The New York Sophist

This New York Times article about Robin Williams’s habits of preparation for engagement with audiences raises a lot of interesting ideas when rhetoricians talk about invention – the art of coming up with what to say, or as I like to call it “putting something together.” I often talk about argument construction in terms of assembly, and it seems Williams had created quite the assembly method for his own practice of inventio.


Rhetoricians most regularly teach invention when they are teaching debaters or when they are teaching a course such as public speaking, or another “performance” course, as some in the field call them. We generally seem to teach a trajectory where we claim that rhetoric is a powerful, meaning-making field that is capable of creating everything from emotion to fact. Then we turn around and deduct lots of grading points off of student work that doesn’t include “quality” citations or information. That information needs to come from good sources, which, according to our own rhetoric, come from somewhere other than rhetoric. This can leave an aftertaste in students’ mouths that rhetoric is something of a servile art, something that dresses up information that is determined to be valid and meaningful elsewhere, through other methods that are far removed from the rhetorical world.

Contrast this approach to how Williams created his rhetoric. He immersed himself in topical readings and held conversations with many people. He secretly polled the audience for their pathos, yet at the same time respected the ethics of the Perelman/Olbrechts-Tyteca Universal Audience – making sure that his words were not just pandering to those who might uncritically accept them. What’s missing from this article is how Williams decided to combine what he was reading with what would get his audience to adhere or assent to his desire – he wanted them to laugh, to “get it” whenever he would perform, I am assuming. Perhaps an explanation is the ancient rhetorical method of copiousness – surrounding and immersing oneself in topoi in order to have the invention come out of the soup, so to speak. But it seems Williams was much more selective than that. He chose his books, moments, and topics with precision, based on the situation he was facing, and the issues that the public were attuned to.

Tribute after tribute to Williams indicates his ability to very quickly generate relevant, effective material that did not rely on old jokes, or previous methods to get a laugh. This might not be the marker of genius, which is what CNN and other news outlets call it. Genius might be the pathos we feel as the result of watching a master of invention display the results of the immersion-invention he spent his life developing. I see it as an excellent model for teaching invention to those who wish to be constantly engaged with audiences in ways that parallel the work that Williams was doing.

What would public speaking be like if we assigned each student to become immersed in a relevant, topical issue facing the public which we imagine they will be addressing in life? Would each student come up with a different way to generate new material week to week about the same thing? Instead of the horrible public speaking textbook, why not require them to spend $80 to $100 on books about their issue? Have them keep a notebook, digital or otherwise, where they are engaged and combining this material to keep the class interested and excited about their weekly presentation? Could examples such as Williams finally push public speaking out of the delivery business, as formal and cold as the scientific facts that is supposedly services in our classes and into the warm world of ancient rhetoric, where it was not only the source of knowledge, but provided the boundaries for the recognition of knowledge as such?

Another way to ask that last question might be – Would we recognize Williams as a genius without his method of invention, uniquely his, but something we identify in our responses to his rhetoric?

This New York Times article about Robin Williams’s habits of preparation for engagement with audiences raises a lot of interesting ideas when rhetoricians talk about invention – the art of coming up with what to say, or as I like to call it “putting something together.” I often talk about argument construction in terms of assembly, and it seems Williams had created quite the assembly method for his own practice of inventio.


Rhetoricians most regularly teach invention when they are teaching debaters or when they are teaching a course such as public speaking, or another “performance” course, as some in the field call them. We generally seem to teach a trajectory where we claim that rhetoric is a powerful, meaning-making field that is capable of creating everything from emotion to fact. Then we turn around and deduct lots of grading points off of student work that doesn’t include “quality” citations or information. That information needs to come from good sources, which, according to our own rhetoric, come from somewhere other than rhetoric. This can leave an aftertaste in students’ mouths that rhetoric is something of a servile art, something that dresses up information that is determined to be valid and meaningful elsewhere, through other methods that are far removed from the rhetorical world.

