Abstract
Once upon a time, in a time not so long ago, and in an emerging field that has become where some of us here work today, there lived a beautiful idea whose name was Communication.2 The idea was beautiful because everyone appreciated it but no one really understood it, which, of course, is the case with all sorts of beauty in the world and all sorts of ideas about the world as well. As a result of being beautiful, complex, and entirely misunderstood, the intriguing idea of Communication inspired generations of scholars to vie for control of its meaning. Which is to say to engage in sometimes extended, somewhat tedious, and always inconclusive verbal battles over how to best obtain “truth” regarding her beauty, as well as to create status hierarchies based on fairly arbitrary determinations of the worth or value of ways of expressing their appreciation and understanding of her. Which is to say, also and more to my point, to determine the one preferred style of storytelling, of writing about her, for writing—in addition to teaching—is what scholars do. The earliest known studies were oral histories and epic poems, which beget comedies and tragic dramas, which beget longer personal narratives and letters and memoirs.3 These studies, these written inquiries, were evaluated in relation to each other, as well as to all that came before them. The best of them, the stories that survive and are with us still, have stood time’s test, survived wars and famine, and inspired generations. They are rightly called “classic.” They were the first exemplars of what today we call writing that exhibits in form and in style the term “qualitative inquiry.”4 They were stories, performances, and poetry based on human problems, on life’s mysteries, and on speculative biological, cultural, political, and philosophical questions that mattered.
Published Version
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