The American Experiment: A Delicate Balancing of Democracy, Tyranny, Oligarchy, and Aristocracy

As we approach the 2012 national elections, we are witnessing an interesting tapestry of interwoven interests--often coinciding with and often opposing each other.

Kenneth Burke observes: “[T]he Constitution itself is but a set of enactments (variously related to one another, sometimes even directly at odds with one another)” (DD 25). Even so, one could consider the Constitution (or, more specifically, the Supreme Court that interprets it) a form of Tyranny. Once any Supreme Court has ruled on an issue, as the Roberts court did recently regarding ObamaCare and as somewhat different Supreme Courts did earlier in the Bush-Gore election dispute and the Roe v. Wade abortion decision, the Tyranny is set. Of course, this is the Tyranny of the majority vote of nine individuals, rather than the Tyranny of a monarch or despot, but it takes an enormous effort to overturn any ruling of the Supreme Court. One may argue in vain that the Supreme Court misinterpreted the Constitution in a given case. The Supreme Court operates as a Tyrant. One rallying cry of the Occupy Wall Street protests pits the 99% against the 1%. The 1% is, of course, the wealthy. It should be clear that if 99% of the voters in a Democracy want something, it will probably occur. The 99% could vote that all of the wealth currently belonging to the 1% be given to them. But is the American Experiment a pure Democracy?

Benjamin Franklin has a famous quotation: “When the people find that they can vote themselves money, that will herald the end of the republic.” An important debate concerns whether segments of the U.S. population are paying their “fair share” in taxes. The President believes the wealthy are not paying their “fair share.” Rush Limbaugh counters that the top 1% pays 70% of the tax burden. He suggest that the 50% who pay no income taxes at all are not paying their “fair share.” Franklin correctly observed that the American system of government is a “republic.” Voters are not (democratically) free to enact their every whim. There are checks and balances. For instance, the Supreme Court may overrule the acts of the voters. So far, the Constitution—with its Bill of Rights—has held a good deal of sway over the actions of the Supreme Court.

In Book I, Chapter 8 of his book On Rhetoric, Aristotle identifies four basic types of government—Democracy, Tyranny, Oligarchy, and Aristocracy. For Aristotle, the goal or end of Democracy is freedom; of Oligarchy, wealth; of Aristocracy, things pertaining to education and the tradition of the law; of Tyranny, self-preservation. If the Supreme Court in the American system typifies Tyranny and the 99% (or, more accurately, anything over 50%) typifies Democracy, then the 1% typifies Oligarchy. The Supreme Court (Tyranny) ruled in January, 2010, that the government may not ban political spending by corporations in candidate elections. This decision effectively reinvigorated Oligarchy as a force of influence in American politics. The wealthy have freedom of speech, in America, as do the poor. The difference between the volume of that freedom of speech among the rich and the poor is that the rich may speak much more loudly, due to the availability of media messages that may be purchased. This may seem unfair to some, but it serves as a counterbalance to the right of the 99% to vote that the poor be given the money that belongs to the 1%. Oligarchy in America may be one of those invaluable checks and balances that keep the American experiment alive. It seeks to persuade voters among the 99% to be “fair” and ethical in voting--in the sense that they should not covet or steal the wealth of the rich. Aristocracy, for Aristotle, refers to education—specifically, that education that is laid down by law. George Kennedy translates Aristotle: “For those who have remained within the legal traditions [of the city] rule in an aristocracy.” There may be a sense in which Aristocracy emphasizes the divide between the well-educated and the uneducated, just as there is a divide between the rich and the poor. Yet, remaining within the legal traditions of a political entity seems to also be relevant to issues of whether illegal residents or convicted criminals are allowed to vote or otherwise influence the American system. For the past few years, such issues have been forefront. How are we to deal with these interwoven interests--often coinciding with and often opposing each other? When I was a businessman, as a General Agent for Fidelity Union Life, an important principle was presented to me. I understood the principle: If a policy is priced too high, the consumers will not buy it and the company will fail. If a policy is priced too low, the consumers may buy it, but the company will not make a profit and the company will fail. If the sales commission on a policy is too low, the insurance agents will not sell it and the company will fail. If the sales commission on a policy is too high, the product will not be competitive, the consumers will not buy it, and the company will fail. This insurance metaphor is not far from the delicate balancing act America must maintain. If America taxes the wealthy too much, they will move their businesses to another country, and America will lose tax dollars. If America gives too many welfare benefits, without the tax income to pay for them, like Greece, the country will go bankrupt. If America has a tax-friendly environment for business, more businesses will invest, more jobs will be created, more workers will pay taxes, and more income tax will be generated. If companies pay these workers too little, they will not work for the companies, and the companies will fail. Oligarchy plays a role in the success of America. Before it was government subsidized, the saying used to be: “As GM goes, so goes the nation.” Businesses and the wealthy must be kept happy or the country fails. Democracy plays a role in the success of America. If the majority of voters are dissatisfied, they will vote out the powers that rule. Aristocracy plays a role in the success of America. We are a country of laws, and those who violate the laws do not generally retain their leadership positions, as we have seen in recent years. Tyranny also plays a role in the success of America. The Supreme Court (and its evolving make-up) are virtually always issues, every election year.