Contrast this approach to how Williams created his rhetoric. He immersed himself in topical readings and held conversations with many people. He secretly polled the audience for their pathos, yet at the same time respected the ethics of the Perelman/Olbrechts-Tyteca Universal Audience – making sure that his words were not just pandering to those who might uncritically accept them. What’s missing from this article is how Williams decided to combine what he was reading with what would get his audience to adhere or assent to his desire – he wanted them to laugh, to “get it” whenever he would perform, I am assuming. Perhaps an explanation is the ancient rhetorical method of copiousness – surrounding and immersing oneself in topoi in order to have the invention come out of the soup, so to speak. But it seems Williams was much more selective than that. He chose his books, moments, and topics with precision, based on the situation he was facing, and the issues that the public were attuned to.

Tribute after tribute to Williams indicates his ability to very quickly generate relevant, effective material that did not rely on old jokes, or previous methods to get a laugh. This might not be the marker of genius, which is what CNN and other news outlets call it. Genius might be the pathos we feel as the result of watching a master of invention display the results of the immersion-invention he spent his life developing. I see it as an excellent model for teaching invention to those who wish to be constantly engaged with audiences in ways that parallel the work that Williams was doing.

What would public speaking be like if we assigned each student to become immersed in a relevant, topical issue facing the public which we imagine they will be addressing in life? Would each student come up with a different way to generate new material week to week about the same thing? Instead of the horrible public speaking textbook, why not require them to spend $80 to $100 on books about their issue? Have them keep a notebook, digital or otherwise, where they are engaged and combining this material to keep the class interested and excited about their weekly presentation? Could examples such as Williams finally push public speaking out of the delivery business, as formal and cold as the scientific facts that is supposedly services in our classes and into the warm world of ancient rhetoric, where it was not only the source of knowledge, but provided the boundaries for the recognition of knowledge as such?

Another way to ask that last question might be – Would we recognize Williams as a genius without his method of invention, uniquely his, but something we identify in our responses to his rhetoric?

How do most debate coaches teach the canon of inventio? By pointing toward tournament success. By showing videos of good, successful speeches. By having students watch and learn from those who have won big tournaments. By getting them to read, or cut, or memorize the sources of the arguments that the winners have run. Well, usually not read.

In short, they don’t teach it. They teach debaters how to copy what happens at the “best” tournaments. They teach a hermetic, repetitive, and limited form of invention, the basics – use what works for your goal.

Over time, this becomes conflated in the minds of the debaters as something ontological. Because they are good at coming up with persuasive arguments in tournament settings, they must be good at inventio broadly. They must be good at argument if they are good at debating.

For whatever reasons, historical or practical, we are at a point in history where debate coaches are somewhat embarrassed to admit that they spend most of their time teaching the rules of a limited game. I think perhaps we have bought our own story that we are teaching some sort of democratic engagement, or some sort of larger connection to helping others understand the human condition.

I think that’s the value of debate for sure, but I think in order to get there – and not create people who have an artificially inflated conception of their rhetorical prowess, we need to place the tournament in proper perspective – as something that is a subset of a larger category: rhetorical situations. Debate should be the place that the department and the university come to for help across the curriculum in the category of coming up with persuasive, engaging arguments. But we simply don’t have the ability to do that now. We come up with arguments that often confuse the audience, justifying it with tropes such as “they don’t understand debating,” or “In a real debate this would work.” A real debate is a far cry from a tournament debate. What’s wrong with teaching that?

In speech comm derived rhetoric, there is a real lack of exploration of invention and pedagogy right now, but in English composition derived rhetoric there’s a lot of cool stuff that speech comm people often overlook. Perhaps debate coaches could recover some of their value by being the go-between in invention. They could be the people who have the knowledge and ability to connect rhetorical resources in invention between fields, and for fields that haven’t thought much about it as an art. In short, debate coaches should be the Sophists-in-residence at their school. Instead of “come to us if you want to learn what debate really is” – something a philosopher might say, we should say “Come to us if you want others to learn from you.” For that is, if you get down to the root of it, what the sophists were teaching – the art of making sense out of something senseless, complex, or confusing.

