“One deep reason why we tell stories to ourselves (or to our confessor or to our analyst or to our confidant) is precisely to ‘make sense’ of what we are encountering in the course of living — through narrative elaborations of the natural arguments of action.” — Jerome Bruner and Joan Lucariello, Monologue as Narrative of the World
Randomness is something we humans seem loathe to accept as having a significant role in our lives — and with just cause. Without some form of structure the events of daily life would seem, as the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay said, like ‘one damn thing over and over.’ We wake, we eat, we go to work, we go to bed, then we repeat this pattern again and again for years on end until, finally, we die. Without a framework with which to process each moment of our lives, meaning and the motivation for living would be lost. Drudgery and despair would overwhelm us. Life would become a cyclical sequence of insignificant events.
Life would become hell.
Luckily, we have the ability to affix meaning through narrative.
Narrative is simply an account (whether spoken, written, or conceived internally) of events which have been given some measure of coherence, be it temporal or causal or both. Goals drive the action of events in the simplest of narratives, usually involving the establishment of some state of being, the so-called legitimate order of things. From an evolutionary standpoint, it would make sense that humans possess the innate capacity for narrative thinking. Deviations from the norm can easily be recognized (Uh-oh, I see hungry eyes peering out of the darkness) and addressed (Wave a torch at that bastard and scare him off!) and life is able to continue.
Narrative provides context for the decisions we make.
“We dream in narrative, daydream in narrative, remember, anticipate, hope, despair, believe, doubt, plan, revise, criticize, construct, gossip, learn, hate and love by narrative,” states British literary scholar Barbara Hardy in her article Towards a Poetics of Fiction, published in the journal NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction.
The facts we remember, the plans we make, the things we hope for; they all relate to stories we’ve constructed for ourselves. And these stories permeate every aspect of our lives, guiding our attention, influencing our decisions, and providing the motivation for us to take action (for better or worse). That which is random or unrelated is perceived as a threat or ignored or — more often than we might think — conveniently misrepresented or misremembered to fit the logic of the narrative of our choice. We live and breathe by our stories, we guard them jealously and defend their legitimacy. We are, by our own volition, players in a lifelong drama, characters in a self-directed production that spans our temporal existence. In short, the human experience is narrative. It is all-encompassing, powerful — like the omnipotent hand of God shaping the composition of our lives. But unlike those whose stories have been influenced by an all-powerful deity (a mode of thought which suggests little choice on the part of the worshiper, who is forced, in a sense, to accept the rulings of said deity as final and absolute) humans actually have some choice in the narratives they choose to tell about their lives.
As free-willed beings we have it in ourselves to develop powerful stories that elevate us to heights we never thought possible.
In his book Deep Survival: Who Lives, Who Dies, and Why author Laurence Gonzales explores the mysteries of human survival, telling visceral tales of those who’ve faced unimaginable odds but came through alive — and those who should have but didn’t despite the fact they were fully capable of doing so. Gonzales stresses the importance of perception and story-building in his book as a key factor in determining the fate of an individual. “As complex as the brain is, the world is more so. The brain cannot process and organize all the data that arrive. It cannot come up with a reasonable course of action if everything is given equal weight and perceived at equal intensity. That is the difficulty with logic: it’s step-by-step, linear. The world is not,” he writes. Those who survive, he observes, are able to set their mind to the task at hand — the task of survival — and proceed, step-by-step, using their inherent narrative mode of thinking to parse the irrelevant from the essential. Their situation is given coherence through this way of processing information, and rather than succumbing to panic or despair, they are able to progress with an understanding of the order of things, able to see clearer what must be done. Survivors create structure and meaning out of the chaos, and they do this themselves, in most cases, without anybody to assist them or guide them. Clearly, through the stories of those who’ve survived trauma, we can see the power of narrative.
So how can we harness that power for ourselves in everyday life?
In fact, we already do as a matter of instinct, so the real question is: how do we harness narrative as a force for positive change and personal elevation?
Here are two ways to take advantage of the power of narrative:
1. Become the hero of your own story.
Heroes and heroines are admirable figures, even when they’re on the losing team. Rather than allowing yourself to become the powerless victim who is in need of saving, take responsibility for your own story by framing the circumstances of your life in a way that is affirming and self-empowering. Take the time to recognize and acknowledge where you are in your own hero’s journey. Many of us are still at the beginning. We are still enduring trials, facing the unfamiliar, finding allies and developing skill-sets which will later allow us to emerge triumphant. Understand that hardships are part of the journey, but they are an essential tool for our development. Every hero experiences them. Every hero learns from them. Make sure you do as well. Take the time to reflect on moments of defeat. Take the time to recognize your weaknesses. Apply them to the narrative of your own hero’s journey and you will begin to understand that defeat is not really defeat and weakness is not really weakness if you are able to learn and grow from them. You will begin to understand these moments of darkness are simply chapter markers in a long story which has yet to be completed. By taking the time to acknowledge these moments, you will also begin to recognize more clearly what it is you need to do. Remember, narrative creates clarity and coherence. It can help you find structure in a world full of overwhelming stimulus.
2. Create self-driven narratives which revolve around a benevolent vision for the possible.
Narrative is powerful, clearly, and if used unwisely or immorally can be incredibly destructive. Remember the Third Reich, remember the crusades, remember the rise of ISIS — think about the power of narrative in the context of each of these historical moments and you will see how easily it can lead people to follow a policy of destruction, oppression, and conquest. Do not fall into this trap. Instead, strive to create personal narratives which encourage growth and development. You will face opposition in your journey, clearly, but avoid exploiting that opposition by defining it as The Enemy. The central goal of your personal story should not revolve around vanquishing The Other — those narratives are easily warped. Besides, those who fall to that type of narrative thinking aren’t taking responsibility for their own stories. In that strain of narrative thought affirmation and fulfillment is contingent on others rather than the self. You may have to fight — many of us do — but the fight itself, and the enemy, should never drive the main arc of your story. Instead, allow your own growth to take precedence by recognizing that every hardship, every fight, every setback, every moment provides an opportunity for you to come out a better person. The opposition you come in contact with is rarely personal — don’t allow it to become an existential threat. Face it in an upright manner, but seek always to build, and strive always to grow.