Hidden Mickeyisms 7: Disney’s “Brave” and the Three Little Brothers’ Entelechy

Perhaps, no one else saw it because few others lived through it. What I saw in Disney’s “Brave” was an entelechy that struck me, as if I were looking in a mirror. I saw myself, my next older brother Tim (nearly 2 years older than I) and my oldest brother Rod (nearly 2 years older than Tim) in the characters of Merida’s three little brothers, the triplets--Hamish, Hubert, and Harris. These three Scottish boys were tricksters. They were constantly performing pranks designed to accomplish nothing more than to entertain the boys themselves. They tied their father’s boots to the table, as their father ate dinner. They sneaked throughout the secret passageways of the castle. They devised numerous tricks to steal treats. And, when their mother was magically turned into a bear (and they were subsequently turned into cubs) their trickster characters remained intact as they used trickery to help Merida save their mother from their clueless father. As personal members of the Scottish Lindsay clan, Rod, Tim, and I were aware of our Scottish roots. We knew that the Lindsay clan had our own Lindsay plaid cloth, a coat of arms, and even our own castle in Scotland—Edsel Castle. I remember a Scottish song about trickster brothers that our dad, Andrew Lindsay, used to “sing” to us: “There was a man who had two sons, and these two sons were brothers. Sing, brothers, sing! Tobias was the older one; Biangus was the other. Now, these two boys they bought a mule; they bought it on a Monday. Tobias rode it all the week; Biangus on a Sunday. Now, these two boys they bought a mule, and that poor mule was blind. Tobias always rode before; Biangus on behind.” Just as Hamish, Hubert, and Harris (and Tobias and Biangus) pulled pranks, Rod, Tim, and I jointly entertained each other with pranks. Our seriously overweight neighbor lady routinely traveled the same route through a grassy area as she came daily to drop in on my mother and chat, uninvited. We had seen westerns in which pits were dug in pathways and re-covered with sticks and twigs. So, we three dug a one-foot deep pit in our neighbor’s preferred pathway, filled it with water, and overlaid it with sticks, twigs, leaves, and grass. We heard the yell and the splash as she tumbled in, then trudged back home to change clothes. It did not occur to us that she could have hurt herself. We simply reveled in the prank. We were always attempting to uncover the secrets of our Christmas presents. One year, Tim and Rod discovered where our dad had hid a major Christmas present for us—a pony cart, to be pulled by our Shetland Pony Smokey. They let me in on the secret—although I did not have the nerve to go sneak a peak. Nevertheless, my dad punished all three of us for this snoopy prank. We were forced to wait until New Year’s Day to try out our new toy. In episodes reminiscent of Merida’s relationship with her three little brothers, I remember hiding in the back seat of the car of my big sister’s boyfriend, so that we could surprise Marilyn and Albert when they came out to sit in the car and kiss. When my oldest sister and her boyfriend borrowed our pony cart to take a romantic ride to the levee, we hid in the weeds and bushes and spied on Barb and Dean, and later, repeated their sweet talk back to them. It is a shame that there are fewer large families, these days. Fewer little boys get to experience the innocent, trickster, prankster camaraderie of Hamish, Hubert, and Harris. Little boys eventually grow up and get caught up in their own individual lives. They sometimes forget what it was like to have brothers—partners in innocent crimes, pranks, and trickery. It sometimes takes an entelechy such as that of the “Brave” triplets to shake us out of our individualism and remind us of how sweet brotherly camaraderie can be.

