The Process of Writing: A Philosophical Base in Hermeneutics

James L. Kinneavy

There is no doubt that among those concerned with composition and the teaching of writing, one of the dominant concerns is the process of writing. Anyone who has attended the annual Conference on College Composition and Communication in the past five years can attest to this fact. Indeed, writing across the curriculum and the process method of teaching composition are probably the two most important innovations in the field of composition in the past ten years. Whole programs have been restructured to enable teachers to teach by the process method. At my own institution, John Ruszkiewicz added this dimension to an already fairly elaborate composition program. Many of us who have been teaching composition for a good number of years have substantially altered our own techniques of teaching to incorporate more process emphasis.
The Process of Writing: The Current Scene

This large-scale movement in the teaching of writing has some obvious advantages. It focuses attention on the student as writer and enables the teacher and the student’s peers to assist in the ordeal of writing. Student-teacher conferences, collaborative writing, peer consulting, the importance of several drafts—all receive much attention. In my opinion and that of many others, the final product that results is immeasurably superior to the cold one-shot products of the traditional paradigm. The process approach allows those with a background in classical rhetoric to reassert the importance of invention over organization and style—and, of course, this was the overwhelming priority in the comprehensive rhetorics of the classical period, especially in Aristotle. Reasserting the significance of process tends to place the student at the center of pedagogical concern—and students like this and usually say so in strong affirmations in teacher and class evaluations.

Yet the process revolution, if it may be called a revolution, has not been implemented without some problems. One of these has been the neglect and disregard, on the part of some, of almost any concern with product at all. About three years ago, a major publishing company asked me to review a manuscript avowedly, almost heroically, dedicated to the process approach. The author, I might add, is an important figure in the field of rhetoric and is also a good friend of mine. I became concerned, as I progressed through the text, that the students were continually engaged in exercises that did not relate to a whole paper. By page 153, after about four complete chapters, the students still had not been asked to compose a whole paper; this was about one third of the way through the book. Process so enthroned and separated from any relation to product can be as meaningless as grammar or vocabulary taught in isolation from the actual act of writing. The book, I might add, was subsequently published.

Another major concern of mine has been that process is often very narrowly conceived. Many scholars who have written on process have taken it as axiomatic that the act of writing begins when a student puts pencil to paper and starts to produce a sequential manuscript. The early and significant monograph of Emig, the work of Macrorie, the several books by Elbow, the experiments of Flower and Hayes, the studies by Matsuhashi, and many other “process-oriented” publications almost take this position as self-evident. It gives itself to experimentation, lends a neat beginning and closure to the act of writing, and can be easily incorporated into attempts to evaluate writing—but I think it is entirely too narrow a view of the process of writing.

In fact, this view is almost totally at variance with the practice of almost any professional writer I know. James Michener spent years learning about the history of Texas before writing his recent novel on that state (judging by the results, he should have taken a few more years). Journalists and reporters have to pound their beats, interview people, look up records, take notes, and so on before they start sequential writing. The research for a talk I gave on the Creek rhetorical origins of the Christian concept of faith took five years—and was only possible then because I had twenty years of training in rhetoric and a good number of years in theology. Professional writers don’t just sit down and begin an exercise in free-writing.

What is needed is a much more comprehensive notion of process. I began to think of this three or four years ago, and, in fact, I considered and rejected several possible alternatives among the process philosophers. Eventually, I turned to a notion of process which I had found in hermeneutics and which I had seen applied in three rather different areas by eminent thinkers. Martin Heidegger’s general concept of the process of interpretation has been applied brilliantly to Biblical interpretation by Rudolf Bultmann, whom many consider the most outstanding theologian of this century to date. It has been applied to the humanities by Georg Gadamer, an eminent name in modern philosophy. And it has been applied to literary criticism and philosophy by such deconstructionists as Derrida, Spanos, Bove, and others. Heidegger’s concept of process seems particularly relevant to composition.

It is, of course, a theory of interpretation, but more general than Biblical or legal hermeneutics, and even more general than the so-called general hermeneutics of Schleiermacher or Dilthey, which really are limited to the humanities. For Heidegger, all understanding involves interpretation, from perception to speech, from poetry to science, from ordinary conversation to philosophy. Consequently, in applying Heidegger’s concept of interpretation to writing, I am not enlarging the area of interpretation or applying a reading theory to writing; rather, I am applying a general theory of interpretation to one kind of interpretation.
Heidegger’s Theory of Forestructure

Heidegger’s theory of interpretation begins with what he calls the “forestructure.” He contends that all interpretation must begin with the mental structure which the interpreter brings to the object being interpreted. Indeed, the interpreter has no other alternative but to interpret everything with the knowledge that he or she has. This is so obvious that it hardly seems revolutionary. Yet it does have revolutionary consequences. It means, for instance, that every interpretation must be unique, since every interpretation, even by the same person, is made from a somewhat different perspective. My interpretation of, for instance, a former student of mine is different now that he is a professor than it was when he was a student not long ago; my forestructure has changed since then. The changing of the context is possibly the most important of the notions of post structuralism—and this notion is Heideggerian. Let us see what Heidegger sees as constituting this mental context, this forestructure. The application to composition is, I believe, extremely fertile.

