"What Wants to be Said (Out Loud)?: Octalogs as Alter/native to Hegemonic Discourse Practices"

Download PDF

About the Author

Eric Reid Hamilton is earning his PhD in Rhetorics, Communication, and Information Design at Clemson University. His research interests are at the intersection of Rhetoric and Philosophy, ranging from ancient conceptions to digital inventions. When not exploring the endless opportunities afforded by reading, writing, and teaching, he enjoys taking part in anything active and outdoors.

Contents

Introduction

Silenced within the Confines of an Academic Paper

Altering the Narrative or Narrating the Alternative

Walking the Walk by Talking the Talk: Alternative Manifestations within a Weekly Doctoral Colloquia

Works Cited

Altering the Narrative or Narrating the Alternative

In 1988, the Conference on College Composition and Communication (CCCC) scheduled a panel for academics to speak off the cuff, amongst one another, in person—with available transcriptions published thereafter. Although it was a group of scholars selected in advance with predetermined questions and discussion prompts—a setting that, ironically, certainly mirrors many ‘conventional’ formats of scholarly discourse—this Octalog, as it came to be known, served as an alternative genre to the traditional academic paper by offering an organic and unconstrained (dis)placement of rhetorical theorists. The name is derived from octa for the eight participating scholars, and log as a shortened version for "dialogue." As Lois Agnew summarizes in “Rhetorical Historiography and the Octalogs,” this “phenomenon...came into being” when noteworthy scholars “proposed and chaired a roundtable composed of eight distinguished historians of rhetoric who gathered to discuss the methods, subjects, and purposes of scholarship in rhetorical history. The members of this panel,” which included “James Berlin . . . Sharon Crowley, Susan Jarratt” and others, “presented short opening statements, followed by a lively conversation that was recorded and published in Rhetoric Review the same year” (237). While the parameters establishing and following this setting were certainly motivated by traditional factors, the Octalogs did offer unique affordances that are otherwise unavailable through single-authored scholarship. Let us examine this discussion, and more significantly, the processes surrounding the activity that was conducted by (and through/out) rhetorical historiographers by extending outward to illustrate and analyze how such a procedure may benefit Rhetoric and Composition, Technical Communication, and related fields.

As James Berlin uttered in the initial Octalog of ‘88, “The historian often has more control of history than the events of the past that actually transpired” (17). In this case, a number of competing (or rather complementary) rhetorical historiographers were given the opportunity to take part in this process or shape the past as well as current conceptions thereof. Berlin adds, “To understand a rhetoric, it is thus necessary to examine its position in the play of power in its own time,” making the written transcript of the event, now widely available, such a valuable resource for offering insight into that specific period in which these contending histories of the field were being explored. And this process, as is evidenced throughout that discussion, continues to repeat itself, ad infinitum, in matters of representing and reclaiming past occurences. Therefore, highlighting a conversation that is having a direct impact on this construction is extremely beneficial and offers deep academic merit. As Berlin acknowledges, “We then must have histories of rhetoric, multiple versions of the past, each version acting as a check, a corrective to the others” (17).

By offering a setting for live (and often lively) discussion, it allows them to clarify, inform, and build from one another. For instance, one scholar’s understanding of another’s work may be infinitely increased and clarified merely by having an in-person conversation whereby questions and concerns are answered—or, at the very least, responded to. This may be far more useful, not to mention infinitely more efficient, than scholars waiting (and readers waiting even longer) for any and all conversations that happen to be even remotely similar to what is under discussion. Agnew notes, in retrospect, this setting served as “a catalyst for further conversations about rhetorical historiography both during and after the event” (237). In contrast, the conventional written model is one that ends up taking place at much later dates in between every utterance—with each scholar having to submit their work, wait for a response, edit whatever modifications the editors happen to suggest, and sit on it until the article or book in which it is contained gets released. Then, even later, once the same process has commenced again to completion, another scholar is finally able to respond. To be fair, the process of writing for publication is certainly discursive—in ways similar to conferences discussions—one that is nearly always reliant upon, and strengthened by, the labor and insights disseminated among authors, reviewers, and editors involved in the production of the material. But whereas the extemporaneous nature of in-person discussions tends to make explicit these processes, the Burkean parlors involved in written publications tend to be isolated.

The fact that CCCC instituted a sequel demonstrates the successful impact the original colloquium had on the field and reflected a sustained interest in questions of historiography. If one were to expand on this process, these types of roundtable discussions could be revisited multiple times in any environment, regardless of topic, as often as possible (or rather, as frequently as interest in the subject matter permits), in order to have a diverse range of perspectives on a range of physical, political, and historical contexts. Such settings also offer great opportunities for scholars to ‘check in’ with one another. Granted, any active scholar who is properly carrying out their research duties should always remain up to date on all scholarship within their field(s) of study. Although, harkening back to mentions of the forced-waiting, and wasted time—elements which are inherent within the written publication process—even the most learned and ambitious academics inevitably have difficulties keeping up with everything, and any attempt to do so quickly becomes futile. While the colloquia-style discussions are not a cure-all for the difficulties of remaining versed in one’s field, they do offer some useful benefits that could save scholars invaluable time, energy, and invested resources. By offering an in-person debriefing of sorts, in a back-and-forth manner, such colloquies could be infinitely fruitful for both the participants and the audience, as well as any readers of the transcripts for years to come.

A built-in corrective mechanism inherent within the genre of the academic paper that would be counter-productive to throw out entirely is the ability for scholars to have an environment where they don’t feel obligated to speak off the cuff—a place of refuge where they may retreat to their books and notes to develop, edit, and continually revisit before releasing their research out into the wild of the sometimes unforgiving scholarly community. With this, we might be able to have our cake and eat it too in the sense that if one were to take a step outside of this CCCC innovative genre, viewing it from a distance, we can discern that even the symposia, themselves, follow a similar trajectory. One of the main reasons involves the recorded, later transcribed, and finally published transcripts for the panel’s undertakings. As Agnew attests, “[these transcripts] again ensured that this conversation would maintain a presence in the field’s ongoing consideration of rhetorical historiography” (237). And, this same process could be applied to any group discussion. On a micro level, one receives nearly instant gratification along with the ability to clarify and expound upon one’s research in a live conversation. On a macro level, one is able to see how each of these colloquia have developed over time, with changes in the field—as a result of new findings, inventions, etc.—serving as pieces in a larger puzzle that makes up a never-ending discussion, one that extends far beyond the walls of CCCC at any particular panel session. To refer back to the famous Burkean parlor, the ability to listen, engage, and partake in the discussion has grown far beyond the reach of those at the initial location. Any walls once built for containment have been lifted. The globe is now the parlor, and its hours of business are open indefinitely. Agnew adds, “Collectively, the Octalogs not only offer us a vision of the changing subjects and methods of rhetorical history but also illuminate the profound debates that emerge as scholars thoughtfully consider the values that inform the subjects and methods of their work” (238).

The fact that the subsequent Octalogs had different groups of scholars each time may be seen in both a positive and negative light. Some benefits, as one could intuitively expect, are the slightly different, sometimes fresh and unique, perspectives. The third Octalog, released twelve years after the sequel, followed the same general pattern of previous Octalogs as they discussed the issues of rhetorical historiography in much the same manner. Keep in mind, the similarities to the form did not necessarily extend to the content, considering the different issues related to each particular context, as Agnew indicates, each “constituted a unique occasion that illuminates varying perspectives concerning the construction of history, methods of researching and writing rhetorical histories, what counts as evidence, the ethics of historical scholarship, and the role of history in the field.” Also, alluding to the multimodal, transmedia nature of this distinct genre of discourse: “The printed transcripts of these events have provided a valuable resource for those who have sought to understand the problems and possibilities inherent in historical inquiry and the ethical implications that surround that enterprise” (238).

Some drawbacks of this construct of conversing involve the impossibility to retain an identical essence from the previous meeting. After all, even if you were to have the same people all meeting in the exact room again—which certainly wasn’t the case (as has been recounted)—time and experiences, along with an infinite number of other factors and variables, would prevent a perfect duplication of the original and/or specific, previous meeting. Granted, this could just as easily be viewed as a net-positive with the purely organic and unrestrained nature of a verbal discussion being one of the most interesting aspects of conversations in real-time.

Additionally, the unexpected nature of the discourse and the need to improvise create an aura of suspense that is often absent in scholarly endeavors. It is always fascinating to see if these scholars, in particular, have the ability to perform the very rhetoric they have dedicated their lives to studying (one might be tempted to think of Cicero’s canons of Memory and Delivery, in particular). This is highlighted in James Murphy’s reference to two young graduate students who were excited to see what the academics they had been studying looked and acted like in real-life, when he writes, “As they passed, one turned to the other and stage-whispered, ‘I don’t care anything about this subject—I just want to know what THEY look like’” (239). Although this published anecdote is humorous, it nevertheless demonstrates the human impulse to want to put a face to the figure, a person to the author.

It is useful now to resituate ourselves within our own particular historical context in order to briefly analyze the impact the Octalogs have had recently and currently, as well as those expected in the not-so-distant future. Richard Enos assigns graduate students the first two Octalogs as readings at the beginning of each semester. As he attests, these inevitably prompt a lively discussion in class with rigorous and passionate debate among the entering students. This illustrates the importance of having access to these recorded conversations, contained within a printed source text, for students in rhetoric classes—or anyone interested in these topics for that matter—as a means to continue and/or create new discourses on the material. “The underlying message,” Enos suggests, is that “there are a range of interests, approaches and topics in the history of rhetoric and an openness to explore them,” and, harkening back to the usefulness of such endeavors at both a micro and macro level, “[t]his is not only the message to my class, it is the message to all readers of the first two Octalogs and the third Octalog as well. Just as the expression and rationale of various positions make for an engaged class, so also do the views of prior panels provide a lively forum for our field." Therefore, what took place at the initial Octalog continues to impact the work of Enos and many others (the author of this essay included). One single conversation can span endless rhizomatic paths and trajectories for students and scholars. Enos adds, “That panel made me reflect on my work and has guided me ever since. I hope that it did the same for our listeners and those who participated in the subsequent Octalogs. Views expressed by both Octalog participants and audiences were taken seriously” (Agnew et al. 244). That is to say, the audience becomes a unique addition to the conversation—a group often overlooked or inaccessible in written scholarly discourse.

Going forward, Murphy wonders, “If the Octalogs continue to happen every eleven to twelve years as they have so far, what will be the concerns of the speakers in the 2022 session?” (Agnew et al. 240). This process is not reliant upon or victim to any particular period. It is one that can be applied in nearly any scope, as he explains: “The very fact that we keep having Octalogs is itself a sign that we have learned well the value of flexibility and self-assessment based on critical reflection,” adding that each manifestation has “embraced diversity, pushing back the uncharted and unexplored areas of our field while (at the same time) being inclusive. Our unwillingness to remain static is not a sign of a lack of stability but rather an index of our development” (Agnew et al. 245).