Hidden Mickeyisms 6: Disney’s “Brave” Old World and Mother-Daughter Separation

One thread that runs through many of Disney’s animated films, as I have pointed out throughout this series of “Hidden Mickeyisms” commentaries, consists of supplying entelechies (strategies or plots) that children use to deal with problems they face while growing up. Specifically, I see many of these entelechies dealing with parent child separation. With the release of Disney/Pixar’s movie “Brave,” however, we see Disney implicitly suggesting that some entelechies should be reacted to (rebelled against), rather than followed. The 10th Century Scottish princess Merida is more of a tomboy than her mother would like her to be. Her mother, Queen Elinor, expects Merida to follow the entelechy she (Elinor) has provided—that of a very feminine wife, mother, and queen. Merida rebels against this entelechy her mother wishes to pass on. She is not ready to give up her freedom and be married to some unknown royal son. She does not want some royal son to “win her hand” via his skills in archery. She wants to “win her own hand” and preserve her status as single. To an extent, Merida is a character similar to Disney’s 1998 animated film character Mulan. Merida, like Mulan, excels in athletic skills traditionally considered masculine, but Mulan uses her skills to save her aging father. Merida uses her skills for more selfish reasons. Both Merida and Mulan seem to lack traditional feminine characteristics, but while Mulan eventually develops a love interest in the opposite sex, Merida is bent on maintaining her single status. This objective will appeal to many present day feminists, but the notion of Disney/Pixar implicitly condemning the now outmoded tradition of arranged marriages seems trite. Except in some foreign cultures, the idea of arranged marriages has almost completely died out in present day society. To fight against this practice seems too easy. Why would Disney/Pixar create a story to discredit an already discredited practice? Is this the entelechy against which young women should rebel/react? I think, instead, the entelechy against which viewers are expected to react is the entelechy of attempting to force others to change to accommodate our own expectations. Elinor was forcing Merida to change and Merida used magic to force Elinor to change. The result was nearly disasterous. I discuss the relationship between coercion and persuasion in the Introduction of my book, Persuasion, Proposals, and Public Speaking. (See link to right.) Whether the “force” being used to “coerce” change in another is parental power or “witchcraft/magic,” coercion is implicitly unacceptable. Both Merida and Elinor needed to substitute “persuasion” for “coercion.” And, as with other Disney films, the motive that best teaches this lesson is “true love.”

Hidden Mickeyisms 5: Disney’s Chimpanzee and Animal Tool-using

It was probably not a hidden agenda in Disney’s nature documentary “Chimpanzee,” but it is still a learning opportunity. I doubt that Disney was attempting to present animals in comparison to humans as tool-using animals. Nevertheless, Kenneth Burke does define the human in one respect--in a tool-using sense--as being “separated from his natural condition by instruments of his own making” (Language as Symbolic Action 13). Animals may “adapt” to their natural environment through mutation, but humans can separate themselves from the limitations of their natural environment by making instruments that remove the limitations of nature. I point out on page 78 of my book Disneology: Religious Rhetoric at Walt Disney World:

It is true that sea otters can “use” tools (that they do not make). They can “find” rocks and use the rocks as tools to break open the shells of shellfish, so they can eat the meat inside. It is true that apes will use sticks they “find” to place in holes and crevices to retrieve insects and other foods. However, the sea otters and apes do not “make” these instruments—they “find” them in their natural environment. Humans, on the other hand, “make” the instruments that separate them from their natural condition. While sea otters may “use” rocks as tools, humans “make” the rocks into cutting instruments. They chip away edges of the rocks to make sharp knives. Humans did this—even in the Stone Age. Then, humans realized that they could use vines to tie their sharp rocks to sticks and they “made” axes. The humans, next, realized they could put the sharpened rocks on the ends of longer sticks, so they did not have to come into close contact with the animals they hunted. They had invented spears. They noticed they could throw these spears, but if they tied vines to each end of a willow stick and bent the stick, they could use this bow to propel smaller spears (arrows). Every single human culture, it seems, has learned to “make” bows and arrows. But, it did not stop there. If humans are too cold, they “make” clothing, insulated homes, fireplaces, central heat, thermal underwear, etc. If humans are too hot, they “make” electric fans, backyard swimming pools, central air conditioning, etc. If humans desire to travel fast, they make chariots, bicycles, automobiles, motorboats, airplanes, jets, etc. If they are Earth-bound, they make rockets and space shuttles. Chapter 3 of my book Implicit Rhetoric: Kenneth Burke’s Extension of Aristotle’s Concept of Entelechy, is entitled “The Human as Super-Natural.” The human is the only animal to have the ability to transcend natural limitations by his rational thought, symbol-use, and inventions. Even so, it is fascinating to view the tool-using aptitudes of the chimpanzees in Disney’s film. As I suggested in Disneology, they “use sticks they ‘find’ to place in holes and crevices to retrieve insects and other foods.” Just as sea otters “find rocks and use the rocks as tools to break open the shells of shellfish, so they can eat the meat inside,” the chimpanzees in Disney’s film were caught on camera using rocks (and, less successfully, pieces of broken tree branches) to break open various shells of nuts so that they were able to consume the meat of the nuts. Sometimes, the “tools” they found (such as the pieces of broken tree branches) were discarded as ineffective tools. Sometimes, the rocks they used broke, but they did not have the mental capacity to see that broken rocks can serve as knives and axes. They stole effective tools from one another, but they did not “make” them, as humans do. The closest the chimpanzees come to “making” tools is stripping the leaves off of the twigs so that they might use them to poke into various holes, to gather insects and honey. I do not believe that this constitutes any type of symbolic invention capacity—any more than birds building nests and spiders fashioning webs. There is no hint (in the scenes of the movie, at least) that the tool use of chimpanzees is anything more than instinctive behavior.

