In a World Made of Stories...
the most powerful person in the world is a storyteller
This is in part taken from my book Listen Like a Storyteller1 but I’ve changed a few things. I wrote the book six years ago and since I’ve been teaching both kids and adults, I’ve learned a great deal—not only about storytelling, but about how the world works.
In this post about the matrix of images, I position the storyteller as one who can literally see the fabric of reality. This post picks apart the skills involved in doing so.
The world, all its creatures, its stones, its trees, its people, and all the feelings and thoughts that come out of those people, all of it . . . is made of story.
This understanding has a few component parts:
1. People are meaning-makers.
2. To exist (for us), there must be an image and something to call the image.
3. Describing images is the basis of stories.
4. Therefore, the world (our world) is made of stories.
Everything we encounter in our life, everything we see, hear, experience, feel or even imagine . . . is an image with an associated description. The spoken words of the description unite to form stories. And it is through story that we create meaning. So when we name something—say, a “parrot” or “fear” or “simplicity” or an “atom”—we can begin to make sense of that thing through those words and their associated images. This is how we know what a parrot is. A brightly colored bird with a short beak is called a parrot. The word “parrot” is now a part of our matrix of reality. It is a part of our understanding of what the world is. It is a part of our story of the world.
As we develop this story and say things like green parrot and hungry parrot and “Oh, the parrot is looking at me,” we then connect the story of the parrot to other stories—like the story of what “green” is or what “looking” means. Wherever there are names and wherever there are meanings, there are stories. This sounds very deep and complicated, but my hope is that the simplicity will become apparent. When we name something or give it meaning, we do so by integrating it into a story. The story is our primary code of understanding.
This then begs the fundamental question “What is a thing before it has meaning?”
That is like asking what the world was before the Big Bang or knowing who made God. We are not equipped to know the answer to this question because we are meaning-making beings—it is what we do. We look at a thing and then lay a bunch of stories on it in order to fit it into our current stories. The moment we say “What is that?” we have begun to integrate that thing into a larger story. Once we successfully integrate it, then we can see it, we can hear it, we can identify it and then understand it. We give it reality.
This does not mean that there are no atoms and molecules.
This does not mean there is no God. This does not mean math is not real. It is a simple understanding that in order for atoms, God, and math to exist for us, these things must be connected to our story first.
To be clear, this is also the case with fairies, Pleiadeans, magic potions, and true love—and this is where storying gets really fun and seemingly complicated. What is true? What is real? What is fact and what is fiction?
Is the world round or is it flat? It depends on the era and community in which that was asked.
Did that cow die from a virus or an evil spirit? That depends on which stories are parts of your reality.
Is divorce bad? That depends on . . . a lot of things.
It’s complicated and it can be confounding.
How can a member of one political party see the world so profoundly differently from another? How can two groups think the other is the manifestation of evil? Are they both right? Are they both wrong?
We live in an age where the stories are out in the light—all the old stories, deeply held stories, embarrassing stories we wished we didn’t believe—they are all on the same table, seen by all. Stories of racial superiority. Stories of religious providence. Stories of personal destiny. Stories of technological solutions. Here they all are—and it seems like they will never mix—never get along—never find peace and compassion and reconciliation (also stories). So what are we to do?
There is good news.
The above conflicts, worries, stand-offs and irreconcilable differences all become very simple and understandable and even manageable . . . when they are exposed for what they are and properly told . . . as stories.
This notion might be provocative—and that is to be expected. Stories, like transformations, do that. But I am not saying that the world is not filled with serious issues. I am saying that the very idea of seriousness is a story.
I am not saying that we should not act and try to stop global warming or child trafficking or war and genocide. I am saying that “acting” and “trying” are stories. Transformation is a story, a very powerful story that can bring change to you, your community, even the world.
I am saying that everything is made of stories. And here is the reason I write: that the most powerful person in a world made of stories . . . is the person telling the story. The most powerful person . . . is the storyteller.
MCCANN, DAVID SEWELL. Listen like a Storyteller: A Guidebook on Attention and Finding Truth in the Narrative Age. BALBOA Press, 2019.