I found this book the other day and the requisite praising of it among composition teachers. Where are the speech communication people? Where are the debaters? Books like this and their value should be standard issue for those teaching rhetoric. Why discriminate? Why did I not hear about this book in my PhD work? Why are we embarrassed to teach the creation of arguments? Why do we quickly substitute things like the tournament for the hard work of invention, or the criticism paper for the difficult work of confronting a difficult issue in front of an audience that wishes to be engaged?

Surely it isn’t simply because it’s difficult and hard to measure. A trophy is a clear sign. Too bad it’s not made equally clear how limited a sign it is.

How do most debate coaches teach the canon of inventio? By pointing toward tournament success. By showing videos of good, successful speeches. By having students watch and learn from those who have won big tournaments. By getting them to read, or cut, or memorize the sources of the arguments that the winners have run. Well, usually not read.

In short, they don’t teach it. They teach debaters how to copy what happens at the “best” tournaments. They teach a hermetic, repetitive, and limited form of invention, the basics – use what works for your goal.

Over time, this becomes conflated in the minds of the debaters as something ontological. Because they are good at coming up with persuasive arguments in tournament settings, they must be good at inventio broadly. They must be good at argument if they are good at debating.

For whatever reasons, historical or practical, we are at a point in history where debate coaches are somewhat embarrassed to admit that they spend most of their time teaching the rules of a limited game. I think perhaps we have bought our own story that we are teaching some sort of democratic engagement, or some sort of larger connection to helping others understand the human condition.

I think that’s the value of debate for sure, but I think in order to get there – and not create people who have an artificially inflated conception of their rhetorical prowess, we need to place the tournament in proper perspective – as something that is a subset of a larger category: rhetorical situations. Debate should be the place that the department and the university come to for help across the curriculum in the category of coming up with persuasive, engaging arguments. But we simply don’t have the ability to do that now. We come up with arguments that often confuse the audience, justifying it with tropes such as “they don’t understand debating,” or “In a real debate this would work.” A real debate is a far cry from a tournament debate. What’s wrong with teaching that?

In speech comm derived rhetoric, there is a real lack of exploration of invention and pedagogy right now, but in English composition derived rhetoric there’s a lot of cool stuff that speech comm people often overlook. Perhaps debate coaches could recover some of their value by being the go-between in invention. They could be the people who have the knowledge and ability to connect rhetorical resources in invention between fields, and for fields that haven’t thought much about it as an art. In short, debate coaches should be the Sophists-in-residence at their school. Instead of “come to us if you want to learn what debate really is” – something a philosopher might say, we should say “Come to us if you want others to learn from you.” For that is, if you get down to the root of it, what the sophists were teaching – the art of making sense out of something senseless, complex, or confusing.

I found this book the other day and the requisite praising of it among composition teachers. Where are the speech communication people? Where are the debaters? Books like this and their value should be standard issue for those teaching rhetoric. Why discriminate? Why did I not hear about this book in my PhD work? Why are we embarrassed to teach the creation of arguments? Why do we quickly substitute things like the tournament for the hard work of invention, or the criticism paper for the difficult work of confronting a difficult issue in front of an audience that wishes to be engaged?

Surely it isn’t simply because it’s difficult and hard to measure. A trophy is a clear sign. Too bad it’s not made equally clear how limited a sign it is.

Why is there no official, or even pedagogical statement on the value of switch side debating from either the NDT, CEDA, or any other large debating organization?

Perhaps it is because switch-side debating is a cover for teaching conviction and engaging in truth-seeking, something that debate can clearly be used for, but is not debate at its best. This rhetoric takes the form of “students have to explore both sides of a controversy” while at the same time, regular tournament practice has students arguing the same arguments on either side of a debate, for years. In fact, the choice not to participate in switch-side debating is seen as a noble act, giving stronger credence to the claim that their advocacy and arguments are authentic, not meant to win a debate, but meant to precipitate actual change.