Hidden Mickeyisms 4: Disney/Pixar’s Toy Stories and Parent-Child Separation

From Hans Christian Andersen, Disney successfully borrows the story of "The Little Mermaid" and converts it into the first of a new generation of very successful Disney animated musical motion pictures. It appears that Disney also gains from Hans Christian Andersen the inspiration for the first in a new genre, the computer-animated motion picture. Where does Disney find the central germinating idea for its hits, "Toy Story," "Toy Story 2," and "Toy Story 3"? The answer is suggested in Disney's "Fantasia 2000." One segment of "Fantasia 2000" pertains to the Disney version of Andersen's "The Staunch Tin Soldier." According to the Andersen classic, after "all the other tin soldiers went back into their box, and the people in the house went to bed . . . [t]he toys now began to play games--visiting, fighting, dancing." This is almost precisely what occurs in the Toy Stories of Disney. My son, Tristan Lindsay, corroborated my hunch that Toy Story owed its inspiration to the Hans Christian Anderson classic in his critique of Toy Story at LindsayBrothers.com: “It started out as just a pitch, an idea to expand the animated short ‘Tin Toy’ into a Christmas special. The mad computer animation wizards in a company called Pixar Animation Wizards had decided to call it ‘A Tin Toy Christmas.’” With these allusions to tin toys, it seems unmistakable that Pixar was inspired by Anderson’s Tin Soldier. My son Shane Lindsay comments: “The Andersen fairy tale . . . probably inspired . . . Babes in Toyland . . . . But Fantasia 2000, as its name suggests, came out in 2000. Toy Story came out in 1995, and Tin Toy was released in 1988.” The tin soldier in Anderson’s classic was missing a leg. In the Toy Stories, broken toys (suggesting some sort of physical handicap)--such as a non-working squeaker in Wheezy the Penguin and a separated arm on Woody—seem to offer a justification for parent-child separation. Children easily interpret the child (Andy) as a parent who takes care of his toys, which are easily interpreted as Andy’s children. If Andy (or his mother) discards any toys, that act becomes the moral equivalent of child abandonment. The evil child who lives next door to Andy, Sid, actually intentionally handicaps and damages his and his sister’s toys. This makes Sid a villain on a par with the Wicked Witch of Snow White. He becomes a parent from whom children (i.e., toys) would be wise to flee.

Rhetoric, for Aristotle, involves finding in any situation "the available means of persuasion" (Rhetoric 1.2.1). Poetics, on the other hand, involves mimêsis or imitation. Disney's Toy Stories fall most easily into the category of poetics rather than rhetoric. Yet, until the watershed of Plato, Greeks possibly did not conceive a separation between rhetoric and poetics. We should find some persuasion in poetics. For example, in a text that is clearly in the poetics category, at the end of Act 2, Shakespeare has Hamlet say: "I'll have these players play something like the murder of my father before mine uncle: I'll observe his looks . . . the play's the thing wherein I'll catch the conscience of the king." Surely, Shakespeare sees persuasion in poetics. If we study the ways in which poetics persuade we are studying "implicit rhetoric."

The greatest hit song of Kenneth Burke's grandson, Harry Chapin, was "Cat's in the Cradle". Chapin's lyrics tell the story of "my child" who "arrived just the other day," but upon his arrival found that his father had "planes to catch and bills to pay." The boy's learning to walk and talk occurred during the absence of his father, but the boy promised his father, "I'm gonna be like you, Dad." There is little if any explicit rhetoric in Chapin's song. Yet, the implicit persuasion is abundant. The song appears to implicitly champion close relations between parents and children. The problem that exists is a father who—due to his career--is separated “too much” from his son.


The Toy Stories supply a tragic-comic entelechy. In his original draft of "Form and Persecution in the Oresteia," Burke informs us, "the matters considered . . . were immediately preceded by . . . a section designed to show that . . . mimesis" is best understood "through [Aristotle's] concept of the entelechy, with its peculiar stress upon `fulfillment.'" (LSA 125). Burke states: "By entelechy, I refer to such use of symbolic resources that potentialities can be said to attain their perfect fulfillment" (DD 39). Burke has in mind something like Aristotle's Poetics with its perfect tragic victims—“those who are near and dear to one another.” (50).

The Aristotelian word Dorsch has translated "those who are near and dear to one another," Burke translates "intimates." He understands that there are "family tensions" in human patterns of experience that might best be perfected in the tragic "father-kill." Burke goes to some length in Dramatism and Development to assimilate both Aristotelian and Freudian views into his concept of entelechy. He sees Freud's interest in Oedipus as evidence that Freud considered these "family tensions" to be primal. Never mind that the primal father-kill is non-historical. Burke argues in Freud's behalf that even as a "hypothetical" pattern, the principle of the "father-kill" is a useful tool in analyzing psychological structures. This is an important observation for our purposes. While the tragedy genre typically addresses civic and social tensions in adult art forms, the basic family tensions envisioned by Aristotle and Freud more nearly represent the use of the tragedy genre in child art forms. The Toy Stories are about family tensions, not civic and social tensions.

Specifically, in terms of family/civic/social tensions, Burke understands Aristotle's concept of tragedy to involve the perfect victims (intimates), and takes catharsis to be a "purgation by symbolic victimage," wherein the audience "identifies" with the victim. This identification occurs not through the perfect "identification" of "love," but through what he considers to be a "surrogate of love," namely "pity." The tragic "pleasure" takes place when the one with whom the audience has "identified/shared pity" is "killed." Since "identification" has produced "consubstantiality" between the audience and the victim, it is as if in a sense the audience itself has died symbolically. Hence, the audience is free to take on a new identity; the old identity has been "purged." This new identity would be the (perfected?) identity that the audience member has sought. Thus, the tragedy has gratified "entelechy"--a sense of perfection (telos) within the audience. In the Oresteia, once again, Burke observes that "Greek tragedy was 'cathartically' designed" for the purpose of relieving "civic tensions" (LSA 125). He again discusses how fear is transformed to pity (as a surrogate for love). He develops at length his choice of "'pride' as the third major motive involved in tragic catharsis," to modify/explain "Aristotle's famous formula . . . 'pity, fear, and like emotions'" (LSA 125).


Of course, there is no specific father-kill in the Toy Stories. Yet, from a child's perspective, there is a type of intimate-kill. When, in Toy Story 2, the cowgirl Jessie is abandoned by Emily, her young owner (children understand: mother), at a (Goodwill) donation center, not killing but "something else of the kind is actually done." Similarly, when Andy's real mother places Wheezy the Penguin in the Yard Sale, we have a type of intimate-kill (children understand: grandchild abandonment). Certainly, when Andy (children understand: father) considers discarding Woody the cowboy because he has found a new favorite toy in Buzz Lightyear, the action serves as a type of intimate-kill. Children experience something similar to this parental abandonment when a new child comes into the home or when there is a divorce. Hence, children are able to identify with the victims. They have consubstantiality with Jessie, Wheezy, and Woody.

The Toy Stories, however, are not exactly tragedies. Disney stories have a tendency to follow a tragic-comic literary form. This formula may be best exemplified by the Christian gospel story. The intimate (Jesus) is abandoned by his human family. He is crucified by humans. Yet, he is resurrected to a new life with his family. Disney uses this formula in many if not most of its films. Sleeping Beauty is in a simulated state of death until she reawakens. Pinocchio dies saving Geppetto and comes back to life as a real boy. Snow White dies from the Queen's poisoned apple, then revives. Baloo the bear appears to die, but revives in The Jungle Book. The Beast appears to die, then becomes a handsome prince in Beauty and the Beast. Similar deaths and rebirths occur for King Triton in the Little Mermaid, Simba's father, Mufasa, in the Lion King, Robin Hood in Disney's version, and Buzz Lightyear in Toy Story. Although the Toy Stories are technically Pixar and Disney productions, they follow the tragic-comic formula with which other Disney films are identified.