Heidegger uses the concept of forestructure throughout Being and Time. It is a recurring tool which he applies to different issues throughout the book. First, he treats it in his analysis of interpretation in general (150-153, 157; pagination is to the glossed German pagination in the English translation by John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson, London: SCM Press, 1962). Then he applies forestructure to the interpretation of the nature of assertion (157). He uses it in his analysis of mankind’s (Dasein's) hermeneutical situation (232-234) and employs it three times in his analysis of the notion of care (311-312, 317, 327). In addition, there are briefer uses of the forestructure in other parts of the book.

The word "forestructure" is a literal translation of the German term Vorstruktur, a typical Heideggerian coinage. The three components of the forestructure—forehaving, foresight, and foreconception—are also literal translations of Vorhabe, Vorsicht, and Vorgriff; and Vorgriff is also a coinage. In fact, all of the words have somewhat idiosyncratic meanings, as we will see. Let me consider each.

Forehaving

In interpreting anything, a person approaches the object to be interpreted already with some sense of having the thing in mind, even if ever so tentatively and provisionally. The passages about “forehaving” in Being and Time all insist on this pre-possession of intention. The interpreter has the thing in advance, like an appropriation (150); it has a definite character; there is a unitary view of the full phenomenon (157). The whole of the entity is perceived (232). Twice conscience is said to be a forehaving (268, 290). Speaking of the analysis of the notion of care (Sorge), Heidegger says, in a passage which brings together the three terms of the forestructure:

The hermeneutical Situation which was previously inadequate for interpreting the meaning of the Being of care, now has the required primordiality. Dasein has been put into that which we have in advance, and this has been done primordially—that is to say, this has been done with regard to its authentic potentiality-for-Being-a-whole; the idea of existence, which guides us as that we see in advance, has been made definite by the clarification of our own most potentiality-for-Being; and now that we have concretely worked out the structure of Dasein’s Being, its peculiar ontological character has become so plain as compared with everything present at hand, that Dasein's existentiality has been grasped in advance. (311)

A concise summary of the three dimensions of the forestructure is seen at the end of the treatment of care:

If resoluteness makes up the mode of authentic care, and if this itself is possible only through temporality, then the phenomenon at which we have arrived by taking a look at resoluteness, must present us with only a modality of temporality, by which, after all, care as such is made possible. Dasein’s totality of Being as care means: ahead-of-itself-already-being in (a world) as Being-alongside (entities encountered within-the-world). When we first fixed upon this articulated structure, we suggested that with regard to this articulation the ontological question must be pursued still further back until the unity of the totality of this structural manifoldness has been laid bare. The primordial unity of the structure of care lies in temporality. (327)

The summative phrase of the three dimensions is this statement: “The unity of the totality of this structural manifoldness has been laid bare.” Unity, as we shall see, characterizes foresight. Totality is the usual term connected with forehaving. And structural manifoldness is usually related to foreconception. The main meaning of Vorhabe in German does not come through in the literal translation of “forehaving.” In German, it means intention, design, object, purpose. Consequently, the intention is seen as having a totality to it in the forestructure. There is a definite character to it, the full phenomenon, the whole entity; the totality of the being is appropriated.

The exact nature of this totality will be more apparent when the other two dimensions are analyzed.

Foresight

“Foresight” is the literal translation of Vorsicht, but does not convey the insistence on the notes of caution and circumspection that the German word highlights. We have already seen some of the uses of the term. An early rather full treatment of the three dimensions can be seen in the following passage, given in the general notion of interpretation. While reading this passage, think of the interpretation given the use of a tool by a gardener, not of a scientific and derivative interpretation, as of a difficult text or poem:

