Stories and Transformations: Part 3

It occurred to me after last week’s post that it is worth spending a little bit more time on the etymology of the words we are using since the word “story” has its own, ummm, story that helps to shed some light on the confusing number of meanings that are at play around the concept. Understanding these broader meanings in advance will help to clarify the specific meaning that I will be using in this series.

Let’s start by talking about the Old English word for “story”, which was “tale”. It’s related to the word “tell”, and it originally had a connotation of “giving an account” or “recounting”. In other words, the default meaning was about things that actually happened in the real world. We can see a similar semantic alignment in the modern German “Geschichte” (story), which is related to “geschehen”, meaning “to happen”.

The important point to note here is that the default meaning of the word was tailored to the everyday kinds of stories we tell each other. It’s something that is so basic and familiar that we rarely think about it, but we are always telling stories, and those stories are assumed to be based in reality. We may misremember the details. We may fabricate things to sex it up a bit. We may leave out the bits that make us look bad or emphasise those that make us look good. Nevertheless, the default assumption in an everyday kind of story is that we are “telling the truth”.

This can be contrasted with another kind of story, which is one that is deliberately made up in order to entertain or educate. It seems that most languages have a specific word that denotes a made-up story alongside a role for the person who does the making up. In Old English, a professional storyteller was called a “scop”, and the story they told was called a “spell”. “Spell” was related to “speech”, since stories were always delivered orally in a culture that was almost entirely illiterate.

The word “scop” had a broader meaning of “create or make”. You could scop a story. You could scop a table or a pair of trousers. Storytelling was a trade like any other. This broader meaning of creating something is also present in Aristotle’s Poetics. The actual word in Greek was “poiesis”, which also meant to make or construct. Since Aristotle was writing about Greek tragedy, and since Greek tragedy was created by professionals who specialised in the role, it made sense for him to use poiesis rather than a term that denoted everyday storytelling. He was concerned with identifying the criteria that could be used to judge the quality of a finished work of art just like you might judge the quality of a bottle of wine or a painting.

Thus, both Old English and ancient Greek maintained a distinction between “everyday story told by people recounting events that happened” and “story made up by a skilled practitioner for education or entertainment”. It was much the same distinction we have now with the “entertainment industry”. However, the trade of storyteller also included something of what we would nowadays think of as journalism, i.e. stories about current events. Professional storytellers were also given licence to make sense of events rather than simply recount them. That’s why the greatest storytellers have always been seen as religious or mystical figures capable of capturing fundamental truths of existence.

None of this had anything to do with the word “story” which was not present in Old English and whose original meaning in ancient Greek had nothing to do with “tales” or “mythos” or any other word that denotes a narrative. Nevertheless, there was a good reason why the Greek word “historia” eventually came to be associated with “stories”.

Because the distinction between factual and fictional stories is always getting blurred in everyday life (just look at the amount of nonsense on the internet for an example), trying to get to the truth through stories can be problematic. Most of the great myths that we know had some basis in reality, but they normally come with countless embellishments of questionable veracity. Over time, stories tend to lose their fidelity to the original event.

Enter the role of the “historian”. Herodotus is usually credited with being the father of history, and one of the reasons was because he used the actual word “historia” to refer to a book he wrote. This book is still translated into English as “The Histories”, but this is somewhat misleading because that is not the original meaning of the word. “Historia” could get translated into modern English as “enquiry”, although its meaning is even wider than what we would think of by that word. For the Greeks, “historia” could refer to an empirical investigation of the kind we now think of science, but it could also denote an intellectual or philosophical rumination. A classic example is Aristotle’s “Historia Animalium”, meaning “Enquiry into Animals”, the first text of what we would now call “zoology”.

Herodotus was using the word “historia” because he was conducting an enquiry into various beliefs that were floating around in the different communities of the time. In actual fact, his work was probably the earliest form of what we would now call “anthropology”. He travelled around a lot, collecting folk stories from various communities, getting different perspectives on wars and other major events, etc. He then collated these enquiries into a book which, while it does contain a great many stories, also has a lot of reflections, anecdotes, and titbits. It was a serious work but was also designed to be entertaining.

The use of “historia” by Herodotus, Aristotle and other Greek thinkers makes clear that they all understood the word to mean “enquiry”. However, sometime between the golden age of the Greeks and the rise of Rome, the word’s meaning changed so that in the Latin of the time of Caesar it had come to denote the exact same semantic meanings present in old English “tale” or Greek “mythos”. That is, it was primarily a narrative of events.

Any last remembrance of “historia” as enquiry disappeared as the Roman Empire slid into the dark ages, and the whole idea of a professional intellectual was lost. The meaning of “historia” as “story” lived on in the Romance languages and came into English via the Norman invasion. Because of the prestige that the French language enjoyed for some time afterwards, “story” elbowed “tale” out of the way to take top spot among the myriad of words that all mean something like “narrative of events”.

That’s the way it remained for several hundred years, but there is one final twist in the tale. Beginning around the time of the Renaissance, Western culture was once again able to create for itself an intellectual class that had the time and space to make enquiries. Since “historia” also existed in shortened form as “storia”, and since this distinction was also present in English, it makes some kind of sense that “history” came to refer to the enquiries of an intellectual called a “historian”, while “story” retained its meaning of a “narrative of events” used primarily by everyday people. Meanwhile, the role of those who created stories for education and entertainment fell to “artists”, “authors”, etc. Thus, we have ended up with the same basic set of meanings that existed in the Greece of more than two millennia ago.

So, that is the story about how the word “story” came to mean “story”. But we still haven’t answered the question: what is a “story”? The beginnings of an answer may be found in the tale we have just told.