The dirty little secret of contemporary debate is that switch-side debate – taking a side you don’t necessarily personally hold and arguing for it – doesn’t interest anyone anymore. The most compelling interest for it is as a foil so one can advance arguments. The switch-side investment or performance is the starting point for a causal link that indicts that speaker. The speaker is someone who has “chosen” to not participate in debate’s norms in order to prove an important point about the political nature of debate and how neutral it appears. This has become so boilerplate that many debate programs teach it as beginning strategy to those first learning how to participate in tournament debating.

The value of switch-side should also be considered for what is being dismissed under the rubric of this current trend.

Switch-side debating is meant to divest the individuals participating in it from personal conviction on an issue.

Switch-side is crucial in a pedagogy that encourages debaters to focus on the structures and suasory power of rhetoric and argumentation as it is, tabling the truth or factual nature of the information researched for the claim. It is the one place where this happens in an education system that is largely read, at least in the US, as arbitrary and unpredictable, a game where the rules are constantly changing, and no student wants to be the one to ask the question that provokes the teacher to change an exam or a final requirement in some way.

In a totally arbitrary system of judgement, like higher education is currently perceived, the personal and the political are totally merged. Junior faculty are divested from experimental advocacy and writing at a time when they are best poised to do it. Senior faculty are too invested in the university system to use their tenure appropriately – to investigate and challenge the norms that are related to the hows and whys of the system that now their comfortable, permanent employment depends. Instead, they offer shrill critiques and indictments of large systems primarily due to the fact that they are so well insulated. A more careful, well researched, and damning critique of such systemic processes, seen as possible indictments of the university, could doom a junior faculty member.

We see something similar with those who refuse to participate in switch-side debate. The requirement to argue on different positions on a question is the evidence they rely on in order to argue that the entire system is flawed, biased, and laden with ideology while appearing neutral. Whatever flavor the argumentation, the structure of it is somewhat similar – it all depends on the requirement that debaters are forced to argue on opposite sides of the question from time to time. This move catapults these teams into the center of the most competitive, most admired, and most duplicated strategies in the entire debating community. In short, like the university, the railing against the system is conducted by those who are at the center of the benefits.

The value of switch-side debating is something that the majority of those participating in debate are fairly uninterested in today – the power of words and the ability of rhetoric to shape reality. Many of those participating in debate are much more interested in truth-seeking, and campaigning for a fundamental truth that they have discovered through means unrelated to anything but preparing for the tournament and thinking about the topic. The debate itself is rather procedural, for in essence, they are using it as a forum to refine discoveries made elsewhere – little difference between that and the layperson’s view of debate.

Alternatively, embracing switch-side removes focus from truth and onto the appearance as such. Debate becomes a place for the study of the invention and reception of truth – or tropes, topoi, whatever you may wish to call them – the containers that make truth recognizable as such. Investigating the shape and power of the containers of what is believed to be true is an incredibly important study, and makes debate one of the most powerful disciplines in the university. Anyone can acquire facts and information, and anyone can use ad bacculum or popularity appeals to get that information over as truth to a community of like-minded people, such as the American debate world. But being able to broadly discuss, identify, critique, and replace the tropes of truth in broader society is much more valuable than the acquisition of resonant information. The reason being that one day that resonance with truth will fade from that information, and those who did not study rhetoric will be left holding the bag. Adaptability is the watchword here, and switch-side might be a good way of teaching it – not because of the thin, rather non-existence scope of adaptability in tournaments (most judges are very much alike in decision-making compared to the variety one gets from a public audience) or the precision that form of adaptation teaches, but the broader and more difficult question of reformulating treasured facts into other things, things considered valuable for a variety of listeners. What contemporary debate offers is akin to a specialized type of biochemistry, possibly focusing on one or two types of bacteria. What I am suggesting with a switch-side focus is the re-emergence of the art of alchemy – transmutation of the worthless into the valuable, and vice versa.

Switch-side does not teach this directly, but teaches it by numbing the thrill of the possession of truth by forcing students to throw it away at each instance in order to prepare for the next debate. Human nature what it is, debaters will turn toward possessing the next best thing – the forms of persuasion, which opens the door wide for the keen debate teacher to begin the lesson in earnest, showing how the formulation of truth is indistinguishable from the possession of what is believed to be true.