Archives for category: Storytelling quotations

As I’m wont to do when my partner is away, I was up late last night, working on the computer until my eyes crossed. I remembered too late there was a program I’d wanted to watch but picked up the remote anyway.

Notebooks and journals

Some of the dozens of journals and notebooks I haul with me every time I move

I lucked onto a short documentary on William Stafford. He’s long been one of my favorite poets. I remember the sense of loss I felt when he died. I still have a bright memory of a reading he did at Seattle’s Elliott Bay Book Company, as well as the books I bought that night.

The quote below slipped by too quickly in the documentary. I caught most of the first sentence, none of the second.

Fortunately, a retired pastor, Muriel T. Stackley, knew the whole quote and posted it in an essay on the Mennonite Weekly Review. She wrote: “This comes from a 1990 lecture at Bluffton University in Ohio, drawing on notes from Stafford’s four years in camps for conscientious objectors to war.”

I’m posting the quote for three reasons:

  • I’ll need to re-read it now and then. Maybe I’ll even memorize it and pull it out of my mental hat next time someone asks questions that show they’re mystified by my spending so much time on blogs that don’t add coins to my coffers.
  • I have decades of journals and letters that I haul with me whenever I move. Not every entry or letter is worth saving, but many are, at least while I’m alive to enjoy them.
  • In mining those journals and letters for stories to share on the blogs, I’m re-visiting my life. There are passages painful to read, but mostly I look back with gratitude at all I’ve experienced.

Keep a journal, and don’t assume that your work has to accomplish anything worthy. Artists and peace workers are in it for the long haul and not to be judged by immediate results. Redemption comes with care. In our culture we can oppose but not subvert. Openness is part of our technique. ~ William Stafford

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It’s been two decades since I copied the quotation below from Jim Nollman’s book, Spiritual Ecology. At the time I wrote it down, I substituted “storyteller” for “artist”.

I was prompted by the question so many children asked when I told stories in schools, “Is that true?” I finally settled on this answer: “All of my stories are true, but not everything in my stories happened.”

That always seemed to satisfy the young questioners. They grasped intuitively what adults often seem to forget, that we can find truth in a dance, a painting, a story, a poem. It’s not a truth that can be counted, nor an experience that is suited to experimental processes.

But then, frankly, neither is the physical world scientists subject to measurements. Scientific research starts with a hypothesis, which is, in a sense, a story about the way some substance or process or creature or interaction is expected to behave. Stories start the same way, with speculation about the way people will behave.

Both are influenced by the life experience of the observer, whether scientist or storyteller. Both are subject to the surprise element. Both can be turned on their head when a scientist or storyteller comes at the research or story from an entirely different perspective.

So while I still like this quote, I no longer see the worlds of the scientist and the artist as separate and distinct. Both test hypotheses. Neither can successfully separate from the larger context. Both are essential to our lives.

An artist also asks questions. But instead of utilizing rigor and skepticism to provide experiential answers that exist in a direct causal relationship to those questions, he or she focuses upon a medium that provides the experience directly. The artist works to convey a perceptual message in a manner that requires no operational definitions and no rigid rules of correspondence to expel the subjective perception of his or her own consciousness. And whereas a scientist thrives on absolute answers expressed as numbers, an artist thrives on process. A scientist seeks to expand humanity’s frame of reference; an artist seeks to expand humanity’s depth of insight. ~ Jim Nollman, Spiritual Ecology

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When I read Hole in the Sky: A Memoir, I knew I had found an author who spoke the language of my spirit. So I looked for other books by William Kittredge. In Owning It All I found passage after passage that resonated for me. This is one of them. Fortunately, his books are still in print.

“We find stories in the unpatterned restlessness of our lives, and in the histories of the places we have lived, and we tell them and retell them, if only to ourselves, living them out and sharpening and reinventing them, discovering significances and defining and redefining ourselves. It is the most universal thing human beings do as in their secret hearts they work to achieve some positive effect in the world.” ~ William Kittredge, Owning It All

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“Storytelling, you know, has a real function. The process of the storytelling is itself a healing process, partly because you have someone there who is taking the time to tell you a story that has great meaning to them. They’re taking the time to do this because your life could use some help, but they don’t want to come over and just give advice. They want to give it to you in a form that becomes inseparable from your whole self. That’s what stories do. Stories differ from advice in that, once you get them, they become a fabric of your whole soul. That is why they heal you.” Alice Walker, in an interview about her work in Common Boundary, 1990.

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Nearly a million linguaphiles subscribe to A.Word.A.Day Today’s word came with an apt quote on storytelling.

When my daughter was little and scraped a knee, what brought the swiftest diversion wasn’t candies or toys, but stories. Stories soothe us, teach us, take us to other worlds. Even when we grow up, our hunger for stories remains. ~Anu Garg, A.Word.A.Day

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“There is no conclusion in science; it is a continual and recursive process of story testing.” ~ Paul Grobstein

Eggs Benedict. Boiled eggs. Fried, scrambled, poached, coddled eggs. Huevos rancheros, omelettes, eggnog. Just listing them makes me drool. Yellow and white killers in a crusty shell? Or nature’s little health miracle? It’s all in the science, and science is all in the story.

For many years, I worked with organizations and systems that worshiped at the feet of science. This was generally defined as peer-reviewed studies published in peer-reviewed journals. The “gold standard” was the randomized clinical trial.

The minor gods in service of the ideal were quantitative methods that produced numbers that could be compared, graphed, and used to substantiate or reject the need for some project, methodology or program.

Qualitative methods were suspect, dealing, as they did, with the messiness of human nature. Results were often dismissed as interesting but no more valid than an informed guess.

Of course, both quantitative and qualitative methods produce useful stories that summarize current knowledge. What neither produces is Truth, that shy and elusive deity who is sought but never found.

Basket of eggs

The humble and much-maligned egg from woodleywonderworks ' photostream on Flickr

Take, for example, the simple and much-maligned egg. After years during which eggs were dangerous to our health, scientists have exonerated the humble barnyard gifts.

During the egg-as-demon years, I had numerous disagreements with colleagues and friends who insisted research was objective. They viewed my refusal to give up eggs as an attack on the scientific method and an absurdly unhealthy choice.

What was really at work in my stubborn brain was the sense that research is based on stories, and stories change. I just waited them out and quietly went on eating eggs.

So I chuckled when I ran across an essay by Paul Grobstein, a neurobiologist, biologist, philosopher, and educator at Bryn Mawr. In “Science as story telling and story revising”, he writes, “the scientific method cannot validate universal claims; so scientific stories should never be regarded as candidates (or competitors) for ‘Truth’. And they are true only insofar as one is satisfied with the provisional, i.e., with a story that summarizes all observations made up to the present.”

I wish I had had a copy of Grobstein’s essay to hand out during my years in community development. Whatever methods we used, qualitative or quantitative, to evaluate the projects and programs in which I was involved, the best we could offer was a story.

The story was based on what we hoped would happen at the outset, mixed with what we observed along the way, and blended with what we learned as we reflected on the whole process. Into that mix we threw the stories of other researchers, evaluators, and participants who had contributed their observations, learnings, and reflections.

To be honest, I have to say that the people with whom I shared those stories over the years were very receptive. But it might have eased the worries of others, particularly those who were allies in the search for ongoing funding, if I could have shared Grobstein’s observation with them: “As summaries of observations, scientific stories are only as good as the breadth of observations they summarize, so the more people contributing observations the better. In addition to the observations, however, one needs the stories to summarize them, stories that in turn influence what new observations are made and what significance is attached to them….The more people, the more observations, the more stories the better.”

In the search for the Holy Grail of Truth, science’s latest stories are important. They are also incomplete, based, as they are, on current observations filtered through the lens of experience and belief the scientists brought to bear on their experimental methodology.

Maybe we should think of research findings and qualitative evaluations as interim truths. It would help us remember a quotation attributed to Albert Einstein:

Whoever undertakes to set himself up as a judge of Truth and Knowledge is shipwrecked by the laughter of the gods.

Grobstein, P. (2005). Revisiting science in culture: Science as story telling and story revising. Journal of Research Practice, 1(1), Article M1. Retrieved April 13, 2010, from http://jrp.icaap.org/index.php/jrp/article/view/9/18

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[T]o make sense of our experience by creating a story is an essential human characteristic, and whatever story we tell at a given time reflects our level of consciousness. At one point we may tell a story of victimhood or revenge, and later one of compassion and empowerment. It is the exercise, moment to moment, of free will, of doggedly looking for beauty, joy, and possibility, that offers us the greatest hope for generating stories that will contain the creativity and inspiration we need to solve otherwise insurmountable challenges. ~ Nina Utne, UTNE Reader, May-June 2004, page 6

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“Australian Aborigines say that the big stories-the stories worth telling and retelling, the ones in which you may find the meaning of your life-are forever stalking the right teller, sniffing and tracking like predators hunting their prey in the bush.” Robert Moss, Dreamgates

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“So storytelling is central to community building and maintenance. It can also build new kinds of community. If stories define our communities, then changing the stories would change the community.” Jay Wentworth, “Coral Atolls and Cosmic Tales”

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“When we become fully aware of the stories that make up our lives, we also find ourselves being much more careful about the kind of information we want to let through the portal of our eyes and ears.” Jim Nollman, Spiritual Ecology: A Guide for Reconnecting with Nature

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