“Sometimes reality is too complex. Stories give it form.”
–Jean Luc Godard
Back when I was a relatively ignorant youth at the University of Illinois in 2004, a classmate of mine invited me to come see some politician who was running for US Senator. I think she said his name was “Ohbomba” – was that his first or last name? – and she was so enthusiastic that I and a few others couldn’t help but be a little curious.
Unfortunately, the church where he would be speaking at was so crowded with college kids that by the time we got there we were siphoned into a secondary room. The main auditorium was apparently packed, and the best they could do was allow us into an overflow room, which itself was a sizable sanctuary. The audio from the main room was connected to ours. And when this Obama guy spoke we could hear his voice in our room…that is, until it started cutting out.
Of the 40 minutes he spent addressing the crowd, we heard probably half of it, as the speaker intermittently worked or not. We heard snatches of rhetoric, campaign stump snippets, and cheer-worthy fragments, more or less. And one story about a little old lady with an inspirational moral.
Once he was done speaking and gladhanding the crowd, he showed up in our secondary room. He was handed a mic and told us, “I heard that you couldn’t hear much of what was being said in the other room. I only have a few minutes, but…” and he went on to talk to us very briefly.
I was always struck with the choice that he made when he spoke to us. He had about 3 minutes to talk, and out of all the things that he could have shared from his speech, he settled on sharing with us the story of the little old lady with the inspirational moral.
Why would he choose to take his one chance to talk to us and tell a story with that time? There was so much that could be said, but he decided that instead of saying it outright, he would settle for being a storyteller.
The Underappreciation of Stories
In the book The Storytelling Animal by Jonathan Gottschall, we are reminded that characters in books are nothing more than “ink people,” these curious scrawls and wiggles of ink on a page that take on life and meaning and value to us. Stories of fake people doing imaginary things for some reason hold a lot of sway over our very real lives.
We might think of “stories” as these films we watch or books we read when we’re seeking passive entertainment. But they are much, much more than that. In fact, it’s fair to say that stories have power and relevance over almost every area of our lives.
You see, stories present us with someone else’s experience and perspective. We are primed for connection, for empathy, and for emotive resonance – and you cannot get those from facts, figures, stats, or straight up non-fiction argumentation. These can be powerful for other reasons, but only stories produce the ability to have the kind of magnetic vibration that glistens within our imaginations and our hearts.
Professional storytelling consultant Geoffrey Berwind teaches us, “As long as there have been campfires, humans have gathered around them and conveyed their view of the world through the use of stories. Stories are a ‘shared experience,’ and I believe we are hard-wired to receive information primarily through storytelling. Stories trigger the ancient human muscle of the imagination.”
Maybe we think of stories as these little books we read to kids at bedtime. Maybe we think of them as these flicks we click on our TVs and fall asleep too. Maybe it’s time we update how we understand and engage with stories, recognizing that these “ink people” are actually in the driver’s seat.
How Stories Work
Let’s start with some stories we are familiar with. Like the ones we see on Netflix or HBO. We might watch a short miniseries on some long-haired fellow who likes tigers a lot. Or we might watch a dwarf from an ancient kingdom try to outfox the rest of throne-warring clans. On the surface, these are strange people doing strange things – things most of us would never experience on our own.
But that surface feature that makes these so entertaining is the same feature that makes them so impressionable on us. Most of us would never be in the same circumstances as these characters we view…and that is the very power of the story! We have the chance to see someone else’s life, perspective, preferences, choices, and outcomes play out for us in the little microcosm on the screen. We connect to them – or revile them – and briefly see the world through a set of emotions and experiences that our normal lives would never allow.
Life is a complex, incoherent “tale told by an idiot.” It’s meanings are vague at best, and the ideas that help give it shape are abstract. Stories have a way of making the abstract concrete, of giving structure to chaos and meaning to mayhem.
Think about all these ways that stories may impact us:
- We bond with others who watch/hear/read the same stories.
- They teach us about our own identity and origins.
- They share others’ experiences.
- We learn from others’ mistakes; are inspired by their successes.
- They give us something to rally around.
- They teach us morals.
- They emotionally resonate with us.
- They give us a sense of what’s “normal” or expected.
Ways I’ve Used Stories In My Life
My kids love stories of when I was young. It’s surprising how much they even ask for the same stories. They want to hear about the times I got in trouble, the times I dated their mom, the silly things their grandparents used to do. We even have a multi-generational tradition of telling the fictitious tales of when we all worked “at the pie factory” – and every story ends with a raucous three-stooges style pie fight.
Stories reinforce memory and community. I picture the Goodfellas guys, gathered around a card table and a glass of wine, telling stories. What do they tell stories about? Things that happened, big and small. The stories being told reinforce the story arc of their lives – who are the heroes, the villains, the morals, who’s in and who’s out.
Big stories give us a sense of commonality and destiny. I’ve thought about this a lot, and learned that the bigger and more encompassing the story, the more people feel like it says something about who they are, leading to a corporate identity. I don’t really have much in common with a New Yorker, but we share a common story about what it means to be an American. Stories of national heroes, historic encounters, and cultural identity bond us together by the millions. Same with religion.
Stories reduce bias and increase open-mindedness. I’ll never be able to be someone else, but stories get me as close as possible. For example, I’ll never be black. I can never truly know what it’s like to be black in America. But I can listen to the stories, experiences, and perspectives of those who are and do my best to “walk around in their shoes.” Reading Ibram X. Kendi’s How to Be An Anti-Racist last fall was helpful for me – it’s written as part autobiography part argumentation. Taking this step and others like it help me develop my empathy and understanding.
I draw inspiration from my favorite characters – and try to find others like them. The Godfather taught me not to talk business at the table and that a man “who doesn’t spend time with his family can never really be a man.” Samwise Gamgee inspires in me the joy of loyalty and courage. Encyclopedia Brown helped me recognize the value of smarts and character. Helmholtz Watson reminds me of the beauty of art and authenticity.
We tell ourselves stories, too. Maybe the most important stories are the ones we invent for our own self-understanding. The more I work to recognize the chapters I’m writing for myself, the more I find I can take control of the pen and begin to script out what I actually want to see happen next.
So when I’m thinking about how I can help someone else see a different point of view, or how I can communicate better, or how I can bring a sense of shared experience and community – or any time I want to bring these things to myself – I recognize the dramatic role that stories can genuinely play towards these.