The Story Complex: A Foundation for Story

Why is it that as an artist I forever feel this incredible, inexorable urge to create above all else, as though the entirety of my meaning hinges on my ability to express? I constantly find myself wandering through a sort of pseudo-reality of my own imagination, desperate to unleash it for the whole world to see, yet terrified of the responses. Yet I must follow this urge, this need—follow it to the bitter end.

Whenever I actually finish a project, however, a deep depression settles over me like a smothering miasma of thunderclouds and shame. Inadequacy whispers its name, and I realize that is my own. All my efforts leave me feeling empty, in the end. Yet I dare not cease to dream and to do and to dare. I simply must respond to the scalding heat within that drives me onward like some great engine. The steam inside propels this monstrous machine of who I am—and who I am is perpetually enslaved to the taskmaster of a soul enamored by art.

Art always consumes the artist. The trick is to realize—as Lewis so eloquently states in Till We Have Faces—that the loving is in the consuming.

What it is it about, art, however, that causes this intensity? Why am I nearly incapable of escaping art even when I just want to sag to the ground and sink into dirt until I disappear?

The more I think about this the more I am utterly convinced that everyone posses a built in predilection toward art, particularly story. I call this 'The Story Complex.'

Almost everything derives from story; consider such divergent examples as humor, history, and horticulture. Humor almost always bends, breaks, or parodies rules, social expectations, and cultural norms. Jokes are nothing more than micro-stories with twist endings. History, of course, covers the totality of events from the dawn of time to the present day. Far from disjointed facts or boring lists of dates and names, history pulsates with intensely human narratives and accounts--stories. Even something as organic and earthy as the study of plants expresses itself in stories: the struggle toward light and life from the depths of buried darkness resonates with each of us. From bulb to bloom, flowers have a teleological purpose that ends in great beauty. This infuses even a tulip with the power and artistry of story.

But not just any story will do. Stories must always include conflict, setbacks, and ultimate resolution. Humans seem hardwired to cheer for the hero, despise the villain, and long for the eventual triumph or redemption of one or both. Indeed, this desire is so deeply ingrained that when a story breaks the mold, we find ourselves deeply disappointed. Certainly, we may appreciate the art of the tale, and even find great meaning in the victory of darkness, but still something in us wishes that maybe, just maybe, the story had ended differently.

At its core, death is a thief; we feel this so strongly that when death and deceit devastate dignity and decency, something feels backward.

Nowhere does this concept shine more brilliantly than in the pages of Scripture. The Bible itself is a story--a true myth--that follows a basic order of Creation, Fall, Redemption. Granted, the Biblical metanarrative can (and perhaps should) include other movements, such as God's dealing with the people of Israel and His current work among Christians, but for the sake of simplicity I want to look only at these three.

Every truly great story follows the same basic pattern. First we have something in an ideal state of some sort. Then a catastrophe--without or within, natural or man-made--wrenches the proper state of things out of alignment. After a series of setbacks and failures, the equilibrium is restored, good triumphs, and once again all is right with the world.

Our hearts thrill at the thought. Nobility inspires us to action; profound sacrifice stirs our emotions and calls us out to a brighter, more courageous existence. Something in us longs for this larger-than-life crisis, conflict, and resolution. We seem to have an innate ability to think and express and receive in the form of stories.

I firmly believe that God is the greatest Storyteller, and that the imprint of His image upon us causes us to yearn for the chance to be caught up in the greatest story of all time--the fifth act I spoke of last time--and to become the hero in our own stories.

I want to live in such a way
That when I’m gone my friends would say
That if my life was turned to film
I’d be standing on a mountain shouting victory in the end
But in my heart I know it’s only true
If I’m supporting actor and the Oscar goes to You

If my life was cinematic
With a soundtrack so dramatic
You’d be the hero and You would save me
And it would have the sweetest ending

I don’t want to let You down
I want to make you proud
If anyone is watching me
I want to make it count for something

What if it ended here?
What if the credits rolled now?
What would the critics say?
Would it be the biggest let down?

If my life was cinematic
With a soundtrack so dramatic
You’d be the hero and You would save me
And it would have the sweetest ending

Grace and peace,
Andrew <><