ponty adds to this that our bodily existence leads to innumerable perceptions and that no two perceptions are, of course, alike. While we may be all cut from the same cloth, we are indeed fashioned into completely different forms: “For us the body is much more than an instrument or a means; it is our expression in the world, the visible form of our intentions”; the body “is our point of view on the world, the place where the spirit takes on a certain physical and historical situation” (36). It is almost as if Merleau-Ponty were making our existence into a kairotic act in and of itself—the time was right and so we came into being. This being perceives the various elements of the moment differently: history, society, culture, education, etc. This creates a universe of unlike beings with varying perceptions, no two of which are alike. If we all perceive of the world differently, then kairos will not be simultaneous for all—and therefore should not be manufactured through a hierarchy of power. If everyone perceives each moment in a different way, how can “the right moment” be the same moment for everyone?
Does this mean, then, that there are no positive uses for kairos in the classroom? Does this mean that we should never try to create a right time? Because we are in a position of power, does creating kairos always mean that we are creating injustice? Because we have a classroom filled with different perspectives, is creating kairos an unfair practice? Not necessarily. One of my teaching theories is what is known as “discovery learning.” When I apply this theory, I deliberately set my students up for failure, wait for them to feel confused and lost, and then tell them where they went wrong. This actually creates a moment—an opportune moment, of right time and right measure—for learning. I find that students learn more quickly and more permanently (meaning they actually learn it rather than just memorizing it for the test) than they would if I did not create this moment of confusion.
Here is an example: To teach the dash to my freshman writers, I tell students to write three sentences using a dash and/or a double dash. I don’t tell them what one is, but let them struggle through it on their own. Very few, if any, get it right; they write sentences with hyphens. This is the right moment to tell them how a dash is used. I could, of course, just show them how to use a dash. But I find that there is not the kairos I need for them to learn; I have to create the kairos by having them fail first. Having done it both ways and seeing the incredible difference between one way of learning and the other, I know that manipulating kairos here definitely benefits my students.
So am I playing god? Am I forcing my ideologies onto my students? Am I like a little Hitler, playing off the insecurities and flaws of my students to get them to think like I do about the dash? After all, I tell them there are dash rules, these rules are black and white, right and wrong, and this is the one and only universal truth. I don’t give them room to think for themselves about the dash. I think the difference between discovery learning and Hitler (to be dramatic) is that I also make it clear to my students that all of the rules of grammar are meant to be broken, that in order to break the rules you need to know the rules, and that, most of all, you should break the rules only when the time is right. In other words, I let them know that every single writing situation is different, just as we all are different, and that while there are “correct” ways to use a dash, using the dash “incorrectly” can be just as persuasive and effective—or even more so—than using it the traditional way. I don’t think that Hitler told his people that his way was “the way” and then undermined himself by saying that the best and most effective way to think was to go against the “truth” as he defined it. So while I may create kairos for purposes of learning, I also acknowledge and celebrate the different perspectives and writing styles of my students.
Creating kairos can also have a positive effect if we look at this from the perspective of those not in power (in this case, the student). If we think of this from the vantage point of the student, then perhaps creating kairos can be a positive thing. Perhaps it is the difference between a “strategy” and a “tactic” as Michel de Certeau would define them in his book The Practice of Everyday Life. In his chapter on “Making Do,” he discusses how those in power strategize versus how those who are consumers use tactics:
…a tactic is a calculated action determined by the absence of a proper locus. No delimitation of an exteriority, then, provides it with the condition necessary for autonomy. The space of a tactic is the space of the other. Thus it must play on and with a terrain imposed on it and organized by the law of a foreign power. (36,37)
This certainly describes the position of the student. This is quite the opposite of how de Certeau defines strategies: “…actions which, thanks to the establishment of a place of power…elaborate theoretical places…capable of articulating an ensemble of physical places in which forces are distributed” (38). In other words, in academe, the teacher is in the position of power defined by the space, whereas students are the “weak” as defined by their place in another’s space. The academy is not theirs; it is the place supported and governed by those in power.
If we think, then, of kairos as a way of appropriating the positions of power—mainly through language—then kairos made or created could have a positive effect, just as those who create counter-publics see them as a space for rebellion and resistance. In the space of the other, students and those who are marginalized cannot always wait for the right moment; they have to create it. Of course, history and social structures need to be in place, and if we keep our eye on the larger picture then kairos, of course, would not be created simply because the idea to take action just would not occur in the same ways. However, if we see things on a more microscopic level with a localized, centrifugal movement, then we can also acknowledge that kairos can be created for the positive.
Here I am specifically reminded of many of the movements in history that have been successful when the minority has made kairos. In particular, Rosa Parks comes to mind. There was nothing special about the day she decided not to sit in the back of the bus. No one that I know of has ever spoken about anything in particular that daythat made her create the kairos that she did. But her refusal to sit in the back was a creation of kairos: I don’t care if the time is right or not. I’m just not going to sit back there any more. I’m an old lady and I want to sit in front. Period.She used a tactic—and she created kairos for her benefit. Although he doesn’t explicitly use the term kairos, de Certeau explains how kairos is the key to tactics: