IDEOGRAPHS IN ENVIRONMENTAL ADVERTISING: <NATURE>

AND <NATURAL> IN SEVENTH GENERATION PRODUCT

PACKAGING

_______________

A Thesis

Presented to the

Faculty of

San Diego State University

_______________

In Partial Fulfillment

of the Requirements for the Degree

Master of Arts

in

Rhetoric and Writing Studies

_______________

by

Mary Margaret Vidal

Summer 2015
 iii

Copyright © 2015
by
Mary Margaret Vidal
All Rights Reserved
 iv

DEDICATION

To my parents, Eileen and Gilbert, who keep me alive with love and bread.
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ABSTRACT OF THE THESIS

Ideographs in Environmental Advertising: <Nature> and

<Natural> in Seventh Generation Product Packaging
by
Mary Margaret Vidal
Master of Arts in Rhetoric and Writing Studies
San Diego State University, 2015

This discussion will concentrate on the ways that Seventh Generation’s “sustainable”
and “toxic-free” household and beauty products and their packaging rely on ideographs to
persuade ideologically disparate groups. In order to examine this issue, I adopt renowned
twentieth-century rhetorician Kenneth Burke’s conceptions of “identification” and the
summarizing function of language, and put them in conversation with rhetorician and social
critic Michael C. McGee’s definition of “ideographs,” or “paramorphic receptacles.” I
suggest that for the purposes of environmental advertising, “nature” and “natural” function as
“ideographs” and, thereby, as rhetorical loopholes in the problem posed by persuading a
variety of ideological groups. Specifically, I assert that over time “nature” and “natural” have
become increasingly ambiguous terms that hold a range of social content and that the
categorical meaning of these terms remains static, even though the exact meaning crystallizes
in various forms. Ultimately, I conclude that McGee’s ideographs serve as a particular
instance of Burke’s summarizing function.
To demonstrate this function of these ideographs in environmental advertising, I
concentrate on appeals to “nature” and “natural” on three Seventh Generation products:
“Natural Dish Liquid,” “100% Unbleached, Recycled Paper Towels,” and “Natural Skin
Serum.” By analyzing the rhetorical approaches that these products rely on, I examine the
way Seventh Generation positions consumption as an environmentally friendly activity,
despite the acknowledgement amongst environmentalists that consumption will always yield
negative environmental effects. Moreover, I argue that corporations with pro-environmental
practices place blame for environmental degradation on consumers, particularly those of
lower socioeconomic status, while simultaneously perpetuating the constant consumption of
the capitalist system and propagating the myth that consumption is a solution to
environmental problems. This is not to say that an entire economic upheaval is necessary, but
instead to bring these issues to both the academic’s and the population writ large’s attention,
and to, in turn, encourage a critical look at environmental advertisements and consumption
behaviors more generally.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PAGE

ABSTRACT ...............................................................................................................................v
LIST OF FIGURES ................................................................................................................ vii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ................................................................................................... viii
CHAPTER
1 INTRODUCTION .........................................................................................................1 
2 ENVIRONMENTAL ADVERTISING .........................................................................8 
3 IDENTIFICATION AND IDEOGRAPHS..................................................................16 
4 NATURE AND NATURAL AS IDEOGRAPHS .......................................................29 
5 SEVENTH GENERATION.........................................................................................40 
6 CONCLUSION ............................................................................................................53 
BIBLIOGRAPHY ....................................................................................................................57 
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LIST OF FIGURES

PAGE

Figure 1. Natural Dish Liquid ..................................................................................................44 

Figure 2. 100% Unbleached Recycled Paper Towels ..............................................................47 
Figure 3. Natural Skin Serum ..................................................................................................49 
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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I’ve been graced with the good fortune to owe many thanks and, while I am certain
that these thanks will be insufficient, but here it goes.
First, I want to thank my family: my brother, the Killoran and Vidal clans, and, in
particular, my parents. My twin pillars without whom I could not stand.
Second, I would like to thank my pal, “Pony Master” David Berver, who served as a
sounding board and Burke translator. Without his help, I would still be in a coffee shop
somewhere, staring blankly at a computer screen.
Third, I want to thank Julia and Alyssa, my sisters in something better than blood,
whose support has been integral in this process and to whom I owe my sanity.
And finally, I would like to thank my committee, without whom this thesis would
have remained the mere whisper of a thought. To Dr. Quandahl, Dr. McClish and Dr.
Giordano, I attribute any insight that this thesis might yield, because I certainly couldn’t have
got there on my own.
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CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

Environmental advocates have long called for the examination of the relationship
between corporate agendas and environmental degradation. In the highly influential 1962
book, Silent Spring, Rachel Carson explains the relationship between humans and nature,
noting that the relative power of humans had reached a “disturbing magnitude.” Carson
proposes: “[o]nly within the moment of time represented by the present century has one
species — man — acquired significant power to alter the nature of the world” (1). It is often
argued that, with Carson’s words, the modern environmental movement was introduced to
the American public consciousness (Lytle; Kroll). Since the publication of Carson’s book,
the power dynamics of humans and nature have captured the attention of many Americans,
spurring the creation of environmental activist/protection groups, policies, research, theories,
and, in recent years, advertising.
The first Earth Day, eight years following the publication of Silent Spring, in April of
1970, might be the true birth of the modern environmental movement. That first celebration
of appreciation for the Earth was, for some, an indication that positive, environmental change
was afoot; however, forty years later, the environmental movement is still dreaming of
greater appreciation for, protection of, and “fixing” of the Earth. The environmental
movement is not, however, a unified one and actually comprises a diverse assortment of
environmentalist perspectives. One of the primary ways that environmentalist movements are
categorized is through the division into three “waves,” that is: the first wave (1900-1960s),
which was primarily conservation based; the second wave (1960-mid to late 1980s), which
“stressed the oneness of humans and our environment”; and the third wave (mid to late 1980s
to current), which is based around pragmatic, but market-based, approaches to
environmentalism (Murphy and Bendell 6). These waves have certain subgroups and
approaches to environmentalism, including, though not limited to, deep ecology, social
 2

ecology, preservationism, radical environmentalism (including environmental justice, and

ecofeminism—both of which stemmed from the civil rights movement), and mainstream
environmentalism.
For much of its evolution in the U.S., the environmental movement has supported
post-Marxist economic ideologies, which lends support to the idea that capitalism has created
and now perpetuates environmental degradation. Third wave environmentalism, however,
asserts that addressing environmental issues in modern society needs to work within the
capitalist system—relying on market-based approaches (like the creation, purchase, and
distribution of eco-friendly products) to address environmental problems. Radical
environmentalism, on the other hand, returns back to the environmentalist/capitalism
dichotomy, arguing that capitalism is at the root of environmental issues. For example, Annie
Leonard, creator of the popular Story of Stuff Project and influential voice in environmental
discussion, argues that the capitalist system is one destined for failure. She claims, “this
system looks like it’s fine. No problem. But the truth is it’s a system in crisis. And the reason
it is in crisis is that it is a linear system and we live on a finite planet and you can not run a
linear system on a finite planet indefinitely” (1). This belief is echoed throughout the
environmental movement, from American environmentalist and creator of 350.org, Bill
McKibben, (who cautions us that happiness does not come from consumption and cites the
fact that American happiness peaked in the 1950s—despite the fact that consumption has
increased two-fold in that same time [35-36]); to the executive director of the Sierra Club,
Michael Brune; to scholars in the academy (who warn that “Advertising discourses and
capitalist ideology play a major role in shaping the attitudes and behaviour of society”
[Budinsky and Bryant 208]). Most subsets of environmentalism are of one mind: capitalism
leads to excessive consumption, and that such a consumption cycle is not sustainable.
According to both environmentalists and climate scientists, much of climate change is
likely due to the enormous amount of fossil fuels that humans use, in combination with other
abuses of the environment (like vast deforestation, as well as the waste and destruction of
other natural resources). The U.S. is also often identified as a major source of the problem;
America creates almost a third of the world’s waste, even though it has less than ten percent
of the world’s population (Hynes; Leonard 3). While the capitalist system is typically
conceived of in two parts (production and consumption), there are several more according to
 3

Annie Leonard. She argues that, in the American capitalist system, goods go through a five-
step process: extraction, production, distribution, consumption, and disposal (1). Each of
these steps, Leonard argues, is environmentally destructive. Put simply, rampant production
and consumption of goods yield negative environmental impact,1 but that impact is
augmented considerably when all steps in the consumption cycle are considered. For
example, the majority of goods produced are quickly discarded, (meaning they are sent to
landfills, which produce air pollution, as well as pollution of the water and land). In fact, to
the horror of environmentalists, “only one percent of the total North American materials flow
ends up in, and is still being used within, products six months after their sale” (Hawken, A.
Lovins, and L. Lovins 81). Given the state of the environment, it becomes clear why the
mass-consumption behaviors of Americans leave environmentalists disgruntled.
Certain of these environmentalists (radical environmentalists, primarily) tend to see
these wasteful behaviors as evidence of underlying ideologies in American society. In
particular ecofeminists, or members of a social-political movement that finds parallels
between how women (and other minorities) and nature are subjugated, argue that ideological,
hierarchical pairs justify the systematic domination of women and the environment, e.g. men
are privileged over women in the same way that culture is privileged over nature, civilization
over savagery. According to ecofeminists like Greta Gaard,
. . . value dualisms are ways of conceptually organizing the world in binary,
disjunctive terms, wherein each side of the dualism is seen as exclusive (rather
than inclusive) and oppositional (rather than complementary), and where higher
value or superiority is attributed to one disjunct (or, side of the dualism) than the
other. (“Toward a Queer Ecofeminism” 23)
For these reasons, what becomes most interesting about these binaries is their reliance on
what I will later identify as ideographs,2 and how those ideographs are built on a history of
inconsistent use and comprise internally contradictory meanings.

1
For the purposes of this study, I conceive of “negative environmental impact” as any effect on the
environment that is both directly caused by humans and is detrimental in some fashion.
2
Chevrons indicate ideographs and/or ideographic usages of terms.
 4

Finding ways to address a variety of ideologies in an audience is one of the primary

tasks of advertising in general. Despite Carson’s introduction of environmental and
ecological issues into the public sphere in the early 1960s (launching what is generally
considered the second-wave of environmentalism), ecological interest only reached the
advertising sphere later in the decade (C. Leonidou and L. Leonidou). Since the 1970s,
research in the domain of environmental advertising has only been of interest in certain
periods, but seemingly skipping the 1980s, when, according to C. Leonidou and L. Leonidou,
An upsurge in economic growth observed in many countries at that time, a trend
toward individualistic consumer patterns, a lack of innovative solutions to
environmental problems, the existence of consumer confusion over environmental
claims, and the appearance of deceptive green claims, were some of the reasons
that delayed this ecological approach to business (Peattie; Kangun et al). In
response, academic interest in the subject diminished, with only a handful of
articles written on environmental matters. (83)
Environmental advertising has, however, perhaps due to a new interest and fear of global
environmental issues, been reintroduced to the advertising field in the 2000s with renewed
vigor (C. Leonidou and L. Leonidou; Prothero, Mcdonagh, and Dobscha). Thus, beginning
with the introduction of ecological advertising strategies by Harold Kassarjian,
environmental advertising has certainly been in at least the periphery of—if not the forefront
of—marketers’ awareness (Fisk; Coddington; Schlegelmilch, Bohlen, and Diamantopoulos;
Hartmann, Ibáñez, and Sainz; C. Leonidou and L. Leonidou; Prothero, Mcdonagh, and
Dobscha; Fraj, Martínez, and Matute).
Despite the increase in environmental research in the field of marketing,
environmental advertising seems to have been an area of little scholarly exploration.
According to C. Leondiou and L. Leondiou, in a comprehensive study of the academic
environmental advertising literature from 1969 to 2008, the years 1969-1978 yielded no
literature at all that was specifically concerned with environmental advertising (though
environmental advertising was addressed). Between 1978 and 1999, approximately 17
percent of the articles were concerned with environmental advertising (these studies fell into
one of five subcategories: environmental claims, effectiveness of environmental claims,
greenwashing, advertising greenness, or green advertising ethics), and between 1999 and
2008 that number decreased to only 3.8 percent (86). Environmental advertising is, as it
were, a largely unexplored territory, as well as one that is increasingly ignored.
 5

In the existing literature there has been a particularly large amount of interest in these
five subcategories of environmental advertising. However, such examinations fail to address
the enticing power of certain kinds of environmental rhetoric. According to rhetorician and
literary critic Kenneth Burke, rhetoric may be characterized as "[t]he use of words by human
agents to form attitudes or induce actions in other human agents" (Rhetoric of Motives 41).
He insists, “We are clearly in the region of rhetoric when...one [is] a participant in some
social or economic class” (Rhetoric of Motives 28). Here, Burke contends that rhetoric is
characterized by attempts to call audiences to socially and economically related action. As
environmental advertising’s primary function is to persuade consumers to perform an
economically related action (the purchase of a product), it’s clear that the field is ripe for
rhetorical analysis. Furthermore, scholar and professor Stuart Hirschberg argues for the
rhetorical analysis of advertising, justifying this rhetorical study of environmental advertising
by elucidating, “the underlying intent of all advertising is to persuade specific audiences.
Seen in this way, ads appear as mini-arguments whose strategies and techniques of
persuasion can be analyzed just like a written argument” (291).
The rhetorical power of visual and verbal conceptions <nature> and <natural> are
especially suitable for examination and, furthermore, have yet to be looked at in the domain
of environmental advertising. While scholarship that examines these concepts certainly exists
(Senda-Cook and Endres 144; Lebduska 146; Gaard “Ecofeminism and Wilderness,” 5;
Gosine; Sturgeon “Penguin Family Values”; Stein; Hogan), there has been little overlap
between rhetoric and advertising in terms of environmental claims. The notable exception
that I rely on in the rest of this analysis is Kevin DeLuca’s Image Politics, in which he
positions an ideographic cluster of terms, including <nature> and <progress>, in terms of
industrialism and advertising. DeLuca lays groundwork for looking at the function of
<nature> in environmental discourse; in particular, he looks at the rhetoric of radical
environmentalism groups, including environmental justice groups (64).
This analysis will be an extension of these areas of inquiry and will take interest in
how those areas interact. In particular, I would like to explore how public recognition of
environmental problems is appropriated in environmental advertising via the use of certain
kinds of environmental rhetoric, i.e., visual and verbal conceptions of <nature> and
<natural>. In elucidating this tendency in environmental advertising, I would like to
 6

reiterate—as has been suggested by environmental advocates many times over (Coleman;
Luke, Capitalism, Democracy, and Ecology; Luke, Ecocritique; Faber; Varey; Burroughs)—
that there is a catch-22 in environmental advertising that is almost irreconcilable. That is,
capitalism breeds consumption; consumption feeds advertising; and consumption and
capitalism breed environmental degradation (Fisk; Leonard; Luke, Capitalism, Democracy,
and Ecology ; Sturgeon, Environmentalism in Popular Culture; Varey). On a very basic
level then, capitalism is inherently antithetical to the environmental movement.
For that reason, it is my contention that environmental advertising is not
environmentally sound, even when “greenwashing,” the use of false environmental claims, is
not involved, and moreover, that environmental advertising depends on making consumers
guilty and responsible for environmental degradation, in order to further economic goals. Part
of the problem here is, of course, that there are few alternatives for consumers beyond the
purchase of such goods. I later argue that, in some ways, corporations and advertising that
further this “consumption as solution” myth are actually creating the limits for possible
change. To demonstrate this phenomenon, I will first review the previous research in
environmental advertising, and then establish the rhetorical perspective I adopt in this
analysis by examining the works of renowned twentieth-century rhetorician, literary critic,
and philosopher Kenneth Burke and rhetorician and social critic Michael McGee.
Specifically, I put Burke’s perspectives about the function of language and identification into
conversation with McGee’s conceptions of ideographs.
Next, I will provide a general explanation for the context of the modern
environmental movement and begin to build an understanding of the current ideological and
discursive construction of <nature> and <natural>. Then, I will proceed to lay out a
description of Seventh Generation, a corporation that produces what it calls “sustainable” and
“toxic-free” household, baby care, and beauty products. Then, using the previously
developed understanding of <nature> and <natural>, I will analyze how those ideas function
in Seventh Generation’s advertising schemes. Finally, I will explore the particular ideologies
that are reflected (or not reflected) in these advertisements. In doing so, I will conclude that
ideographs, or “paramorphic receptacles,” are a means of achieving identification and,
thereby persuasion, allowing the viewer to read into an advertisement a particular version of
the ideograph. Moreover, I will also suggest that corporations with pro-environmental
 7

practices place blame for environmental degradation on consumers while simultaneously

perpetuating the constant consumption of the capitalist system and propagating the myth that
consumption is a solution to environmental problems. This will not be to say that an entire
economic upheaval is necessary, but instead to encourage a critical look at environmental
advertisements and consumption behaviors more generally.
 8

CHAPTER 2

ENVIRONMENTAL ADVERTISING

As the majority of scientists have come to conclude that climate change is not only
real, but the direct result of human behaviors on the environment, it has become increasingly
important and pertinent to think about how the power dynamics of humans and the
environment, particularly on a collective level (as opposed to the actions of individuals),
function. Due to the capitalist nature of American culture and economics, both marketing and
advertising strategies have the potential for huge impact both directly on the environment and
on consumer thoughts about and behaviors that concern the environment.
It may be generally concluded that advertising has a formidable effect on consumer
behavior; while consumers are reluctant to admit the influence advertisements have on their
consumption habits, it has been demonstrated time and time again that there is a substantial
relationship between advertising measures and consumer behavior (Hirschberg; Hollis). So,
while we might argue that our purchasing behaviors are determined outside of any third
party’s influence, our purchases are often guided by advertising messages that we neither
intend to internalize nor realize we internalize. Advertising in general plays upon consumers’
value systems—adopting a particular rhetoric depending on the ideological values that are
perceived as important (Kotler; Varey).
Accordingly, it is through determining what the consumer believes makes a good
product (what values consumers expect in their purchases) that products are advertised. For
example, when marketers discover that consumers value the protection of the environment,
advertisements begin to suggest and promote the protection of the environment. In their
article “‘It’s Not Easy Being Green’: The Greenwashing of Environmental Discourses in
Advertising,” Jennifer Budinsky and Sarah Bryant advance the reciprocal relationship
between the ideologies of consumers and advertising messages, arguing, “Growing concern
on the part of citizens has led corporations to advance a new ideology of green capitalism, in
 9

which consumers are urged to help the environment through the purchase of ostensibly eco-
friendly products” (209). Thus, environmental advertising, or “green” advertising,
presupposes the desire amongst consumers for “eco-friendly” and that presentation of the
“eco-friendly” good, in turn, encourages consumers to seek out such products. “Green”
advertisements and marketing strategies, then, are an attempt to capitalize on proven
consumer desires for “green” goods.
Lisa Lebduska calls consumer affinity for purchasing purportedly green products
“ecoconsumerism,” and points out the abuses of that tendency by corporations. Some
marketers acknowledge that “many companies began viewing environmental problems as
potential opportunities to exploit by incorporating into their products and practices genuine
environmental attributes and ethical qualities” (Curtin 29), seemingly admitting to some kind
of persuasive intent present in this genre of advertising, despite honest attempts at
incorporating the desired values. Furthermore, Lebduska notes the provision of “an ever-
changing frontier of natural images, textualizing nature into a quest for individualism” in
which the corporate end of the advertising equation is “completely effaced, unimagined…out
of focus, out of mind, out of reach” (147). A reliance on the “natural” in advertisements turns
consumption into a frontier that is, like “real” nature, ready to be dominated. Furthermore,
these natural images obfuscate the decidedly not “natural” influence that corporations have in
the creation and distribution of goods. Consumers can, in other words, forget the non-natural
or non-environmentally friendly qualities of goods, somewhat ironically by purchasing
goods that depict nature or rely on natural appeals.
It has, of course, been pointed out that green advertisements do not always yield
green products. “Greenwashing,” a term originally coined by environmentalist Barry
Commoner, indicates the presentation of an environmentally destructive product as if it
possessed “eco-friendly” qualities, is an insidious problem that further complicates green
advertising. According to advertising experts, the field has gone through various stages of
environmental advertising before “greenwashing” became a part of advertising strategies.
According to Philip Kotler, until recently marketers “have based their strategies on the
assumption of infinite resources and zero environmental impact” (132), but this began to
change when consumers began demonstrating an interest in environmentalism and
environmental activism. While it is difficult to identify a true shift in American
 10

environmental consciousness, ecofeminist Noël Sturgeon points to Al Gore’s documentary

An Inconvenient Truth (2006) as an instigator of this popularization of environmentalism and
a broader acceptance of climate change in the United States. Whenever it might have
happened, Kumar, Rahman, and Kazmi note that this shift led to the “evolution of
sustainability marketing” and, more specifically, that it
began with the introduction of two concepts, that is, ecological marketing and
social and societal marketing. The concept of ecological marketing was
progressively developed into green marketing, greener marketing and sustainable
marketing…All the concepts finally merged into the richer and broader concept of
sustainability marketing incorporating economic, social and environmental
dimensions into it. (601-602)
Corporations, encouraged by consumer interest in environmentally friendly products, have
moved further and further toward this vision of sustainable marketing—where the economic,
social, and environmental responsibilities of a corporation are all important.
By attending to the suggested desires of the consumers, corporations gain what social
psychologists call “idiosyncrasy credits,” which are increased each time that an individual or
group performs according to normative expectations. E. P. Hollander originally defined these
credits as “an accumulation of positively disposed impressions residing in the perceptions of
relevant others; it is defined [as] the degree to which an individual may deviate from the
common expectancies of the group” (120). In short, idiosyncrasy credits are hypothetical
credits that are banked through conforming to the common expectations of the group and are
lost or spent when deviating from those expectations. One might deviate from societal or
group expectations to a certain margin, then, if one has first demonstrated a certain amount of
respect for normative expectations. For example, the occasional rude comment given by an
individual who typically acts within normal social limits (politely) is easily forgiven, whereas
the same comment from a stranger who has not had the opportunity to garner idiosyncrasy
credits is deemed rude or otherwise perceived negatively. This social psychological idea,
though not typically applied to the corporate model, is, I would argue, an interesting way to
look at and hypothesize about the relationship between corporations and consumers. For
corporations, when they are viewed as performing socially proactive behaviors (whether or
not the corporation is actually doing so is irrelevant), the consumer unconsciously attributes
idiosyncrasy credits to that corporation. These credits function as a sort of pseudo-likability
 11

rating for the corporation; the more idiosyncrasy credits a corporation has, the more
positively viewed the corporation is. (I should note that some consumers may be more
cognizant of the rhetoric of corporate advertisements, and would therefore be less likely,
then, to attribute these sorts of idiosyncrasy credits to corporations without some kind of
evidence.) One means of accruing these credits is through pro-environmental behaviors.
Often, however, consumers do not investigate corporations to the extent that they are aware
of a corporation’s environmental status. Companies may still gain idiosyncrasy credits from
consumers, however, by environmental advertising, particularly on product packaging. It
should be noted that depending on the amount of credit accrued, a corporation may deviate
from consumer expectations in equal measure without consequence.
Even so, marketing and advertising in the U.S., whether environmentally oriented or
not, is part of a capitalist model, which, by definition, is dependent on perpetual growth and
consumption. On a very basic level, then, capitalism is antithetical to the environmental
movement. Munshi and Kurian, in “Imperializing Spin Cycles: A Postcolonial Look at Public
Relations, Greenwashing and the Separation of Publics,” suggest that
despite their mandate to do ‘public good’, corporations are driven by the short-
term financial perspective. Even when ‘enlightened self-interest’ (very long-term
profitability) might coincide with the requirements of sustainability and
improving the lot of the worst off, such actions are precluded” because
government regulation does not limit the routes corporations have for making a
profit. (517-8)
Thus corporations that have the opportunity to act in pro-environmental ways often elect to
use “greenwashing” techniques, which will allow their business to grow, rather than actually
implementing change in their corporate model. In “Marketing Means and Ends for a
Sustainable Society: A Welfare Agenda for Transformative Change,” Richard Varey
explains, “A growth-based economy only operates by generating discontent. The prevailing
approach to living the good life is a quest for abundance, and ironically, it is self-defeating in
destroying the environment (‘resources’) on which it depends” (113). In the environmental
movement the production of goods is seen as equivalent to the destruction of the
environment. Similarly, Sturgeon also crafts an anti-capitalist perspective, identifying
capitalism as a common source of social and environmental problems and arguing that
solving environmental problems would mean solving social ones (Environmentalism in
 12

Popular Culture, 26, 172). Moreover, Varey wonders, since the goal of the capitalist system
is to ever increase economic growth, and the U.S. is unlikely to switch to another economic
model, “Can consumption become sustainable and what would marketing be in a sustainable
society?” (113). Perhaps, as has been suggested by James E. Burroughs in a response to
Varey’s article, “Can Consumer Culture be Contained? Comment on ‘Marketing Means and
Ends for a Sustainable Society,’” such a system is possible.
Yet, as it exists today, U.S. society encourages complete, non-reflective,
consumption. Along these lines, Sturgeon argues that environmental and social problems are
entwined and that, at their root is capitalism. Lebduska argues that American society
encourages and is based on frontier consumerism, pointing out the commutability of desire:
“The consumer frontier becomes the unpurchased (and therefore unconquered) array of
goods and services promising a civilized wholeness” (emphasis added) (147). U.S. citizens,
Lebduska seems to suggest, seem to believe that if we can just get the next best thing—a
phone upgrade, a sleek car—or really, anything new—a disposable coffee cup, a plastic
bottle—we will be satisfied and happy. We will be better. However research—and anecdotal
evidence—suggests that consumption, no matter how little or large, leads to only momentary
satisfaction and a desire—that we attempt to fill with more consumption (Varey 113).
Richard Varey, in “Marketing Means and Ends for a Sustainable Society: A Welfare Agenda
for Transformative Change,” explains this cycle, noting, “A growth-based economy [like the
United States] only operates by generating discontent. The prevailing approach to living the
good life is a quest for abundance, and, ironically it is self-defeating” (113). Despite this
prevalent, normative attitude toward consumption in the U.S., it can prove difficult for
marketers to persuade consumers to purchase a product that adheres to the consumer’s
desired value system if it is considered expensive or inferior for other reasons. An important
problem for marketers, then, is finding ways to motivate consumers to choose products “on
the basis of their ethical attributes, over products positioned on self-benefit oriented
attributes, such as performance and price” (Peloza, White, and Shang 104). One such avenue
of persuasion relies on appeals to the emotions of the consumers. Specifically, the appeal to
self-accountability and guilt is used to position ostensibly ethical products as desirable. The
appeal toward self-accountability in discussions of environmental advertising is often
referred to as “green guilt” (Asme; Wadler), and, though I will not linger on this point, I
 13

should mention that the burden of which is disproportionately placed on the members of the
lowest economic classes, who cannot make the same consumer decisions.
The literature about environmental advertising indicates two important elements. One
is that “green guilt”—a feeling of remorse for behaving in non-environmentally friendly
ways—is viewed positively by the general American public and by marketers. In other
words, most Americans, as well as environmental and marketing scholars, believe that green
guilt is actually a good thing because it reflects a desire to help the environment, which in
turn functions as an opportunity for marketers to develop effective promotions. The second is
that “greenwashing,” the rendering of false environmental claims through advertisements, is
incredibly prevalent and reflects an abuse of green guilt.
Green guilt, as mentioned above, is an appeal to consumer self-accountability for
environmental degradation. Marketing strategy seems to have shifted focus: from the
“sustainable journey” that companies are making to consumer behavior. When individuals
believe that they are ethically responsible (as citizens of the world) for the environment, and
are provided with the option to lessen their respective environmental impact via the purchase
of a “green” product, they are often likely to purchase that product. The probability of
consumer purchases of green products is greatly increased under particular circumstances,
including the following: being in the presence of perceived observers, positioning of the
product as effective,3 and comparable prices (as compared to non-environmentally friendly
products) (Peloza, White, and Shang 104; Luchs, Naylor, Irwin, and Raghunathan 18). Thus
environmental advertising, particularly on product packaging—which would be viewed with
an audience of fellow grocery store shoppers, even if the primary consumer were shopping
alone—can be incredibly effective, particularly for the economically advantaged consumer.

3
Environmentally friendly products are often perceived as less powerful, or less effective than their non-
environmental friendly counterparts.
 14

This sort of advertising, however, can also be categorized as an abuse of consumer feelings
of environmental or green guilt.4
In situations where a corporation is misrepresenting its products as environmentally
friendly or “natural,” the abuse of consumer guilt is particularly obvious. In this case, which
is typically called “greenwashing,” the corporation is using the fact that consumers care
about and feel responsible for the degradation of the environment as a means to turn a profit,
without actually addressing consumer values or desires. Certain cases of “greenwashing” are
particularly egregious; for example, BP (formerly, British Petroleum) has a long history of
abusing consumer desire for environmentally conscious fossil fuel corporations (Cherry and
Snierson). In 2000 BP revamped its ad campaigns to position itself in an eco-friendly light by
adopting the slogan “Beyond Petroleum,” announcing that it was turning to solar power and
alternative energies, and introducing a green and yellow sun-burst as its new logo. This
transformation, however, was only surface level. Rather than actively pursuing pro-
environmental activities, BP’s transformation consisted of shuffling its capital in the most
minute of ways to give the impression that change was truly happening (Gross). BP’s
environmentally conscious presentation seems to have wilted somewhat since, in April of
2010, the BP Deepwater Horizon oilrig spilled crude oil into the Mexican Gulf. Now known
as the worst oil spill in American history, the spill continued for almost three months and
released approximately 5 million barrels of oil into the ocean (The Ocean Portal Team). If the
spill had been entirely accidental, it’s possible that BP would have been able to recover and
maintain its environmentally friendly cover. However, because the spill was actually due to

4
This distribution of blame and guilt for environmental degradation in advertisements might also be
further problematized through examining which groups are perceived as most responsible for environmental
problems. Though I will not delve into this area of inquiry in the short scope of this study, it would yield
interesting insight to examine how certain racial or socioeconomic groups are more likely to face or feel guilt
for environmental problems. As environmentally friendly products are generally more expensive (Seventh
Generation products do fall into the more expensive category also), it could be that groups who do not have the
means to afford such supposedly green products face an unequal guilt burden. Ecofeminist Noël Sturgeon hints
at this kind of unequal access to environmentally friendly products, suggesting that “It is quite possible to
imagine that a green society could be created but only be available to the rich” and that “to create a truly
sustainable future, we must think about social inequalities as much as we think about environmental problems”
(Environmentalism in Popular Culture 5).
 15

negligence on the part of BP, the company’s reputation was damaged (Gross).5 While BP is
an extreme example, it still explains some of the problems in environmental marketing,
particularly, “greenwashing.”
Though “greenwashing” is a pertinent issue in discussion of environmental
advertising, I also want to note that the reliance on terms like <natural> and <nature> is one
that exists outside of “greenwashing” schemes. Later in this analysis I would like shift our
focus from “greenwashing” corporations to those that are, in fact, making efforts to function
sustainably. Primarily, this analysis will concentrate on advertisements put forth by the
Vermont company Seventh Generation. This company is one among a sizable number that
actually make attempts to create eco-friendly products (ones that do not yield negative
environmental impact). While this is, indeed, an admirable venture, even the best
environmentally friendly products do not yield positive environmental impact. By way of
environmental advertisements, these companies are making the assertion that such products
do something good for the environment, when in reality the products are simply not doing
something bad for the environment. This, admittedly, is an exceptional and wonderful quality
for products to have, but by advertising such products as positive for the environment, these
companies are implying that the products are doing more than they truly are. While, of
course, there are certain benefits to purchasing environmentally friendly products, it is a
consensus amongst environmentalists that such items are environmental “Band-Aids on a
bleeding Earth” (Coleman 25). To observe how environmentally friendly products are
presented as environmentally positive, I will employ an ideological lens developed in the
following chapter to several advertisements.

5
BP did not maintain pipes correctly, which led to the leakage.
 16

CHAPTER 3

IDENTIFICATION AND IDEOGRAPHS

If, as twentieth-century rhetorician, literary critic, and philosopher Kenneth Burke

claims in a Rhetoric of Motives, rhetoric’s most fundamental and basic task is to achieve
identification, then any study of rhetorical force must take care to examine identification’s
function. In this examination of the rhetoric of appeals to nature in product advertisements, I
will therefore consider how identification functions, as well as Burke’s other ideas about the
summative/orienting function of language. In addition, I will focus on Michael Calvin
McGee’s theory of ideographs. As McGee’s theoretical propositions seem to be grounded in
his responses to Burke (McGee 1-3)—more precisely, McGee argues that ideology is a
critical avenue of investigation and worries that Burke’s dramatism has led the concept of
ideology to depreciate—it makes good sense to reintroduce other Burkean theories that are
parallel to or correspond with McGee’s ideograph into this work.
Given McGee’s concern with ideology, I will be similarly concerned with analyzing
how ideology plays a part in environmental advertisements. Communication and rhetoric
scholars, like Sonja K. Foss, describe the goal of ideological analysis as “discover[ing] and
mak[ing] visible the dominant ideology or ideologies embedded in an artifact and the
ideologies that are being muted in it” (295-6). Such investigations focus on unearthing the
systems of ideas, beliefs, values, and interpretations that groups use to guide their
understanding of the world, or as Foss describes, the “mental framework—the language,
‘concepts, categories, imagery of thought, and the systems of representation’ that a group
deploys to make sense of and define the world or some aspect of it” (209). In this analysis,
however, I hope to explain the lack of definitive ideology in environmental advertisements
(via the use of what McGee calls ideographs), while simultaneously pointing out the external
motivational (or orienting) forces (capitalist systems) that drive that lack of definitive, or
apparent, ideology.
 17

In Language as Symbolic Action Burke suggests an alternative to what he calls the

“word-thing relationship,” the connection that paints words as representations of things.
Burke ponders the possibility that “words [might] be found to possess a ‘spirit’ peculiar to
their nature as words” and investigates the reversal of the “word-thing relationship” in favor
of the “thing-word relationship” (Language as Symbolic Action 361), essentially offering the
following notion: words, in some ways, define or create meaning for the things they
represent. While Burke notes, “the world is run on the commonsense realistic assumption
that there is a fairly accurate correspondence between the realm of everyday sensory objects
and the vocabulary that names them” (375), he also suggests our language plays a significant
role in creating our perceptions of the world around us, as well as how we attribute meaning
to what we perceive.
The “thing-word” relationship that Burke establishes is based on nonverbal or
extraverbal contexts, or the circumstances immediately relevant or surrounding the word-
thing relationship. These contexts can be summed up through what Burke calls the act of
“entitling” or the reduction of “complex nonverbal situations” down to a word. This
summing up or entitling function is what Burke describes as a function of language, arguing
that we might consider the role that words serve as comparable to that of a book title:
[A]s the title of a novel does not really name one object, but sums up the vast
complexity of elements that compose the novel, giving it its character, essence, or
general drift…[words sum] up an essence or trend or slant, rather than describing
the conditions that would be required for the thing really to happen or exist. (361)
This understanding of words serving an entitling function puts words in the position of a
pseudo-archetype (a “universal,” according to Burke), where they represent a scope of
meanings or significances. Positioned as this kind of archetypal-universal, words like “chair”
or “bird” are actually “serving as particularized instances or manifestations of the ‘perfect
forms’ that are present in the words themselves” (361).
To use Burke’s own description, when words become a “receptacle” of sorts that is
filled with a variety of “social content,” they are also serving as receptacles of a socialized
 18

understanding of language, rather than containers that hold truth or reality.6 Words are, then,
receptacles that host the product of socialization, holding “personal attitudes and social
ratings.” Used as receptacles for social content, “tribal” attitudes are built into “words for
things.” In turn, Burke concludes, “the things of the world become material exemplars of the
values which the tribal idiom has placed upon them” (361).
The summarizing function of words—their ability to hold social content or tribal
values—that Burke describes here—elsewhere he alludes to as being at work in individuals’
“orientations.” In Permanence and Change, he asserts that for every individual “words
themselves…have derived their meanings out of past contexts” (7) and he builds upon this
idea that, for an individual, the meaning of words grows out of the context in which the
individual see those words functioning. Burke then argues that the contextualized meanings
that words accrue for an individual are the “character” of those words, which are
characterized “mainly with reference to pleasant and unpleasant expectancies” (21). (In
short, the “pleasant” character is that which is useful or beneficial and the “unpleasant” is
that which is prohibitive or not useful.) Stemming, in turn, from the “accumulation” of these
contextualized meanings or characters, is an individual’s “orientation” (14). For instance, the
“accumulation” of unpleasant experiences with “education,” “teachers,” and “schools” will
shape an individual’s orientation toward schooling. “Orientation” might, then, be described
as the way that an individual’s experiences inform how that individual interprets and
understands words.
Another way to understand Burke’s conceptions of the summative function of
language and of orientations is to introduce a possibly more familiar term: ideology. Given
Foss’ understanding of ideology as the mental framework that groups use to guide their
understanding of the world (209), we might conceive of an orientation as a similar mental
framework. An ideology, however, also might be considered different from an orientation in

6
In A Grammar of Motives, Burke argues, “Men seek for vocabularies that will be faithful reflections of
reality. To this end, they must develop vocabularies that are selections of reality. And any selection of reality
must, in certain circumstances, function as a deflection of reality” (59).
 19

that it is primarily a marker for the broad framework that a group holds, whereas an
orientation primarily refers to the framework of an individual. Ideology and orientation are
not independent frameworks, however; the group ideology likely determines one’s
orientation and the orientations of individuals affect the group’s ideology. As Burke
indicates, an ideological group will share similar orientations. He posits that an individual
“would naturally employ the verbalizations of his group—for what are his language and
thought if not a socialized product? To discover in oneself the motives accepted by one’s
group is much the same thing as to use the language of one’s group” (Permanence and
Change 20-21). Otherwise said, individuals of the same ideological group would share
language, as well as an understanding of the character of the language they use. Burke
explains this through asking us to imagine a man
explaining his conduct by the favored terms of his social code [ideology], we may
say that he is making exactly the same kind of rationalization as when he, having
lived among psycho-analysts, begins discussing his interests solely in terms of
libido, repression, Oedipus complex, and the like. This, too, is a rationalization, a
set of motives belonging to a specific orientation. (23)
In this scenario, the man’s ideology and orientation are mutually informing. The man’s
Freudian ideology determines his understanding or characterization of the terms he uses.
What, then, does this mean for ideological analysis? “Ideology in practice,” according
to Michael Calvin McGee in his seminal article, “The ‘Ideograph’: A Link Between Rhetoric
and Ideology,” “is a political language, preserved in rhetorical documents, with the capacity
to dictate decision and control public belief and behavior” (5). McGee signals here that,
manifested in rhetorical texts like advertisements, there is the power to influence certain
qualities, like beliefs and behaviors, which make up ideologies. In viewing ideology, and
ideology in practice, in these ways, there is a distinct overlap between McGee and Burke’s
ideas. That is, as Burke suggests that all language serves a summative function, in which
terms are receptacles for or titles of extraverbal circumstances, McGee’s description of
“ideology in practice” or “ideographs” seems to be a special case of the summarizing
function, or a particular genre of summative terms.
Ideographs, limited to McGee’s original model are “building blocks of ideology” (7).
To McGee, certain vocabulary is fundamentally rhetorical, even without being situated in
assertive statements. These words, “ideographs” according to McGee, are imbued with
 20

propositions; they “signify and ‘contain’ a unique ideological commitment” (7) and they are
a kind of “‘God’ or ‘Ultimate’ term that will be used to symbolize the line of argument the
meanest sort of individual would pursue, if that individual had the dialectical skills of
philosophers” (7). To be concise, ideographs are sums of a line of argument that could be
made for an ideology or orientation. This concise definition harkens us back to Burke’s
theory of the summative function of language, in which he suggests that language generally
serves an entitling or summative function and that, moreover, terms are receptacles for social
content that comprise orientations. Likewise, McGee, in his illustration of ideographs, relies
on a similar idea, even adopting Burke-like language, calling ideographs terms that are “sums
of an orientation” (7). Ideographs, in other words, are terms that both represent an ideology
and a logical argument for an ideology. Moreover, McGee suggests that individuals are
“conditioned” (Burke would likely say “oriented”) to find ideographs representations of “a
logical commitment” (7). Significantly also, these ideographic terms are also different from
other terms in that they are “not invented by observers; they come to be as a part of the real
lives of the people whose motives they articulate” (emphasis added) (7). Specifically, unlike
other terms that individuals create with the intention of the term maintaining a specific set of
meanings, ideographs accrue meaning through their various uses and are an almost organic
product of discourse over time.
Generally, ideographs are filtered down from what McGee calls the “power elite” and
allows that elite some level of social control; however, McGee also indicates that “ideology
is transcendent, as much an influence on the belief and behavior of the rulers as on the ruled”
(5). Thus, in our later application of McGee’s ideographs to a corporate advertising
perspective, we can assume that the “power elite” corporations may or may not be conscious
of the way terms that I am calling ideographs function in constructing ideology, nor of the
fact that they too are affected by their use. (Similarly, as Burke asserts, the identification
process may be unconscious on both the rhetor’s [the corporation/advertiser] and the
audience’s [the consumer] parts.) Ultimately, given McGee’s definition and Burke’s
assessment of the function of terms as summative and representative of an orientation,
ideographs might be thought of as terms that have the potential to hold the scope of
ideologies or orientations of the viewers.
 21

An example should make these ideas clearer: Let us look at the word “freedom.” In
the term “freedom” there are summative, orienting, and ideographic qualities. “Freedom,”
within the context of American political discourse, sums up a scope of attitudes about what it
is to be liberated or free. The term also, for an American individual, has a particular
character, based on that individual’s previous experience with the term and with American
political discourse. We could, for instance, conceive of two individuals who, having two
different and opposing orientations (say, one is a smoker and the other a nonsmoker), would
understand the definition of “freedom” differently. For the smoker it would likely mean
something like the ability to smoke as he or she desires without interference and, for the
nonsmoker, it could mean something like the ability to go about his or her business without
having to deal with second-hand smoke, the opposite. In practice, then, the term “freedom”
takes on an ideographic quality, becoming <freedom> the ideograph, rather than simply
“freedom” in Burke’s word-thing relationship sense. <Freedom> as an ideograph implies that
the term is bound up in a logical argument; there is an unspoken and unquestionable
commitment that the term. Because <freedom> represents an ideal argument, it serves as “a
defense of a personal stake in and commitment to the society” (McGee 7). Though these two
individuals would view and understand the ideograph differently from each other, they would
still value <freedom>, see it as a positive idea, and, moreover, associate it with other
important ideas in American society (say, equality or justice). Furthermore, as in this
example, ideographs are significant not simply as a theory, but as a practical concept that
“exist[s] in real discourse, functioning clearly and evidently as agents of political
consciousness” (7). Thus the ideograph <freedom> is not simply a summation of attitudes; it
is also imbued with the feeling of a trustworthy, sound argument.
Given that some terms can serve summative, orientating, and ideographic functions,
one might consider an ideological analysis that extends the idea that terms can hold a scope
of meanings beyond the political sphere. Applying this relationship to advertising, in
particular, environmental advertising, could be a useful way to begin thinking about the
summative functions in advertisements, the kinds of orientations that might be used
in/gleaned from such advertisements, and finally, the ways that ideographs might be used
beyond political discourse. This potential approach to ideological analysis is supplemented
also by advertising’s reliance on what Hirschberg articulates as “appeal[s] to the needs,
 22

values, and beliefs of the audience” (292) or the same concepts that orientations and
ideologies represent.
In order to do this kind of analysis, however, the uniting and dividing function of
ideographs should also be considered. McGee suggests that Americans are divided “by
usages into subgroups” when smaller segments of Americans disagree over “the identity,
legitimacy, or definition of ideographs” (8). If we return to the previously mentioned
example of the difference in orientation between smokers and non-smokers, and think of how
their orientations would affect the ideographic nature of <freedom>, this idea becomes
clearer. McGee demonstrates this idea using <equality>, explaining,
[I]n the United States, we claim a common belief in ‘equality,’ as do citizens of
the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics; but ‘equality’ is not the same word in its
meaning or its usage…We are, of course, still able to interact with the Soviets
despite barriers of language and usage. The interaction is possible because of
higher-order ideographs—‘world peace,’ ‘detente,’ ‘spheres of influence,’ etc.—
that permit temporary union. (8)
So, while there is agreement—and unity—in the positive appreciation for this idea of
<equality>, there is disagreement over what its functional definition is. Even so, it seems that
while Americans are divided “by a disagreement as to the practical meaning of such
ideographs,” they are also “united by the ideographs that represent the political entity ‘United
States’” (8). It is, in other words, that these political ideographs are uniformly understood as
positive and representative of the United States, but their specific definitions are malleable.
This is not to say that ideographs are entirely void of meaning, but instead that they acquire a
spectrum of meaning:
The meaning of [an ideograph] does not rigidify because situations seeming to
require its usage are never perfectly similar: As the situations vary, so the
meaning of [an ideograph] expands and contracts. The variations in meaning of
[an ideograph] are much less important, however, than the fundamental,
categorical meaning, the ‘common denominator’ of all situations for which [the
ideograph] has been the best and most descriptive term. (10)
Ideographs are, in this way, “paramorphic,” to use McGee’s term, receptacles; their
categorical meaning remains static, though the specific meaning crystallizes in various forms,
carrying what a particular subgroup believes them to hold. An ideograph, in McGee’s words,
“retains a formal, categorical meaning, a constant reference to its history as an ideograph”
(10). Furthermore, ideographs are “defined tautologically” by their related ideographic
 23

cluster (liberty, for example, in terms of “Religion” and “Property”) (14). Ideographs, then,
are dynamic abstractions of already intangible ideas whose meanings are altered by the
ideographs related to it. Similarly, Hirschberg also notes that, in advertising, “the product
comes to represent an obtainable object or service that embodies, represents, or symbolizes a
whole range of meanings” (292). In response to the suggestion that product advertising
appeals to or embodies ranges of ideological values in a way similar to how ideographs
represent a scope of values, this investigation contemplates the potential appearance or use of
ideographs in advertising.
This approach to ideological analysis of advertising is complicated, however, by
Burke’s concept of identification. According to Burke, persuasion, or the suasive nature of
discourse, is dependent on and rooted in the extent to which these systems that comprise an
ideology are addressed. More specifically, the presence of identification, or the
consubstantiality of two agents, is what signals persuasion. Burke explains, “You persuade a
man only insofar as you can talk his language by speech, gesture, tonality, order, image,
attitude, idea, identifying your ways with his” (Rhetoric of Motives 55). Dennis Day, one of
the first Burkean critics, in fact, argues that Burke’s theory of persuasion can be summarized
in this way: “The speaker, by using linguistic ‘strategies’ which give ‘signs’ to his hearers
that his ‘properties’ are similar to or identical with their ‘properties,’ achieves identification
or ‘consubstantiality’ and thereby achieves persuasion. And for Burke, persuasion can be
achieved only through the ‘strategy’ of identification” (271). This is not to say that
identification or consubstantiality precedes persuasion, but that they are bound up in each
other, or entwined in some way.
Identification, then, is also a reliance on sharing orientations. It is the creation of an
in-group between the rhetor and the audience; it is the understanding that the rhetor and the
audience share ideological preferences (“interests,” according to Burke, or “properties,”
according to Day). In Burkean terms, an individual may identify with another “even when
their interests are not joined, if he assumes that they are, or is persuaded to believe so”
(Rhetoric of Motives 20). Thus, the politician persuades his constituents through making
common (in the most general sense) ground or establishing common interests—through
being a family man, enjoying sports, or kissing babies (21), for example—and thereby takes
a step toward persuading even those constituents who dislike his politics.
 24

Though McGee does not put his ideograph in conversation with Burke’s
identification, these concepts seem to overlap. Burke and McGee both find terms or symbols
to have the potential to be divisive, multiplicative, or, in some cases, both. According to
McGee, for example, ideographs, indeed, “both unite and separate human beings” (8). If
ideographs function as paramorphic receptacles, this could mean that they, like water, can
change form and function without changing substance. In other words, ideographs have a
formal categorical meaning, but can morph to hold a specific, socialized understanding of an
individual or group. This way, rhetors are able to create an in-group between themselves and
all of their different kinds of audiences (or subgroups as McGee describes them). That is, if a
rhetor relies on appeals to “freedom” he or she is not appealing to only the smoker’s
definition of “freedom,” but to any and all interpretations of the term, including that of the
non-smoker. The rhetor, in this way, avoids pigeonholing him or herself and, thereby, being
associated with one understanding of freedom. Instead, the rhetor is allowing the audience to
fill in their understanding of the term and, thereby, allowing identification to happen without
identifying a specific mutual interest with the audience.
Identification, however, is not necessarily conscious on either the rhetor’s or the
audience’s part. Burke addresses this issue of agency, explaining,
The concept of Identification begins in a problem of this sort: Aristotle’s Rhetoric
centers in the speaker’s explicit designs with regard to the confronting of an
audience. But there are also ways in which we spontaneously, intuitively, even
unconsciously persuade ourselves. In forming ideas of our personal identity, we
spontaneously identify ourselves with family, nation, political or cultural cause,
church, and so on. (Rhetoric of Motives 301-2)
Without identification, in other words, we have no concept of self. However, the way we
understand our self-concept (how we identify ourselves with ideas and individuals) is often
fostered unintentionally, typically as a product of a greater context of which we are only
latently aware, like social, economic, political, national, or class orientations. These
orientations, though unconscious, are what Burke describes as “a bundle of judgments as to
how things were, how they are, and how they may be” (Rhetoric of Motives 18). So, while
one might imagine oneself to be motivated by independent desires and motivations, one’s
judgments, attitudes, and actions are also motivated by one’s orientation. Individuals are not,
to put it shortly, motivated by entirely autonomous purposes.
 25

For this analysis of advertisements, examining consumer behaviors in terms of the

relationship between identification and autonomy should yield useful information about
variation in consumer motivation. “Identification,” Burke argues, “is a word for the
autonomous activity's place in this wider [social and political] context, a place with which the
agent may be unconcerned” (27). It is, for example, a specialized, autonomous, and an
intrinsically motivated activity for an individual to seek an item; however the route one takes
to fulfilling that search is determined by contextual, socialized factors. In other words, while
we might have a hard time arguing that any human activity is autonomous, for Burke it
seems useful to imagine that individuals are capable of such choices in order to examine how
individuals make choices within their socialized system. For instance, while we can discuss
seeking soap as an autonomous activity, the purchase of soap (rather than making of soap) is
motivated by the social and economic norms of the American capitalist system. According to
Burke, when a “specialized activity makes one a participant in some social or economic
class” it is “clearly in the region of rhetoric” (26). Furthermore, if the choice of kind of soap
is motivated by a particular sort of desire, say, for an ecologically friendly product, that is a
rhetorically different activity than if one were to buy the product for reasons like personal
health, purity, price, effectiveness, etc.
Following McGee’s analyses of ideographs in political realms, some scholars have
affirmed that ideographs can comprise two conflicting ideologies. In “A < Patriotic>
Apologia: The Transcendence of the Dixie Chicks,” by Emil B. Towner, for example, the
ideograph <patriotic> is examined in the context of the devolution of the Dixie Chicks from
popular country music group to the center of a “firestorm” (293). Towner argues that
<patriotic> in this setting functioned as a polarizing term, defining “what it means to be a
patriotic American during times of war” in two, contrary ways; specifically, he notes that the
group “aimed at redefining rather than reaccepting what it means to be <patriotic>” (293-
296). This argument found that the ideograph allowed the Dixie Chicks to “connec[t] with
one audience while driving a wedge between another” (295), or, in Burkean terms, to identify
with the ideological slant of one audience, while distancing themselves from another.
Similarly, Mark P. Moore, in “The Cigarette As Representational Ideograph in the Debate
Over Environmental Tobacco Smoke,” argues that ideographs can both hold two,
contradictory meanings and have a “synecdochic construction.” For example, he suggests
 26

that <cigarette> as an ideograph functions as two synecdoches: <Cigarettes> are both “a

representation of life or liberty […or] a reduction of life or liberty” (50). This investigation
makes two significant contributions to the concept of the ideograph: (1) ideographs can be
objects that, in turn, represent values; and (2) ideographs can comprise two entirely contrary
ideologies (<cigarette> as a threat to life and liberty versus <cigarette> as symbol of life and
liberty). This assessment of the material object as ideograph also recalls Burke’s earlier
mentioned assessment of language, in which he contends, “the things of the world become
material exemplars of the values which the tribal idiom has placed upon them” (Language as
Symbolic Action 361). From these two arguments, the understanding that ideographs can
appeal to two different, competing ideologies is re-confirmed.
Celeste Condit and John Lucaites, two students of McGee, have also made significant
contributions to the contemporary understanding of ideographs, noting that ideographs
evolve over time (Condit and Lucaites, “Reconstructing (Equality)”; Condit and Lucaites,
Crafting Equality; Condit, “Democracy And Civil Rights”). They articulate that, “Because
ideographs are abstractions, and thus lacking any rigidly defined meaning, creative rhetors
craft their meaning-in-use as they employ them in public discourse to persuade audiences of
the public nature of historically specific beliefs and actions” (Crafting Equality xii).
Furthermore, Condit and Lucaites also assert that it is not that rhetors “need necessarily pay
allegiance to any particular usage or interpretation of an ideograph in a particular context”
and elaborate what McGee calls a ideograph’s synchronic structure, explaining that
ideographs are “defined by [their] relationship in public discourse to other ideographs
relevant to the historically specific situation they are collectively employed to modify or
mediate” (Condit and Lucaites, Crafting Equality xiii). This idea also furthers the Burkean
construction of orientation (and, thereby, ideograph) as a receptacle of social content; by
indicating that ideographs change over time due to their changing use and reception, Condit
and Lucaites are also suggesting and confirming that ideographs are the product of a social
context.
And still others, like Kevin DeLuca, have examined how, precisely, ideographs
function in clusters outside of traditional, political discourse; specifically, DeLuca classifies
images as sites for ideographic analysis, extending the traditional McGee approach beyond
the verbal and written word. Image Politics, DeLuca’s 1999 book, identifies “image
 27

events”—the dissemination of actions through image, like television—as a rhetorical device

that environmentalist groups rely on and establishes American mainstream discourse as both
characterized by industrialism and progress and by its oppositive relationship to radical
environmentalism. DeLuca concentrates particularly on <nature> and <progress> in
environmental justice groups’ rhetoric, and he asks us to think about how the “image
politics” of these groups are an attempt to redefine such ideographs—particularly <nature>.
In this analysis, he identifies these two ideographs as part of a cluster—each term is
understood in relation to the other (as the meaning of one alters, so does the meaning of the
other)—and argues that this ideographic cluster buttresses the “articulation of
industrialization” (65). For example, the meaning of the ideograph <nature> is altered when
put in conversation with the ideograph <progress>, as in suggestion that progress is natural.
Furthermore, DeLuca examines the tension between industrialism/progress and nature,
pointing out that the former is often detrimental to the latter. DeLuca’s analysis aims to
understand how the destabilization of the ideograph <nature> by environmental justice
groups can, in turn, “[open] up possibilities for politics” (65). DeLuca’s project is particularly
relevant to this analysis for several reasons, not the least of which is his focus on <nature> as
an ideograph. His arguments are also relevant in this analysis for his condensed delineation
of the evolution of <nature> over time. DeLuca’s approach and argument, which rely on
<nature> being an important ideograph and on applying that ideograph to environmental
arguments and images, are therefore both a model for and justification of the analysis I
pursue in this work.
Thus, I suggest that “ideographs” may be a strategy that rhetorical agents, like
corporations, use to persuade ideologically disparate kinds of audiences and consumer
motivations, as well as a useful method of rhetorically and ideologically analyzing texts, like
product advertisements, that exist outside of purely or primarily political realms. Ideographs,
as noted, are words in the political sphere that seem to represent abstract ideas and are
imbued with the dominant ideological preferences. As various others have noted, however,
McGee’s ideograph, though not intended for application outside political discourse, can serve
as a useful way to think about primarily non-political discourses (Towner; DeLuca, “Trains
in the Wilderness”; DeLuca, Image Politics).
 28

For the purposes of environmental advertising, I would like to extend McGee’s

concept of ideographs to argue, like DeLuca, that discourses that are not traditionally
political can be interesting avenues for ideographic analysis. In particular, I would like to
examine the function of <nature> and <natural> as ideographic terms and, thereby, as
devices for persuading a variety of ideological groups. Specifically, I mean that <nature> and
<natural> are two of several paramorphic receptacles in a cluster, inside of which individuals
can imagine their particular versions of the terms.
My next step is to apply these theories to an environmentally oriented context. Given
their mutually supporting ideas about the summative functions of words, Burke’s and
McGee’s approaches to understanding the ways that language can function as a receptacle for
social content seem like a useful means to analyze the function of terms in particular
discourses. Following Hirschberg’s argument for the rhetorical analysis of advertising, in
which he emphasizes, “the underlying intent of all advertising is to persuade specific
audiences,” and, moreover, that “ads appear as mini-arguments whose strategies and
techniques of persuasion can be analyzed just like a written argument” (291), advertisements,
particularly environmental ones, will be a prime and ripe source for ideographic and
ideological analysis.
 29

CHAPTER 4

NATURE AND NATURAL AS IDEOGRAPHS

Kevin DeLuca, in his examinations of the ideograph <nature>, asserts that “nature is
[not merely] a social category whose meaning is culturally defined, but rather that the various
meanings of the ideograph nature do ideological work, buttressing certain beliefs, warranting
actions, justifying forms of society, and naturalizing hierarchical social relations” (47).
Furthermore, DeLuca’s argument stems from what McGee describes as the relationship
between ideographs, some of which “are meant to be taken together, as a working unit”
(McGee 13), suggesting that certain ideographic constructions of <nature> have been used in
conjunction with the ideograph <progress> to justify the beliefs of industrialism (in this
discussion, the most closely related term or idea being “capitalism”). Specifically, DeLuca
notes that a tendency in humans to dominate nature when making societal advancements:
“humanity, by dominating nature through the use of reason and technology, will achieve
progress,” and that third-wave environmentalism
limits environmental problems to market solutions, establishes the right to pollute,
and recasts environmentalists as caretakers instead of critics of the market-driven
industrial order. In sum, retaining a modern notion of nature and adapting the
organizational structure and strategy of modern institutions prevent mainstream
environmental groups from fundamentally challenging the industrial exploitation
of nature as resource and reduce them to players in the perpetuation of the
industrial system. (66)
Here, DeLuca has established one of the primary problems in the capitalist system that both I
and others attempt to identify: that is that the modern constructions of the ideograph
<nature>, particularly in concert with other ideographs in its cluster (like <natural>), allow
environmental issues to become subordinate to economics. Though capitalist (or industrial)
systems generate environmental problems, the current usage of the ideographs obscures that
relationship, making capitalist “solutions” for environmental problems seem ideal.
 30

Additionally, DeLuca notes that <nature> has a significant diachronic history too
immense for a study of this scope. Still, I think it is necessary to note some critical moments
and constructions of nature in its diachronic structure that are also critical in the synchronic
structure of <nature>, and <natural>, in modern usage. As Sturgeon has likewise noted,
appeals to <nature> and <natural> are imbued with the “long-standing use of arguments from
the natural that have promoted inequality and supported conquest throughout U.S. political
and social history” (Environmentalism and Popular Culture, 7). For that reason, I will sketch
some important moments in the history of <nature> and <natural> from the colonization of
North America to the present in order to begin understanding how those ideographs are used
in current Seventh Generation product advertising.
Nature refers to an amorphous and variable set of ideas, but is commonly considered
anything that is “natural,” or part of the “wilderness,” the “great outdoors,” the
“environment,” or otherwise put, anything that has yet to have been touched or altered by
humans. DeLuca describes the common understanding of <nature> as “the nonhuman, the
wilderness untouched and untainted by humans, a storehouse of resources that circumscribes
and sustains humanity, the reference point for civilization” (65). This general definition, of
course, breaks down when public parks and gardens are taken into consideration; even so, it
is nevertheless clear that nature’s distance from culture is, in part, what defines it. Culture is
where humans reside—it is a purely human creation—and nature is where all other life
dwells.
Nature and culture thus formulate what is possibly the most prevalent example of an
anthropocentric binary in America, i.e., culture is repeatedly privileged over, and prevails
over, nature in public discourse. The diachronic structure of this binary are based on what
McGee calls “their concrete history as usages, not in their alleged idea-content” (9-10).
Samantha Senda-Cook and Danielle Endres explain this nature/culture divide in their
explorations of ecologies of place, describing the binary as “the idea that modern humans and
civilization are separate from the natural world. Even though humans are natural beings that
exist in the natural world, society reinforces the notion that humans are separate from, and
sometimes better than nature” (144). This anthropocentric binary, then, does not simply
divide humans and their culture from nature; it also favors them, placing humanity and its
social constructions in a position superior to nature. Furthermore, this binary ignores that, as
 31

Senda-Cook and Endres artfully note, “humans are natural beings” and are parts of the
“natural world” (144). Cleverly, however, DeLuca points out that, given that
humans have penetrated every corner of the earth, and human activities have
altered the global temperature, weather patterns” and moreover, “it is difficult to
conceive of nature as an immense, primal power that surrounds, sustains, and
threatens culture…when the boundary between nature and culture is so
thoroughly breached. (65)
In other words, DeLuca complicates the “commonsense” definition of nature in pointing out
the negative and powerful affect that humans/civilization have had on nature.
Evidence of the nature/culture dualism first appears in the earliest moments of
American history—with the domination of various lands (as well as indigenous peoples) by
the Europeans—and continues in various forms in the twenty-first century (Gaard,
“Ecofeminism and Wilderness” 9). Ecofeminist Mei Mei Evans argues that nature is a locale
for the “(re)invention of the self” in American popular culture and literature, and that such
narratives are characterized by a white male encountering, and then conquering, nature to
(re)instate his dominant identity (182-3). This convention is evident in American classic
novels like Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea and John Krakauer’s Into the Wild. In
these narratives white men “do battle” with nature and reaffirm their manhood by conquering
the “wild.” From these narratives American popular culture is provided with an
epistemological paradigm that places culture in a position superior to nature, as well as the
impression that nature, while important, is dangerous.
Nature, despite its dangerous qualities, is also a place of beauty. A place where
Americans return to be “rejuvenated.” In many ways culture is an overbearing presence for
Americans, so they seek out peace (as well as [re]invention or a place to reinvent oneself) in
an idealized nature. Nature, Senda-Cook and Endres point out, “is all around us and part of
us, yet we are conditioned to understand nature as something outside of ourselves” (144).
Americans are therefore trained to distance themselves, both in an ontological sense—one’s
very humanness is dependent on being distinct from nature, and in a physical sense—humans
live away from and outside of nature. We are, as Burke suggests in Language as Symbolic
Action, “separated from our natural condition by instruments of our own making” (16).
Consequently, to seek out nature, Americans must leave culture and civilization in favor of
the “perfect ecological space,” i.e., one that is free of humans and human influence. This
 32

dichotomy between nature and culture is, however, a cultural construction; that Americans
find nature more beautiful when they find “perfect ecological spaces” is, according to Senda-
Cook and Endres, “a cultural product not an inherent response [to nature]” (144). When
Henry David Thoreau explains that he “went to the woods because [he] wished to live
deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life” (73) and that “the mass of men lead lives
of quiet desperation” (9), he is also implying that nature is “essential” to life and that living
in culture leads humans to states of “desperation.” For Thoreau, living in nature is a
“solution” to the negative pressures of culture and civilization. So, when we “escape” into
nature, in the tradition of American greats like Thoreau, Emerson, and Terry Tempest
Williams, or even in the contemporary way represented in Cheryl Strayed’s Wild: From Lost
to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail, we are also reaffirming the nature/culture divide and
divorcing humanity from its origins in nature, while simultaneously valuing nature and
suggesting it as a solution to the “problem” of culture.
This alternate view of the nature/culture binary, in which nature is viewed as a source
of peace and pleasure, and culture as a source of despair, however, is arguably less prevalent
or frequent in American discourse than the view that nature is a source of danger and must be
tamed. The taming of nature can be seen in many parts of the American quotidian: in the
beautiful, but ultimately artificially created, botanical gardens of major American cities, or,
perhaps more obviously, in the tradition of keeping domesticated animals in the home, and
often treating them as family, or even dressing the animals in pseudo-human clothing. By
manipulating gardens to grow in particular patterns or by making our animals dress as
humans do, Americans are dominating nature, taming it, and finally rendering it a part of
culture. This domination of nature is not, a “natural” response, however. In DeLuca’s view:
“With respect to humanity/nature, humanity’s domination of nature is not natural but rather is
constructed through articulatory practices” (42).
In the discussion of environmentalism, as well as the diachronic structure of
ideographs, in American culture, the civilization/savagery binary is equally salient.
Beginning with the European settlers in the Americas, this binary is evident in American
history. Europeans were of the mind that the indigenous peoples were subordinate, similar to
how animals are subordinate to humans today. In many accounts from European settlers,
Native Americans are described as “morally perverse,” “savage,” “uncivilized,” “brutal,” and
 33

generally viewed as needing much moral and cultural aid from Europeans (Gaard, “Toward a
Queer Ecofeminism” 33-34). In Images of Savages, Gustav Jahoda describes the long-
standing European tendency to prize civilization over savagery as a logical consequence of
the unequal distribution of power between the indigenous peoples and the Europeans:
There was, however, an asymmetry stemming from the fact that the Europeans
usually arrived as explorers or conquerors. In both roles they almost invariably
saw themselves as superior—as indeed they usually were, at least technically—
and often came to be perceived as such by the Others. This enhanced the
probability that Europeans would view them as less than fully human, more like
animals or children, and accordingly treat them as such. (10-11)
The civilization/savagery binary thus implicates civilization (“advanced” human social
constructs and organization) as superior to savagery (“primitive” or “basic” human social
constructs and organization). This positioning of dualistic terms leads to the American
perception of “advanced” societies (in other words, first world countries and individuals who
participate in the culturally appropriate behaviors therein) as good, and societies that fail to
reach these standards (second and third world countries) as bad.
Furthermore, these binaries are often mutually reinforcing. As Jahoda describes, the
European tendency to view “savages” as more like children or animals “naturalizes”
indigenous people, in turn rendering the civilization/savagery binary parallel to the
culture/nature binary. When categorized as savages, Native Americans are made a part of
nature and are thereby, again, subjugated to the dominant half of the dualism—culture.
DeLuca argues that “constru[ing] ‘natural’ relations” leads to hegemonic discourses in which
the descriptor “natural” ends up supporting the “socially constructed relations of oppression
and domination” (42). Likewise, the civilization/savagery and culture/nature binaries are
further complicated when a third, and possibly more important, dualism is introduced:
natural/unnatural. As in the Senda-Cook and Endes’ explanation of the nature/culture binary,
<natural> is often used as a descriptive term for things that exist in, or are caused by nature,
as in “natural world,” “natural behaviors,” “natural resources,” etc. Yet, as noted, this term
also has an implied dualistic pairing: unnatural. That is, when an object or individual is
described as natural and desirable, there is an implication that there is an equivalent, though
opposite, object or individual that is both unnatural and undesirable. In other words, these
environmental binaries demonstrate ecofeminist author Greta Gaard’s account of disjunctive
 34

dualisms, “where higher value or superiority is attributed to one disjunct (or, side of the
dualism) than the other” (“Toward a Queer Ecofeminism” 23); more importantly, many of
these binaries are “mutually ‘reinforcing’” (21). In the above cases, the culture/nature binary
reinforces the civilization/savagery binary, and the reverse. If we then think about the
natural/unnatural binary, we can also understand it as parallel to nature/culture and
civilization/savagery.
Interestingly, when these binaries and, consequently, ideographs, are examined as
mutually reinforcing and parallel, certain, secondary (and often contradictory) associations
are often made apparent. That is, the positive or negative connotations of each concept
should affect how its parallel concepts are perceived. As McGee indicates, “An ideograph,
however, is always understood in its relation to another; it is defined tautologically by using
other terms in its cluster” (14). For example, if nature is positive and the dominant half of its
pairing, and parallel to natural, then natural should also be understood as positive and the
dominant half of its pairing. If we follow this logic, it should mean that, on some level,
nature and savagery are viewed as natural (and positive/dominant), and culture and
civilization are viewed as unnatural (and negative/inferior). This is obviously not, however,
always the case. For that reason, beyond establishing that the nature, savagery, and natural
halves of these binaries, in addition to their culture, civilization, and unnatural counterparts,
are parallel, and I hope to also clarify how those relationships mutually reinforce each other
and, moreover, how they are used in contradictory ways.
When considering the internally inconsistent use of terms in these binaries, the
relationship between nature and natural is probably the most fascinating. In the example
about colonization, for instance, indigenous peoples were “naturalized” to such an extent that
they were viewed almost as a part of the landscape (as a part of nature). The colonists were
of the view that nature was subordinate to culture, preferring culture to things that were
considered part of nature. Accordingly, in this context, to be natural or naturalized is a
negative thing. Gaard writes, “Native peoples [were and are] constructed as animallike: they
are perceived as overly sexual, and their sexual behaviors are described as sinful and
animalistic” (“Toward a Queer Ecofeminism” 37). As we know that these indigenous peoples
were also negatively viewed as “savages,” who are part of nature and are, therefore, natural,
we can assume that natural is also a negative quality because it is, by association, antithetical
 35

to both culture and civilization. In a strange twist of logic, however, in modern discussions of
sexuality, the natural is used to describe heterosexuality, while homosexuality is called
unnatural, and then likened to submitting to “animalistic” and “bestial” tendencies. As we’ve
seen, such tendencies are, of course, usually considered natural. Consequently, the oppressive
logic that suggests homosexuality is bad because it is unnatural is the same logic that
suggests that homoerotic tendencies are natural. As McGee points out, “Sometimes
circumstance forces us to sense that the [ideograph’s] structure is not consonant…. Such
instances have the potential to change the structure of ideographs and hence the ‘present’
ideology” (13). These inconsistencies in ideographs eventually end up combining to reflect a
cultural ideology—one that is built on and of the synchronic history and inconsistent usages
of ideographs. Though this is only one example, it represents a discourse in which nature and
natural are obviously and frequently used in inconsistent ways.
While inconsistency is not typically a rhetorically sound move, when an entire
discourse or public relies on contradictory uses of terms it is often more difficult to point out
and can actually be an effective rhetorical strategy, due to the unquestionable “logical
commitment” embedded in such ideographs (McGee 7). As Gaard explicates,
The critical point to remember is that each of the oppressed identity groups, each
characteristic of the other, is seen as “closer to nature” in the dualism and
ideology of Western culture. Yet queer sexualities are frequently devalued for
being “against nature.” Contradictions such as this are of no interest to the master,
although … it is precisely such contradictions that characterize oppressive
structures (“Toward a Queer Ecofeminism” 26).
It is, in some respects, the contradictory character of these terms, then, that essentially gives
them rhetorical strength. Burke discusses a similar phenomenon in his analysis of Hitler’s
rhetoric. He claims that particular traits are viewed in the Aryan “race” as positive, but the
same trait when present in a Jewish person is viewed negatively. He also argues that this
contradiction is actually part of how Hitler maintained his ideology. Burke explains, “The
Aryan ‘obeys’ nature. It is only ‘Jewish arrogance’ that thinks of ‘conquering’ nature by
democratic ideals of equality…the major virtue of the Aryan race was its instinct for self-
preservation (in obedience to natural law). But the major vice of the Jew was his instinct for
self-preservation” (“The Rhetoric of Hitler's Battle” 223). Later Burke wonders:
How, then, are we to distinguish between the benign instinct of self-preservation
at the roots of Aryanism and the malign instinct of self-preservation at the roots of
 36

Semitism? We shall distinguish thus: The Aryan self-preservation is based upon

sacrifice, the sacrifice of the individual to the group, hence, militarism, army
discipline, and one big company union. But Jewish self-preservation is based
upon individualism, which attains its cunning ends by the exploitation of peace.
(223)
Though I do not wish to assert that American society is intentionally mimicking the
rhetorical moves of Hitler for any reprehensible purpose, I do believe that Burke’s analysis,
and the questions he poses, are analogous and useful for this discussion concerning how
natural is conceptualized. Therefore, I shall pose Burke’s question in terms of the
aforementioned situation: given the above delineation of the nature/culture,
savagery/civilization, and natural/unnatural binaries, how are we to distinguish between and
predict the positive use of natural and its negative use?
It seems to me that it might be distinguished in the following way: When referring to
hegemonic, normative, and elitist American practices, natural is used to signify the positive,
but when referring to the non-normative practices of non-dominant groups, natural signifies
the negative. Interestingly, however, a discourse has begun in which, instead of being used to
describe behavior, unnatural is also used to describe human-made products, particularly ones
in which there are many chemicals and synthetic materials. So, when products are marketed
as “from nature” or “natural,” these terms are being used in a positive sense—the same way
that they are used to be supportive of the normative American practices.
A contradiction also arises here, however. While natural products are positive and
associated with nature, they are also quite clearly not naturally occurring, and are often
manipulated by humans and science into becoming the final product. By doing so, the
elements of the product that are from nature or are natural are being tamed—akin to our
examples of botanical gardens and domesticated animals. It may then be argued that no
products that are at all manipulated by humans are natural and have all been tamed and
transformed into products that belong on the culture/civilization/unnatural half of the natural
binaries. Why, then, are products marketed or advertised as natural? Because “natural,” in the
context of food, beauty, and house care products, to name a few, can be perceived as the
“beautiful,” “pure,” and “rejuvenating” kind of nature that we find with Thoreau. Natural
products can be desirable because they allow consumers to transcend the nature/culture,
savagery/civilization, and natural/unnatural binaries, by seemingly allowing consumers to
 37

“have” both sides of the binary at once. Over time the uses of “nature,” and “natural,” in
conjunction with certain kinds of products, have come to mean both good for the
environment (because natural products would not contain materials that pollute) and good for
the body (because natural products do not introduce toxins or other potentially dangerous
materials into the home). Depending on the ideology or orientation of the consumer, the
interpretation of these terms will shift; the consumer will read into the term—within a certain
scope of meaning—what he or she wishes to see and, because the terms are so flexible,
neither the consumer nor the company can ever truly be wrong. This is not to say that there is
not a relationship between the ideology that an advertisement promotes and the ideology of a
consumer (who, from internalizing advertising messages is socialized in a particular
direction), but that there is a reciprocal relationship between the ideologies promoted in
advertisements and the ideologies of consumers.
As nature and natural have highly flexible definitions, they can be used to connote an
enormous variety of ideas, depending on the ideology or orientation of the viewer.
Furthermore, this flexibility lends itself to advertising (“greenwashing” advertisements, in
particular) because marketers can use the terms in suggestive ways, without having to follow
through with a specific kind of product. The generally positive meanings that nature and
natural have accrued are also useful for marketers, despite being misleading for consumers.
As these terms are highly unregulated, their use can often be deceptive. While other eco-
friendly terms have a specific and static definition—as with terms like “organic,” which are
regulated—nature and natural cannot be pinned down in the same way (“Organic Nutrition
Labels”). ABC News also notes the misleading status of products that use “natural,”
explaining, “although a lot of products use ‘natural,’ that does not mean there are not a lot of
non-natural ingredients in them” (Kerley).
Even prominent regulative bodies, like the Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and
the Federal Trade Commission (FTC), do not have a definition for “natural.” The FDA
justifies this lack, arguing that “[f]rom a food science perspective, it is difficult to define a
food product that is ‘natural’ because the food has probably been processed and is no longer
the product of the earth” (FDA). Instead, the FDA has noted that it does not reject natural as
a descriptor so long as the product “does not contain added color, artificial flavors, or
synthetic substances” (FDA). Additionally, the FTC has also avoided providing an official
 38

definition, though it has released other guidelines for corporations, which are designed to
help avoid confusion concerning environmental claims.
An exception is the United States Department of Agriculture (USDA), which has
defined “natural meat” as “minimally processed” and having no “artificial ingredient[s] or
added color” (“Natural Flavorings on Meat and Poultry Labels”). Additionally, the National
Advertising Division (NAD) of the Council of Better Business Bureaus (BBB) in October
2012 held a conference to examine advertising claims like “natural” and “all-natural” and
came to the following non-decisive conclusion: “A product that contains a limited number of
artificial ingredients may still be able to bear ‘natural’ claims if consumers expect the
artificial ingredients to be present in the product and the remaining ingredients are considered
‘natural.’ However, the method to define consumer expectation has yet to be determined”
(Arnall Golden Gregory LLP). Thus, the bodies that govern the use and misuse of marketing
terms provide a rhetorical loophole for advertising agents. By asserting that advertising terms
like <natural> are dependent on an element that varies widely across groups—like consumer
expectation—these regulating bodies are ignoring responsibility for contributing to and
taking advantage of consumer expectations.
Meanings of nature and natural are, as we have seen, particularly amorphous and rely
on appeals to conflicting ideas that change with the ideology and orientation of the user, as
well as the context in which it used. The use of the term natural, for example, has both
changed over time, and fluctuates in meaning and use depending on the extraverbal and
verbal contexts. One specific instance of this is the use of natural to describe sexual
orientation: when homosexuality is described as natural to a homophobic individual, that
individual will perceive natural as a negative that associates the homosexual individual with
base, animalistic tendencies. For an individual who is not homophobic, on the other hand,
natural will be perceived as a positive term that justifies homosexuality. This holds true with
each of the dualistic pairings discussed. It is because of these amorphous understandings and
uses of such terms that it becomes difficult for companies, particularly advertising and
marketing houses, to track what consumer expectations are, and the inconclusiveness of
definitions of nature and natural allow those companies to avoid “pinning down” a particular
definition. The fact that there are different ways to conceive of these terms means that
pinning down a definition would, in fact, alienate certain potential consumers. Therefore, the
 39

amorphous meanings of nature and natural are dependent on their ideographic function, and
thereby create “This gigantic architecture of usages [that] is, precisely, society” (Jose Ortega
qtd. in McGee 8). Otherwise said, nature and natural are rhetorically powerful because they
act as ideological symbols of what the consumer wishes to find in a product.
 40

CHAPTER 5

SEVENTH GENERATION

Seventh Generation, a corporation local to Burlington, Vermont, produces a variety of

household goods, including cleaning products (dishwashing detergent, laundry detergent,
surface cleaners, etc.), health and beauty products (bar soap, body wash, etc.), and baby care
products (diapers, baby wipes, baby lotion, etc.), that are designed to be, and are marketed as,
environmentally friendly and natural alternatives to traditional goods. The company name,
according to the Seventh Generation website, is a vow to “consider the effects of our actions
on the well-being of the next seven generations,” moreover noting that the vow is “A
Promise [Made] The Moment We Named Our Brand” (Seventh Generation). According to
the former CEO of Seventh Generation, Jeffrey Hollender, the company “takes its name from
the Great Law of the Haudenosaunee [or Iroquois], which states that ‘in our every
deliberation we must consider the impact of our decisions on the next seven generations’”
(Hollender). Thus, as I was unable to find evidence suggesting any concrete relationship
between the Haudenosaunee and Seventh Generation, I would argue that the company is
attempting to build on ideas from a confederacy of Native Americans—groups that are, as we
have noted, very frequently associated with <nature> and being <natural>.
The goals listed on the Seventh Generation website describe four primary ways that
the corporation hopes to make environmental progress: “nurture nature,” “transform
commerce,” “enhance health,” and “build communities.” Since its establishment in 1998, the
privately held company has become an increasingly recognizable brand and is now carried by
retail giants like Walmart. However, in that time the National Advertising Division (NAD), a
subdivision of the Council of Better Business Bureaus that endeavors to “review national
advertising for truthfulness and accuracy” has also been addressed “greenwashing” claims
made by Seventh Generation (BBB). The NAD, though it does not have governmental or
legislative power, can refer noncompliant advertisers to regulatory bodies, like federal courts
 41

(Wiley Rein LLP, Latimer, Kuzin). The company has been required to address its <natural>
claims and alter them to fit the requirements addressed earlier (“NAD Wants Seventh
Generation to Fix ‘Natural’ Claims”). Since then Seventh Generation has, apparently, altered
its packaging to adhere to those constraints; however, I was unable to find the original
packaging to examine. Though the company has increased its transparency on its website,
providing definitions for its use of certain terms, including <natural>, which is described as
“Ingredients that are derived from plant oils without any chemical modification,” the
company’s products still rely on some synthetic ingredients, even in products that are labeled
and advertised as <natural> (Seventh Generation).
As mentioned earlier, Seventh Generation makes sincere efforts to create eco-friendly
products. It is not the case, however, that the products that Seventh Generation makes yield
no negative environmental impact. As discussed above, Annie Leonard and others indicate
that products go through five stages of production that each yields some impact (for example,
the extraction of the necessary materials from nature, the transportation of those materials,
etc.). Simply by having packing, the product must have negative environmental impact as,
even if the packaging is made from recycled or recyclable materials, the process of recycling
does require energy and, thereby, creates an environmental impact (Cernansky). That is not
to say that there are no merits to purchasing Seventh Generation products (they are, indeed,
made of ingredients that themselves do less environmental harm than others). Yet, it is
misleading for the organization to suggest that their product somehow is good for the
environment. By looking at three separate Seventh Generation products, then, we will
examine how precisely the corporation’s advertising makes that rhetorical move.
Green marketing is undeniably prevalent in all areas of consumption, whether in
fashion, hygiene, technology, or anything else. However, there has been a particular focus on
the use of green marketing with foods and certain technologies that are perceived as more
environmentally hazardous, e.g., vehicles and fossil fuels. Unfortunately, this focus has been
almost to the exclusion of other areas. In this analysis, I will deviate from that tendency and
instead examine how the visual and verbal representations of <nature> and <natural> are
used as ideographs in Seventh Generation’s products, following Hirschberg’s claims that
“although the verbal and visual elements within an ad are designed to work together, we can
study these elements separately” (292). I limited my selection of artifacts to those that
 42

obviously use these concepts on the packaging before selecting three products that I felt
represented a variety of Seventh Generation products, as well as a types of packaging: (1)
“Natural Dish Liquid,” (2) “100% Unbleached Recycled Paper Towels,” and (3) “Natural
Skin Serum.” For each of the following advertisements, I evaluate the use of certain
ideographs, concentrating, in particular, on <nature> and <natural>, and their function as
rhetorical loopholes in the problem posed by persuading a variety of ideological groups.
Specifically, I mean that <nature> and <natural> are paramorphic receptacles in which
consumers can imagine particular ideological values depending on their ideological
orientations. The ways in which these paramorphic receptacles are used can guide
consumers’ deliberations over what purchase they will ultimately make.7
For example, <natural> on product labels has at least three ideological possibilities.
First, for individuals who possess an environmentally oriented ideology, <natural> can serve
as an indication of an environmentally sound product. When a product is purported to contain
<natural> elements it also suggests that the producers avoided the spoiling of natural
elements, that the process of creating the product did not make it a danger to the users or to
nature itself, and furthermore, that the product somehow actually yields positive
environmental impact. Thus, a given Seventh Generation product, by way of its <natural>
claims, is actually embedding itself in the mind of the consumer as a “green” product.
Second, for individuals who are not invested in the environment, or who value the <natural>
as an indication of the “purity” of the product, <natural> can serve as a positive signifier for
<nature> (a source of beauty and rejuvenation). When <natural> is then used in advertising
for cleaning products it suggests that the product can “beautify” and revive the item it is
intended to clean. This, it seems clear, is a powerful reason for consumers to desire the given

7
As Aristotle describes deliberative rhetoric as instances where “advice is either protreptic [‘exhortation’]
or apotreptic [‘dissuasion’]” and is given to advise on “future events” (48), a consumer’s evaluation of the
merits and failings of a product is very much an example of examining deliberative rhetoric. Additionally,
according to Aristotle, a deliberative rhetor (here, a company and its products) “would never admit that they are
advising things that are not advantageous [to the audience] or that they are dissuading [the audience] from what
is beneficial” (49).
 43

product. In the case of the dish soap examined below, when the <natural> claim is
supplemented by a secondary claim that the product is also “powerful” and “grease-cutting,”
the primary claim is confirmed. Third, these two conceptions of <natural> can be combined
in a way that represents a third kind of ideology: one in which the environment and
purity/beauty/rejuvenation are each equally valued.
The first example that I will feature (Figure 1) is described as a “Natural Dish Liquid”
with “powerful grease-cutting” capabilities and a “hypoallergenic” formula. The <natural>
and <nature> claims of this product are furthered by the visual qualities of its packaging.
Most importantly, the packaging depicts or suggests nature in several ways. For example, the
packaging label is formed in a leaf shape and is paired with coloring and texture that look
like leaf. Additionally, the bottom of that label also has a beautiful photograph of a lavender
plant and mint leaves (to indicate to the consumer the scent of the soap), as well as the simple
presence of the color green. These obvious representations of nature function like the verbal
references to <nature> and <natural>. First, they are an indication of the proximity to nature
of the elements in the product, as well as the product as a whole. It is, in a way, as though the
consumer is reaching into nature—through the leaves and flowers—to select this product.
Second, the proximity to nature that is implied by these images also makes it seem that the
product is non-harmful to the user and the environment, and is made with natural elements—
or with elements that would exist in the product the same way they are found in nature.
Additionally, the mere presence of the color green on these labels is significant; both the
color and word are rhetorically loaded terms that are highly correlated with nature in general,
the environmental movement, ecological politics, and being environmentally conscious.
Rhetorically, then, the verbal and visual representations of nature and natural that are
clearly evident in this piece of advertising are engaging each of the Aristotelian appeals.
Aristotle’s understanding of the appeal to ethos is particularly useful in thinking about the
 44

character of both the consumer and the company.8 Specifically, an Aristotelian approach
highlights the reliance on common interests that the audience would understand as good in

Figure 1. Natural Dish Liquid

product advertisements. This indicates that if a company were to share a vested interest in
environmental issues with a consumer, that consumer might then see the company as a
“friend” or at least the consumer might perceive an indication that the company shares
similar values.9 Thus, if our environmentally oriented rhetor relies on concern for

8
Aristotle argues that ethos is dependent on “three things [that] we trust…. These are practical wisdom
[phronesis] and virtue [arete] and good will [eunoia]” (121). I.e., we are more inclined to believe the rhetor
whose rhetoric suggests that he or she holds these qualities.
9
If, as Aristotle claims, “friends are those to whom the same things are good” (135), when one is able to
see a similar value or priority in a rhetor as one sees in oneself, one is also identifying with the rhetor.
Identification, according to Burke, is critical to persuasion, thus rendering a rhetor’s ability to appear as a
“friend,” or to display “good will” towards audiences can lead, ultimately, to persuasion (Aristotle 120-1).
 45

environmental problems as a common interest between him or herself and the audience, it
should be assumed that this interest is positive, or reflects positively on the character of both
the rhetor and the audience. Thus, the product becomes desirable not only for pragmatic
reasons, but for ego-driven ones; the purchase of this sort of product establishes or confirms
the consumer’s good character.
Aristotle argues that one element of ethos, goodwill, should be linked to or
understood through contemplating emotions (21). This seems to suggest that ethos and
pathos, in some instances, overlap. A consumer’s concern for his or her own good character
and that of a company and/or product also depends upon the consumer’s sense of personal
accountability for environmental issues, moving closer towards what Aristotle would have
viewed as an appeal to pathos. Aristotle notes that elements of ethos “need to be described in
a discussion of the emotions” and moreover that those emotions lead individuals “to differ in
their judgments and which are accompanied by pain and pleasure, for example, anger, pity,
fear, and other such things” (121). Furthermore, for Aristotle, this intersection of ethos and
emotion is specific to the rhetor’s ability to demonstrate goodwill. Consequently, the use of
<natural> and <nature> appeals to the environmentally oriented individual’s sense of
personal accountability and guilt by suggesting that he or she helps the environment depicted
by purchasing the product. If an environmentally conscious consumer were to select a
product based on its purported efficacy, rather than its environmental merits, for example, the
consumer would be rejecting their “personal responsibility” for environmental issues and
should thus be made to feel badly. However, if that consumer were to instead actually
purchase the product, they would be identifying themselves with the company/product, as
well as the mission to create positive impact on the environment.
Alternately, the <natural> images on this dish soap also indicate that the product will
fulfill a second kind of desire—that for a pure, beautiful, and rejuvenating product. If a health
conscious consumer, then, were to consider this product, he or she would feel reassured that
the <natural> elements inside would not yield any negative health effects, and if the
individual were to select a product that does not visually and verbally align itself with
<nature> and <natural> they might feel anxiety over the potential negative health effects of a
different brand’s soap products. Aristotle considers “virtues of the body” or health as a
critical piece in achieving happiness (57), and therefore, the suggestion that a company
 46

values health is an indication that also an appeal to ethos—or an indication of that company’s
own practical wisdom (recognizing that health is important to one’s livelihood), virtue (like
prudence in knowing what kind of ingredients are good for one’s health), and good will
(wanting good things, such as a healthy life, for consumers). Thus, both the verbal and
visuals of this product appeal to the environmentally conscious consumer’s sense of personal
accountability, as well as to the “purity” and health oriented consumers’ fear of unnatural
products (such as toxins and chemicals).
Beyond the appeals to ethos and pathos, the verbal use of <natural> appeals to the
consumers’ sense of cultural logic and ordinary, everyday reasoning, or, otherwise put, their
orientation, which Aristotle calls logos, or, according to George Kennedy, simply “inductive
and deductive logical argument” (15). Here, the rhetor develops his or her argument via the
presentation of claims and evidence. On product packaging, the primary claim that a rhetor
makes is that the product will be the best at serving the consumers’ needs. In the case of this
dish soap, the packaging indicates that the product can fulfill the consumer’s desire for
environmental benefits (and to, thereby, fulfill ethical pursuits), for a pure product, an
effective product, or a combination, via the mere presence of an ideograph. For example, by
relying on visual and verbal uses of <natural> and <nature>, the packaging simultaneously
claims that it will successfully lead the consumer to help the environment and provides
evidence that seems to confirm that it actually does so. In other words, the mere image of
<natural> items have a “fundamental logic” that also “symbolize[s] the line of argument the
meanest sort of individual would pursue” (McGee 7) because of the product’s proximity to
<nature>, and therefore its environmentally friendly characteristics, as well as a
demonstration of that proximity. This same entwining of claims and evidence in a single
element of a product’s packaging applies to other the other ideographic meanings of that
product. So, for this dish soap, the image of the leaf serves as both a claim about, and a piece
of evidence supporting, the environmentally advantageous qualities of the soap, but also as a
claim/piece of evidence about the purity of the product’s elements (“purely natural”). Thus,
the verbal and visual routes to persuasion of Seventh Generation dish soap are effectively
employed to portray an environmentally sound product, as well as a “pure,” healthy, and
effective one.
 47

The second product I feature is a package of paper towels that is called simply
“Natural Unbleached” in large letters, with a more specific description, “100% unbleached,
recycled paper towels,” in smaller letters below (Figure 2). Prominent on the label is the
company name in green, as well as the company’s slogan, “Caring today for seven
generations of tomorrow,” in a smaller font above it. Beyond these initial labels, claims about
the product are made obvious on the front of the clear plastic packaging: the product is, first
of all, “NEW!,” second, it “Saves Energy,” “Saves Water,” and “Saves Trees,” and third, it is
“Minimum 80% post-consumer recycled fiber.” Attempts to facilitate identification between
Seventh Generation and the consumer are made in several of these phrases, primarily, in this
case, to the environmentalist consumer.

Figure 2. 100% Unbleached Recycled Paper Towels

While, as mentioned, the use of <natural> does indicate a certain level of purity and a
promise that the product is safe for one’s use (though in the instance of paper towels we
might be hard pressed to find a brand that is, in fact, unsafe), on this packaging the central
argument being made is that these paper towels are environmentally friendly. This clearly
evidenced in the ideographic use of <natural> and the assertion that these paper towels are
“recycled” and, impressively, that they “save” the environment on three different fronts: by
preserving energy, water, and trees. Furthermore, while, unlike the dish soap, these paper
 48

towels do not attempt to depict nature, they do rely on colors that allude to it. The use of
“natural” colors in this claim supported by the “natural” color of the towels themselves, as
well as the colors of the fonts and backgrounds of the plastic packaging. Rather than
featuring bright, florescent colors, the packaging relies on hues that one might imagine to
find in nature. All this is to say that this product is arguing that its purchase will, indeed, be
an environmentalist activity—that using these paper towels is a “green” (or perhaps “brown”)
act.
Alleging that the use of paper towels can be an environmental act is, of course, a
rather peculiar idea. Though these towels are, as claimed in the image above, made of
recycled and unbleached paper, they are still, as should be obvious, originally made from
trees. Whether recycled or not, bleached or unbleached, the paper towels are clearly not
“naturally” occurring, and moreover the use of paper towels seems like a decidedly non-
environmentalist act in comparison to other, reusable products that would likely yield less
environmental impact. For example, the use of cloth towels could easily allow a user to
perform the same activities (cleaning, wiping, etcetera), without needing to be immediately
disposed of. Additionally, the plastic wrapping that the paper towels come in should not be
forgotten. Though the paper towels themselves are made of post-consumer recycled paper,
the plastic that the towels come wrapped in is not mentioned on the packaging. It is, then, up
to our conjecture whether or not that plastic is also made from post-consumer recycled
materials, but, whatever the case may be, it is still worth noting that if one were to avoid
purchasing paper towels at all, one would avoid the use of this plastic wrapping. The point I
am attempting to make is that, though these paper towels likely yield less environmental
impact than other paper towels, asserting that they are in some way a <natural>, green, or
environmentalist product is to ignore first, that there are better alternatives and second, that
the product is still yielding some negative environmental result (if not simply from the
disposal of the paper towels/plastic, then from its production or distribution). As with the
dish soap, however, it is difficult to critique Seventh Generation for its false environmental
claims because, though the packaging does allude to positive environmental impact, it does
not articulate such a claim in so many words, and, moreover, its claims could be interpreted
as simply support for these products’ healthy or pure qualities.
 49

The third and final product I will examine is Seventh Generation’s “Natural Skin
Serum,” which is described as “hydrating with jojoba” (Figure 3). Additionally, the product
apparently “restores moisture balance” and is created from “pure ingredients” (emphasis
mine), all of which lead to “healthy skin.” In comparison to either the dish soap and the paper
towels this product generally seems to rely more on appeals to purity and health, than on

Figure 3. Natural Skin Serum

appeals to <natural> or <nature>. However, both ideographs are still present and are, in some
ways, supported by the appeals to purity and health. For example, several visual elements of
the bottle indicate that the product is close to <nature>, including its green color and the
sketches of what appear to be leaves. Additionally, the product’s proximity to nature is
emphasized through the indication of its seemingly exotic ingredients, like jojoba, and is
confirmed by the mere presence of the word <natural>. When combined with claims that the
product is made from “pure ingredients” that lead to “healthy skin,” it seems quite obvious;
of course this serum leads to healthy skin—it’s made from pure ingredients! Purely <natural>
ingredients, that is. If a product is so pure, healthy, and close to nature, it must also be good
for not only its consumer, but for the environment from which it came. In using these appeals
 50

to a variety of consumer values, which are at once different, but also mutually supporting, the
product is able to attract a variety of ideologically disparate groups.
The promises that this product’s packaging makes, however—suggesting that it is
both good for the environment and for the consumer—are difficult to affirm. For example,
while, unlike the dish soap, this product is, indeed, made with nonsynthetic materials, the use
of plants like jojoba and its seeds and oils are not strictly good for the environment. While, of
course, it is good that this product will not eventually release synthetics into the environment,
the use of exotic plants to create a product still yields a negative environmental impact in
other ways. In order for exotic plants to be used in Seventh Generation products, there are a
number of intermediary steps between harvest and purchase, including the transport of that
good from wherever it is harvested (in the case of jojoba—from arid climates, like southern
California and parts of Mexico) to Vermont where it is processed, the extraction process (for
jojoba, the process of creating the jojoba oil that goes into the serum, as well as the process
of using that oil to make the serum), the packaging of the serum once it is made, and finally
the transport of the product to its intended place of sale. For those consumers who live in
places like Southern California (as this author does), the purchase of this product also entails
the purchase of ingredients that have travelled back and forth between the west and east
coasts of the United States. The use of “pure ingredients,” then, like jojoba, while it does, in
some ways, bring the user of this serum “closer” to nature, also yields negative
environmental impact.
By persuading its consumers to purchase these products on their <natural> merits,
Seventh Generation is, theoretically, promising several outcomes. First, they are promising
that this product will not have non-natural elements. Second, they’re suggesting that this
product will help the environment. And third, the company is suggesting that the product will
absolve the consumers of green guilt—they will have performed their requisite
environmental duty by purchasing the item. Each of these promises is problematic for
reasons I have already alluded to, but will now explore in more depth. The first promise is,
quite simply (in this case, especially) inaccurate. As mentioned previously, these products,
specifically the dish soap, contains synthetic products that are used as preservatives
(benzisothiazolinone and methylisothiazolinone), and are therefore using substances that do
not come directly from nature (i.e., without the interference of humans). On the backside of
 51

the product the label notes that the soap is, in fact, only 95% biobased. This is a direct
negation of the promise made by the use of <natural> on the label. While the NAD has
indicated that it is permissible to have synthetic ingredients in a product that is marketed as
<natural> if the consumer might expect to find synthetic ingredients in said product, it would
nevertheless appear to be a case of false marketing or “greenwashing.”
The second promise is, perhaps, a less blatant abuse of consumers. In insinuating that
a product is environmentally friendly, Seventh Generation is assuming that consumers
primarily care about the environmental merits of its products. Because the product is (as
indicated in Figure 2) both made from and of recyclable products, there are certainly some
eco-friendly benefits to purchasing a Seventh Generation product rather than a non-
recyclable one or one that would leech toxins into the environment. As the ingredients in the
dish soap/hydrating skin serum are (mostly) non-synthetic, they will likely pose a small
problem for the environment. The problem is that the dish soap necessarily followed the
typical trajectory that Leonard describes above: extraction, production, distribution,
consumption, and disposal (1). Even if the use of a product that can be recycled eliminates
the final stage of the process, it must still go through the other four steps, each of which has
an impact on the environment. Thus, even if the product label is not a lie, it is, at the least an
exaggeration.
The third promise is partially a continuation of the second promise and is, at its core,
both my primary claim and concern. By indicating that the product is environmentally
friendly, the company is indicating that the consumer is satisfying that individual’s social
responsibility to be green. In that way Seventh Generation is absolving the consumer of
“green guilt” by indicating that he or she has done something positive for the environment
when, in reality, he or she has not. While it is not wrong to assert that purchasing Seventh
Generation products is better for the environment than doing nothing, it is, in essence, the
bare minimum that an individual can do to be environmentally friendly.
Fascinatingly, however, despite these inconsistencies in the way <nature> and
<natural> can be used in product advertising, it is difficult to call Seventh Generation a liar
or to indicate that the company is abusing consumer desires. Because both of these terms
have a long history of being used in radically different ways and since they are highly context
and audience dependent, it is nearly impossible for these terms to be regulated in a consistent
 52

manner. Thus, the company could, feasibly (though this is unlikely), not be intending for the
products to be viewed in the all ways that its use of <nature> and <natural> indicate. There is
no way, however, to definitively evaluate the company’s intentions. Consequently, the
company is able to use its advertising to persuade ideologically diverse groups of individuals
via the same means. That is to say that while <nature> and <natural> can indicate an
environmental product, even the most staunch anti-anthropogenic climate change or
environmentally “un-conscious” individuals can find these terms persuasive because they can
also represent an entirely different set of values at the same time. In this way, the terms
<nature> and <natural> function as ideographs and allow the audience of these
advertisements to project whatever kinds of desirable qualities they wish to be reflected in
and by them.
 53

CHAPTER 6

CONCLUSION

From this analysis we can arrive at two major kinds of conclusions: one, implications
for the environmental movement; and two, implications for rhetorical study. The first has to
do with how Americans view social and corporate responsibility in terms of
environmentalism. While obviously it would be counter to the capitalist/corporate agenda to
advertise not consuming, it seems to be a blatant misconstruction of information for
advertising to suggest that purchasing products can yield positive environmental outcomes.
Green advertising, whether or not for a truly “green” product, is ineffective in solving
environmental problems. This is not the same as saying that consumers should not “vote”
with their dollars. Instead I want to point out that the consumption of most goods (even
“green” ones) still promotes indirect environmental harm (via production, distribution,
packaging, etc.), that many “green” products are actually not environmentally friendly, and
that some—though certainly not all (Seventh Generation, for example)—companies who sell
purportedly “green” products are often engaged in intentional environmentally destructive
behaviors.
This is a two-fold problem. First of all, when consumers “vote” for these products,
they’re actually telling corporations that they do not care whether or not a corporation is
actually eco-friendly, so long as they seem to be. And second, corporations are not
interpreting consumer interest in environmentally friendly goods as a reason to alter the
corporate model, but instead as a marketing opportunity, in which corporations can heave the
blame and responsibility of environmental protection onto consumer shoulders. It seems that
Americans are, however, desirous of an easy route to environmental protection and
consumption is an instinctive means for American society to do so. For this reason, I find
environmental advertising a difficult line to walk. With environmental advertising there is the
possibility to promote the use of substantially less environmentally harmful products, but
 54

there is also the invitation for consumers (and companies) to avoid making other, possibly
more helpful and important, changes.
In terms of rhetorical theory this analysis yields insights into how ideographs can
function in environmental advertising. Primarily, then, this analysis extends Michael
McGee’s conceptions of ideographs from a political sphere into the realm of environmental
advertising—by way of the terms <nature> and <natural>—as a method for achieving what
Kenneth Burke calls identification with a variety of ideologies or orientations. As
demonstrated, these terms are functioning as a rhetorical loophole in environmental
advertisements, as they allow the advertisements to work for a variety of ideological
priorities. <Nature> and <natural>, in some ways, function as receptacles that can hold a
variety of social content at once. These terms have a history of highly variable meanings and
have over time arrived at actually having no definitive meaning, and instead allow audiences
to read into them an understanding that is developed from their orientations. While most
terms can have different meanings given the context in which they are used, the meanings of
ideographs like <nature> and <natural> are determined both from context as well as from the
impressions of the individuals or groups using them. As ideographs are void of definitive
meaning, the terms signify a scope of meanings, according to what the variously oriented
users would like to ascribe to them. These perceived meanings of ideographs, in turn, are
influenced by other ideographs in their clusters. This transformation of <natural> and
<nature> into ideographs allows the rhetor or the marketing agent to thereby avoid alienating
particular ideological groups. Thus McGee’s construction of the rhetorical ideograph can be
used to successful ends in realms other than the political sphere.
Important to the rhetorical understanding of ideographs too is the argument that
ideographs serve as a summative function as described by Burke. That is, as Burke argues
that terms serve as one-word entitlements of a variety of situations and social content, terms
actually sum up cultural and ideological orientations of the given community using the term.
In turn, ideographs work in a similar way, summing up logical arguments for particular
ideologies and orientations of individuals without aligning specifically with one. In other
words, ideographs are receptacles that “become [the] material exemplars of the values which
the tribal idiom has placed upon them” (Language as Symbolic Action 361). Ultimately,
McGee’s ideographs serve as a particular instance of Burke’s summarizing function.
 55

This conclusion is, however, incomplete in certain ways. Seventh Generation is a

single company and, for obvious reasons, not representative of all other companies who
attempt environmental advertisements. Additionally, the use of a small number of artifacts
limits the extent to which these conclusions can be extended. Thus, to confirm these findings,
further examination should be done to demonstrate that this occurrence functions outside of
Seventh Generation advertisements and, furthermore, to evaluate other kinds of ideographs in
environmental advertising schemes.
As the current academic literature spends little time investigating environmental
advertising, I would encourage and envision several approaches to filling in this niche.
Specifically, I imagine that future research could delve further into academic approaches to
environmental advertising, filling in the dearth of environmental advertising research through
examining further uses of ideographs in such advertising, as well as in other areas. It might,
for example, yield interesting insight to examine how <nature> and <natural> are used in the
advertisements of other corporations, to perform a meta-analysis of <nature> and <natural>
across advertisements, or to consider attempting to reveal other ideographs that appear in
environmental advertisements. Both because environmental rhetoric and advertising are rich
avenues for academic research, and because this kind of scholarship offers the prospect of
social engagement with issues beyond the academic scope, further examination in these areas
could be interesting and important for communities in and outside of the Academy.
As I suggest in Chapter 1, this avenue of investigation highlights the tendency for
corporations to blame consumers for environmental problems and to both engender and
exploit consumer desires for environmentally friendly goods, ultimately suggesting that
consumptive behaviors and purchases are solutions to environmental issues. Furthermore, the
“consumption as solution” myth, in conjunction with the corporate tendency to blame
consumers for environmental problems, leads to a disproportionate amount of responsibility
and blame being placed on poor individuals. The consumption-based solution to
environmental problems requires that consumers purchase “green” products, most of which
are too expensive for individuals of low economic class. Thus, poor individuals consumption
decisions are not “green,” inhibiting such individuals’ ability to fulfill their prescribed
consumer responsibility for environmental problems. As these “green” products can be less
harmful for consumers, this inability for poor individuals to purchase “green” goods both
 56

maintains class divisions—poor people do not care about the environment—and increases
their likelihood for an unequal health burden—poor people do not make healthy choices.
Ultimately, examining the advertisements for “green” products can and does highlight “real
world” problems. Engaging, then, in this sort of scholarship is important because it allows
academics to emphasize and question these kinds of “real world” problems in order to bring
them to both the academic’s and the population writ large’s attention. For that reason, I
conclude with the following: investigating the ideographic function terms in environmental
advertisements can serve as a useful means to interrogate the capitalist system, its ability to
reinforce unjust socioeconomic differences, and its apparent predilection for excessive
consumption, a tendency that leads ultimately to environmental degradation.
 57

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