The word “story” has been on one hell of a journey. It began life during the epoch-making period where the ancient Greek civilisation flourished, enjoying the company of the great thinkers who founded modern philosophy and science. It went on holiday during the Roman Empire, spreading wherever the Latin tongue found a home. It eked out a living with the European peasantry of the Dark Ages, hitched a ride on a French ship to the isle which would eventually create a global empire, and now enjoys a status as probably one of the best-known words in the world since it denotes a universal concept in a language that has become all but universal. Along the way, “story” has undergone a number of changes including the way it is spoken and spelt and the meaning it denotes. Therein lies the heart of any true story. We’ll explore that more next week.

Stories and Transformations: Part 2

Most people have probably heard the one about how Eskimos have a heap of different words that all refer to snow. This is meant to prove that language adapts to reflect the needs of the speakers. If you live in the subarctic, you get to know snow pretty well, and you need to talk about it a lot.

If that’s true, what can we surmise from the fact that the English language has about the same number of words that mean “story” as the Eskimos have for “snow”? Here’s a list:-

Story, fable, legend, myth, tale, fairy tale, folktale, saga, epic, memoir, history, parable, biography, autobiography, narrative, account, anecdote, yarn, spiel, novel, novella, short story, plot, parable, apologue, chronicle, drama, tragedy, and romance.

Then there’s a bunch of words that are as good as stories:-

Report, record, deposition, recitation, testament, tip, gossip, tidbit, message, rumour, hearsay, scuttlebutt, and scoop.

A big part of the reason why we have so many damned words that all mean basically the same thing is because modern English has three main sources of linguistic inheritance: ancient Greek, Latin, and old English-Germanic. The majority of the words listed above come from Latin and Greek. “Saga” is the odd one out, as it came from Norse and must have arrived in England with the Vikings. Although, note that “saga” simply means “story”. So, we’ve inherited the words for “story” from four different languages.

As is usual in modern English, the words that actually come down from old English or Germanic have a common, “lower-class” connotation because the intellectual language for most of modern European history was Latin. Therefore, the English words for “story” never got used in the serious business of academic research. But even the everyday word “story” is itself derived from the Latin “historia”.

Just as we have inherited this profusion of words that all relate to some kind of story, we also have a number of different scholarly disciplines which study them. Among these are mythology (myth, saga, epic), literature (novel, novella, drama, tragedy, romance), theology (legend, biography), literary criticism, history, philology, and even journalism and social science. That is before we get into the more specific frameworks of understanding which have seen fit to apply themselves to stories such as the Marxist, psychoanalytic, or postmodernist schools of interpretation.

What we need to do in this series of posts is try and forget all of this noise and get down to the underlying structure that unifies all of these nominally different concepts.

As part of that reductionist goal, there are only two thinkers from the whole of Western intellectual history that we will use. The first is Aristotle, who everybody will have heard of. The second is Joseph Campbell, who coined the concept of the “hero’s journey” in the mid-20th century.

Joseph Campbell

In his work Poetics, Aristotle did not set out to define the nature of stories. He was actually concerned with Greek tragedy. He defined six categories of analysis, but it’s the first two that we still use. One is “plot” and the other is “character”. Plot relates to the events that occur in the story, and character relates to people in the story and how their personality and agency shape it. Of these two, Aristotle believed plot was the most important, and his influence is still reflected in modern dictionary definitions which emphasise that stories are about the “events” that occur.

Joseph Campbell’s big innovation was to focus on character instead (i.e., the hero). However, his work has not seeped through into modern definitions of stories, presumably because he was studying something that we think is unrelated: myths.

Ancient Greek tragedy was performed on a stage and had music and other accompaniments. Myths are quasi-mystical things told around the campfires of hunter-gatherer tribes. Because of the superficial differences in the way the story was delivered, we tell ourselves that they are two different objects. In fact, the underlying structure of both is the same. It is only once we understand that structure that we can truly appreciate what really is different between the stories of hunter-gatherer tribes and ancient Greek tragedy. This is one of the main reasons to bother with what would otherwise be nothing more than semantic nitpicking.

Still, even semantic nitpicking sometimes turns up something important. Consider this. The actual word that Aristotle used in Poetics was “mythos”. That gets translated into modern English as “plot”. But, in fact, its meaning in ancient Greek was simply “story”. What Aristotle was really saying was that the story was the most important part of Greek tragedy.

Now, “mythos” appears in modern English as “myth”, and “myth” refers to just one specific kind of story. A myth is a story that usually features supernatural beings and is assumed to be foundational to the culture out of which it arises. This perspective would never have occurred to Aristotle or the Greeks. In fact, it arose out of a very specific intellectual milieu in the 19th and early 20th centuries, a heady mix of anthropology, linguistics, comparative history, and psychoanalysis.

Scholars and missionaries had gone off collecting stories from the various peoples of the world, including tribal societies. Meanwhile, historians and linguists had made great breakthroughs in the understanding of stories told by ancient civilisations. In addition to all this, there were developments in biblical interpretation, which moved away from treating the Bible as the source of literal truth. Out of all this, a new category called “myth” was created to account for one kind of story that was presumed to be found in every culture. Joseph Campbell was a comparative mythologist. He took the various “myths” from around the world and looked for what was similar about them.

It’s funny, isn’t it? The first great breakthrough in our understanding of stories came from Aristotle, who was studying Greek tragedy and realised that the story (mythos) was the most important part of it. Then, about two and a half millennia later, the next most important breakthrough came from a man who was studying “myths” from around the world. Neither of them thought they were studying “story” even though they both used the word that meant “story” in ancient Greece (“mythos”).

It’s not hard to see why we still don’t have any unified understanding of what a story is. We have been studying the superficial differences and not paying attention the underlying structure. In next week’s post, we’ll start to do just that.