The ready-to-hand is always understood in terms of a totality of involvements. This totality need not be grasped explicitly by a thematic interpretation. Even if it has undergone such an interpretation, it recedes into an understanding which does not stand out from the background. And this is the very mode in which it is the essential foundation for everyday circumspective interpretation. In every case this interpretation is grounded in something we have an advance—in a fore-having. As the appropriation of understanding, the interpretation operates in Being towards a totality of involvements which is already understood—a Being which understands. When something is understood but is still veiled, it becomes unveiled by an act of appropriation, and this is always done under the guidance of a point of view, which fixes that with regard to which what is understood is to be interpreted. In every case interpretation is grounded in something we see in advance—in a fore-sight. This fore-sight “takes the first cut” out of what has been taken into our fore-having, and it does so with a view to a definite way in which this can be interpreted. Anything understood which is held in our fore-having and towards which we set our sights “foresightedly,” becomes conceptualizable through the interpretation. In such an interpretation, the way in which the entity we are interpreting is to be conceived can be drawn from the entity itself, or the interpretation can force the entity into concepts to which it is opposed in its manner of Being; In either case, the interpretation has already decided for a definite way of conceiving it, either with finality or with reservations; it is grounded in something we grasp in advance—in a fore-conception. (150)

This is probably Heidegger’s most extended treatment of foresight. On several occasions, the idea of foresight is linked with that of unity—foresight seems to provide the unity of the object which is being envisaged as a whole (157), providing the “unity of those structural items which belong to it and are possible” (232); and of course the notion of unity appears in the summation formula about care: "The unity of the totality of this structural manifoldness has been laid bare" (327).

Secondly, foresight is several times explicitly said to be made possible by the idea of existence. Again, speaking of care, Heidegger says, “the idea of existence, which guides us as that which we see in advance, has been made possible by the classification of our inmost potentiality-for-Being” (311). The same idea is repeated a few pages later.

Foresight, therefore, always has the idea of a unity which is projected onto the object which is intended. It seems to be that which makes the parts cohere as a whole, and it is existentially grounded.

Foreconception

I have already cited several important passages explaining foreconception. Vorgriff is usually connected with the notion of being able to conceptualize the object (150, 312). This conceptualizing is sometimes explicitly seen to be a recognition of the structure of the object being interpreted. Thus, speaking of Dasein, Heidegger says, “Ontological Interpretation projects the entity presented to it upon the Being which is that entity’s own, so as to conceptualize it with regard to its structure” (312). And, in the passage discussed above, foresight provides the “unity of those structural items which belong to it and are possible” (232).

The summary formula for care, cited above, also includes the notion of a structure: “The unity of the totality of this structural manifoldness has been laid bare.” The perception of this structure is sometimes referred to as an “articulation”: "To any assertion as a communication which gives something definite character there belongs, moreover, an Articulation of what is pointed out, and this Articulation is in accordance with significations” (157). The word “articulation” preserves both in German and in English its original Latin meaning of distinct segments separated by joints. For our purposes, “articulus” also means the parts of a discourse, both a German and a Latin meaning. And Heidegger, of all people, would have been very aware of both meanings.

Now, let me draw together all of these segments of forestructure. Forehaving means primarily an intention, which is conceived as a whole, a totality, a full phenomenon. Foresight means a look at something which understands the unifying character which holds the totality together. And foreconception means the grasping of the structural manifoldness of the object. If foresight emphasizes the unity of the whole, foreconception emphasizes the perception of the distinct parts which make up the whole.
Application to the Process of Composing

With this notion of forestructure in mind, let me now apply the concept to the process of composition.

When an author wishes to write about something, to interpret this something to future readers, he or she brings to the act of writing a forestructure. This forestructure is constituted by the entire history of the author, including complex cultural conventions which have been assimilated. Against this background, the something which is to be written about is interpreted. Consequently, any writing project I undertake immediately takes a long look into my past. I sort out related objects, meanings, and structures which I have encountered in the past which are similar to or markedly different from the object being interpreted in an attempt to understand the object I have focused on.

My past enables me to see the object as a whole separate from other wholes, as a unity, and as a complex structure with interrelated parts. With this unified and structured whole, I intend to do something. This is the first glimpse I get of the object. As I begin to I examine and use the object, I may immediately have to revise my perception of the whole, of the unity, of the structure, and of the intent I had.

Heidegger uses the metaphor of the hermeneutic circle to show the continuing dynamic character of this forestructure (314-16). A simple example may help to explain this circularity. When I begin a sentence, you assume that I have a full sentence meaning in mind and you relate each word separately to the provisional whole you have projected by context. Each word refines and changes the original whole, so that the meaning of each word is determined by the meaning of the developing wholes, and these words themselves determine the developing wholes. So the meaning of the parts depends on the wholes, and the meaning of the wholes depends on the meanings of the parts. There is a circularity. But it is a necessary circularity. This is the hermeneutical circle.

And it applies to composition.. The original forestructure, made up of an intended whole, a unity, and a structural complexity, is continually modified as the richness of the object causes the writer to change his or her original views of his or her intention, unity, and structure. Continually, these modifications are made up against the changing background. There is continually a look at the object and a return to the background to interpret it. Recursion is not an accident; it is a necessity.