Jessie never returns to her first owner, but receives a new "mother," Andy's little sister. Woody (Wheezy's "brother") risks his own life to save Wheezy from the Yard Sale. Wheezy thus returns to the family. The entire family of toys mobilizes to save Woody who has been "kidnapped" in Toy Story 2. Indeed, the two antagonist-stars of the Toy Stories, Woody and Buzz, frequently reciprocate in saving/rescuing each other. All toys are restored to a loving relationship with their "father," Andy. Familial love becomes the resource that saves the day, just as the kiss of true love wakes Sleeping Beauty. Pinocchio's unselfish love saves Geppetto. Beauty's love saves the Beast. This recurring entelechy permeates Disney's tragic-comic formula: True, unselfish love saves. Of course, the Christian gospel message is quite similar. The Disney entelechy owes much to the Jesus entelechy. In the Jungle Book, at the apparent death of Baloo the bear, Disney actually has Bagheera, his loyal panther friend, quote John 15:13: "Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

So, what tension is purged in the Toy Story tragedy? Children are not concerned with civic tensions. If, as Burke observes Greek tragedy is cathartically designed to relieve civic tensions, Toy Story tragedy is designed to relieve family tensions. These tensions occur due to selfishness in its various forms. One type of this selfishness is sibling rivalry. Another type is the rivalry among peers in combined families following divorce and remarriage. Yet another type is the tension that exists between child and parent when the child feels abandoned by the parent. In whatever way a child viewing Toy Story interprets the relationship between Woody and Buzz, it is clear that they are both "children" of Andy, and both vie for Andy's affection. After Woody and Buzz respectively risk their lives saving each other, the triumph of unselfish familial love is clear. Andy learns to show love equally to Woody and Buzz. The family tensions between siblings (or between children in combined families) in the young audience are cathartically purged through the first Toy Story tragedy. To a lesser extent, the family tensions between parent and child are cathartically purged through the tragedy of Toy Story.


These family tensions between parent and child are more clearly purged through the tragedy of Toy Story 2. Andy's mother had consigned Wheezy to the Yard Sale because his squeaker was broken. Eventually, after Woody is kidnapped in the process of saving Wheezy, then saved by his sibling toys, Andy's mother finds a new squeaker for Wheezy and restores Wheezy to full health. Emily, Jessie's first "mother," abandons her. Yet, Andy's little sister adopts Jessie and purges those family tensions. Woody envisions being discarded by Andy since his arm is torn. Yet, Andy sews the arm back and continues to cherish the toy cowboy.


What, then, can we say about the development in Toy Story 3, which ends with Woody “giving up” all of his toys to an new, younger owner? It must be based upon a rationale for those times when “adoption” is the course of true love. While Jessie’s abandonment—resulting in adoption by new "mother," Andy's little sister—is presented as a regrettable adoption entelechy, Toy Story 3 presents Woody’s “reasonable” decision to adopt out his “children” as the appropriate decision.

Hidden Mickeyisms 3: Disney and Parent-Child Separation

Among the most common situations (or exigencies) for which Disney offers entelechies is that of parent-child separation. What should children do when they are separated from their parents? Bambi’s mother dies. Tarzan is orphaned at birth and must be raised by animals. Mowgli (from the Jungle Book) is lost by his parents in the Indian jungle at birth and must be raised by animals. Hercules, the son of the Greek Gods Zeus and Hera, loses immortality as an infant and is separated from his parents, abandoned to Earth, and must become a true hero in order to reclaim immortality. In The Lion King, Simba’s father Mufasa dies, and Simba believes he is responsible, so he runs away. In Finding Nemo, Nemo accidentally gets lost from his father. His father pursues him. The Little Mermaid grows up and falls in love with someone from another species; hence, she leaves her home. Pinocchio is enticed by fame and pleasure to run away from Gepetto, but eventually risks his “life” to save his “father.” Snow White runs away from home to avoid being murdered by her stepmother. Toy Story 3 eventually finds Andy giving up his toys for adoption. And, in the most recent film, Rapunzel is abducted at birth and spends her life discovering her true identity. She ultimately finds her way back to her parents.

How do children cope with parent-child separation? Frequently, they rely on the entelechies available to their memories. Disney typically draws plots from classic children’s literature, but modifies the plots/entelechies to reflect a more contemporary set of cultural assumptions (or epideictic topoi), values, and psychological perspectives. Even so, Disney is frequently criticized. The goal of this commentary is not to prescribe changes to the Disney films. They are what they are. The goal is only to analyze the entelechies—to see what type of rhetorical medicine Disney is prescribing for children who may find themselves in one or more of Disney’s parent-child separation scenarios. Some of the implicit rhetorical strength of children's literature lies in the fact that children have fewer entelechies from which to choose than do adults. The Walt Disney Corporation has consistently produced literary entelechies with enormous appeal for children.

When Kenneth Burke describes literature as equipment for living, beginning in Counter-Statement (183) and Attitudes toward History (68), he has in mind some very basic appeals of literature. Calling a specific piece of literature a Symbol, he states:

“The Symbol is perhaps most overwhelming in its effect when the artist’s and the reader’s patterns of experience closely coincide. . . . A Symbol appeals: As the interpretation of a situation . . . By favoring the acceptance of a situation . . . As the corrective of a situation . . . A the exerciser of ‘submerged’ experience . . . [and] As an ‘emancipator.’”

Before a symbol accomplishes the task of interpreting, favoring acceptance, or correcting, however, it begins by naming the situation in which the child finds himself or herself. In Philosophy of Literary Form (300), Burke comments:

“A work like Madame Bovary (or its homely American translation, Babbitt) is the strategic naming of a situation. It singles out a pattern of experience that is sufficiently representative . . . .”


For children who have experienced parent-child separation, one of Disney’s Symbols—Bambi, Tarzan, The Jungle Book, Hercules, The Lion King, Finding Nemo, The Little Mermaid, Pinocchio, Snow White, Toy Story 3, or Tangled, for example—may begin by naming the situation/s in which they find themselves. Once the child has identified his or her personal pattern of experience as being represented by the pattern of experience described in the Disney Symbol, the Symbol appeals as an interpretation of his/her own experience. If the child has lost his or her mother to death, Bambi might favor “the acceptance of” that situation. If a child discovers that s/he was abducted at birth (as in various baby-stealing cases in contemporary society) or even adopted, Tangled might serve as the “corrective of the situation.” Alice in Wonderland or Pinocchio might engage the mind of a child who seeks parent-child separation—the chance to “run away.” Hence, these Symbols might serve as “the exerciser of ‘submerged’ experience.” The Little Mermaid might appeal to some children “as an ‘emancipator,’” suggesting that it is acceptable to voluntarily leave all of the cultural mores of one’s inherited culture.

To illustrate the principles of how entelechy operates within the Symbol, the Toy Stories of Disney will be considered, in-depth, in up-coming commentaries. Kenneth Burke's analytical methods will be illustrated in the analyses.

Hidden Mickeyisms 2: Burke’s Circles and Mickey Mouse

In Chapter One of her book, Mouse Morality: The Rhetoric of Disney Animated Film, Annalee R. Ward makes a strong case for the importance of studying the rhetoric of Disney stories. Citing Kenneth Burke’s essay “Literature as Equipment for Living,” Ward presents “one of the goals of [her] book: seeking to discover how Disney films provide equipment for moral living.” Ward draws support from comments by many others in asserting that Disney is a moral educator: William Powers of the Washington Post, Henry Giroux writing in the Socialist Review, John Taylor in his book Storming the Magic Kingdom, Michael Real writing in Mass Mediated Culture, and Benjamin Barber of the New York Times. Along with Robert L. Schrag, Ward argues that “children ‘are more vulnerable, more persuadable than adult audiences.’” Following Connor Freff Cochran, who analyzed the music of Hans Zimmer in Lion King, she states: “Film is a powerful storyteller; employing narrative, visuals, and music enhances its power to communicate a vision of moral living.” Ward cites Hayden White, asking: “Could we ever narrativize without moralizing?” She observes in “Kenneth Burke’s language of ‘terministic screen’ . . . or ‘frame of interpretation’” Burke’s use of the phrase “trained incapacity,” which she sees as a “limit [on] how a person is able to see the world.” What is that limit? She cites Robert L. Schrag: “[T]hese . . . stories are not subjected, in the minds of those young children who view them, to the test of narrative fidelity. These children are in the process of constructing the criteria against which they will judge the narrative fidelity of other stories.” Schrag has, in this comment, stated the essence of Kennethy Burke’s concept of entelechy, as it applies to Disney films. Disney films become circles by which the various other circles of the children’s own personal lives are critiqued.


Disney exercises vast global influence. Disney artistic creations are better known by children than those of DaVinci, Mozart, or Shakespeare. Through its films, Disney provides powerful entelechies to children and their parents. These films are cow paths that implicitly offer self-persuasive rhetoric to children. Just as cows mindlessly follow paths that have been established by the cows that preceded them from pasture to pasture, so children (and adults) mindlessly follow the psychological and interpretive paths established for them. Of course, parents and older siblings establish some of these paths. The proverb “The acorn doesn’t fall far from the oak” is illustrative. Children frequently grow up in the same patterns established by their parents. History, as children learn it, establishes patterns. Some people fear the coming of another Great Depression because contemporary historical data may appear to remind them of the earlier historical event. George Santayana said: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it."


Religion establishes entelechies. In earlier generations, Christian children were accustomed to attending Sunday School. At Sunday School (and, for that matter, in the public schools, in years past), the children became “biblically literate.” They learned stories about Jesus, Adam and Eve, Moses, Joseph, Abraham, King David, Daniel, etc. Bracelets, pins, and tee shirts proclaim: WWJD (symbolizing: What would Jesus do?). The catch phrase “What Would Jesus Do?” is designed to evoke Biblical entelechies to be followed by Christians. With the decline of Sunday Schools and the progressive exclusion of religious stories from the public schools, another moral force has stepped in to fill the entelechial void. Disney now establishes many of these paths for children through its films.


Kenneth Burke's term for the type of rhetoric implicit in Disney films is entelechy. More than two thousand years ago, Aristotle coined the term entelechy [entelecheia] to indicate a process. The process to which entelechy refers in Aristotle's writings is the most common process. Entelechy, according to Aristotle, refers to natural processes (such as the cosmic circles mentioned in the previous commentary):


Aristotle thought of seeds, for example, as possessing within themselves the "final cause" or telos--the goal of what the mature plant would be. He believed that there exists within a grain of wheat the formula that makes the seed first produce roots and a sprout, then grow a blade, which grows into a stalk, until finally an ear of new grain develops. The plan for the fully grown stalk with its ear of grain is implicit in the seed. To use a computer metaphor, the seed is "programmed" to produce a fully developed wheat plant. The telos (or goal) of the fully developed plant is held in the seed and in the plant throughout the growth process. Thus Aristotle called the process "entelechy." "En" means "within." "Tel" is short for telos, the goal. "Ech" means "to have." "Y" indicates "process." Thus, "En-tel-ech-y" means: the process of development (cf. Attitudes Toward History, hereafter ATH, 107) while having one's telos within oneself.

Burke extends Aristotelian entelechy from this biological realm to the symbolic realm. He finds it necessary, however, to replace the implicit determinism of Aristotelian biological entelechy with the implicit freedom of human action in Burke's concept of entelechy. The term entelechy, as Burke and Aristotle use it, may be defined as: the process of changing from what something is into what something should become, which process is directed by an internal principle of change which allows the thing to possess internally the final form toward which the thing is changing. In the Burkean variety, this internal principle of change supplies the implicit persuasion that directs human behavior. One major source of any individual's internal principle of change is the literature that individual consumes. The question becomes, what story are you living out? Each person's life becomes a story line, a plot with three stages--a beginning, middle, and end. Each stage of the story implicitly contains the other two stages.

There are clearly many potential sources from which each individual may derive his/her personal story line. As mentioned, many children derive their story lines from the life stories of their parents; hence, the proverb "Like father, like son." Aspiring political leaders derive their story lines in part from historical leaders such as Gandhi, Washington, Lincoln, even Lenin and Chairman Mao. Some individuals such as David Koresh derive their story lines from dreams, visions, prophecies, or interpretations of prophecy. Koresh feels, for example, that he must live out what his prophecy has prescribed even if that spells a fiery death. Many religious individuals, for that matter, see their story lines as the imitation of certain biblical characters--the suffering but faithful Job, Daniel being fed to the lions, the Apostle Paul converted from the sinful Saul of Tarsus. Burke sees that Milton developed his personal entelechy somewhat along the lines of Samson the great biblical hero whose strength was removed when Delilah had his hair cut. Yet, other factors such as Milton's religion (which forbade suicide) reshaped Milton's entelechy significantly (Rhetoric of Motives, 5). Just as it is the entelechy of many Christians to live out the Jesus story, it is the entelechy of many Moslems to be like Mohammed. Those opposed to powers or public institutions may see in Robin Hood, or Jesse James, or Osama bin Laden a story line for their own lives.

These are powerful entelechies. Yet, they are not deterministic in the Aristotelian sense of natural entelechy. Humans choose from those entelechies available to them. So, what are the entelechies available to children from the literary works produced by the Walt Disney Corporation? We will consider those entelechies in future commentaries.