The metaphor of the circle, however, should not suggest any thing like a closed system between the forestructure and the object being interpreted. Both object and forestructure may require radical alterations, even transformations. And the process of interpretation may cause the interpreter to go far afield from his or her own early forestructure and from the first simple perception of the object of interpretation. The metaphor should not at all suggest the closed system or internal heuristic methodologies which are sometimes read into the work of Emig, Elbow, Flower and Hayes, and others.

The rich dialectical movement in the hermeneutic back and forth between the object and the interpreter is true of many applications of Heidegger’s hermeneutic. Heidegger used his hermeneutic to make revolutionary interpretations of many philosophic figures, and he called such re-interpretations “destructions,” following Nietzsche. Derrida initially used the same term, but eventually came to call his radical re-interpretations “de-constructions.” In his case, they often involve a thorough and meticulous examination of whole sets of cultural assumptions, often unconscious, underlying the position of the piece being deconstructed. This kind of dialectic also involves a serious re-consideration of the object and of the forestructure on the part of Derrida’s readers.

Thus the dialectic of the hermeneutic circle can involve recursions, external excursions, transformations of both object and forestructure, and continual new unions of the two.

Even as the author moves through the usual stages of invention, organization, and stylistic choices, these recursions, excursions, and mutual transformations continue. The object continually feeds back into the forestructure to force new accommodations— conceptual structural, stylistic, and so on. A stylistic accommodation can be made at any stage; so can an organizational change; so can an invention adjustment of any type, ethical, pathetic, or logical (to use the traditional Aristotelian terms); so can a change of genre or medium; so even can a change of audience.

I have tried to suggest this flexibility by mapping the Heideggerian hermeneutic onto the traditional rhetorical sequence of invention, disposition, and style in the accompanying figure. Even this figure, however, does not include the situational and cultural contexts which are implied by changes of audience, genre, and medium. The figure implies that there is a general progressive movement from invention to organization to style, although even within this progression there are continual recursions and jumps ahead. Secondly, it attempts to illustrate graphically that the three dimensions of the Heideggerian forestructure operate throughout the entire hermeneutic process. There is a sustained revision of intent and notion of the whole, of unity and unifying factors, and of relations of part to part. These constant revisions are necessitated by the progressions, regressions, egressions, and ingressions of the dialectical movement.

The Forestructure in the Writing Process

(figure)

Circle I represents the original forestructure. Circle 2 represents one of the forestructures as it has been adapted at one point in the process of invention—the project has been considerably expanded at this point. Circle 3 represents a somewhat scaled-down version of the project during one stage in the process of organization; but organization, while reacting on the forestructure, also involves invention, whence the overlap with it. Circle 4 represents the final project after some changes have been brought about in the editing stage, which has also involved both organization and invention.

Such a view of process should give us a more flexible, more recursive, more exploratory, and especially more pluralistic view of the writing process than we now seem to have almost unconsciously adopted. In particular, it would militate against an almost monolithic notion floating in the journals that there is a single process underlying all invention, prewriting, writing, and editing stages. Certainly, a different kind of totality, unifying principle, and relationship between parts and whole are to be found in the invention, organization, and style of a narrative than in a careful expository taxonomy, or in a political speech. Each of these types demands a different kind of totality, unifying principle, and notion of structural organization—in effect, also a different style. The forestructure brought to each will necessarily differ radically, as will the absorption of the interpreted subject by the forestructure and the resulting dialectic between the two.

There may be generic kinds of forestructures—for example, narrative versus taxonomic—but each individual case will still be far from formulaic. The individual writer, the individuating circumstances, and the particular subject or content will all change even generic kinds of forestructures. Our current linguistic and rhetorical inventions and organizations and styles have especially failed to take into account different subject matters; they are, as it is said, content-free. Now, different writing-across-the-curriculum movements are beginning to teach us that disciplinary communities think, organize, and discourse differently—in effect, have different invention, organization, and style behaviors, at least in their internal communications. Hopefully, there are also common thinking, organizational, and style behaviors which will still enable us to communicate at some level with other groups and with the public. All of this suggests a variety of forestructures for different authors, audiences, and subject matters.

This notion of a structure also strongly opposes a linear view of process that takes into account only the time a person sits down and turns out sequential prose, even if in different drafts. Egressions from the hermeneutic circle—or apparent egressions—may sometimes take hours or weeks or months, even years. They may entail reading entire books, lengthy laboratory experiments, interviews, and so on. The extemporaneous freshman theme, written to no one in particular, about nothing in particular, with no publishing medium considered, and in an information vacuum, cannot continue to be the assumed model for process or product.

Heidegger’s forestructure has been a useful model in other areas of discourse production and analysis. Hopefully, it can give some depth to our own problems in rhetoric and composition.

University of Texas
Austin, Texas