We both reveal ourselves to, and encounter others, through action–through words and deeds. An important aspect of human action that has not yet been considered is its historic character. By historic I do not necessarily mean important, but enduring, permanent. What one does, echoes in eternity–not in the sense of the eschatological, though that may prove true–but in that of the final; once something is done, it cannot be undone. To wrong another person is to do something that cannot be erased;1 so too to be kind, or just. But considerations of merit aside, I refer also to those actions which may be considered the most insignificant just as much as those which may be pivotal to the narrative arc of one’s life. What emerges within the movement of a given life–built up from one’s words and deeds through time–is a kind of enacted narrative, a life story. And it is through bringing unity to the narrative of one’s life which partly answers the question: “What is the good life for man?”2
In a similar way, the uniqueness of human life is also historic. “Human plurality”, said Hannah Arendt, “has the twofold character of equality and distinction.”3 We are equal in the sense that we are members of the same species; we share a common nature; we are instances of one and the same humanity.4 Yet each human life is distinct–unique–entering the great drama of history at a point and from a perspective that is impossible to repeat or recreate. “[W]ith each birth something uniquely new comes into the world.”5 In other words, each human life is historically authentic–utterly non-repeatable–and the story of a given life between conception and death is one that will never exist again, though it will in some ways exist forever.6 Through our birth and subsequent words and deeds, we enter “a stage which we did not design”, becoming “part of an action that was not of our making.”7 Our lives exist within a structure of both constraint and possibility, we are each the main character of a tale that is the story of our life. How is this so?
Return to considerations of the context of human action. We have seen that actions take place within the context or structure of larger wholes. Context is supplied not only by external considerations, such as settings, people, relationships, but also internal considerations, such as intentions, passions, and desires.8 It is these two kinds of context which enable actions to be intelligible to ourselves and others. Notice, however, that settings, people, relationships, and other forms of external context, have a history; sometimes a shared history. They possess durability, existing through time, the understanding of which adds a depth and richness to our understanding of context. Actions are situated within the context of settings which themselves possess a narrative history. Internal contexts, such as intentions, also exhibit a history in that they play a role in human action and behavior–which per se exists in and through time. Over time the actions of a given person take on a narrative form, that of a personal history–a life story. If and when we are asked by others to account for our behavior, we inevitably draw upon a narrative history of both our intentions and the settings in which they are situated. We can always ask, or be asked, for an account of what we or some others have done.9 In so doing, unintelligible behavior is made intelligible, or more intelligible. And it is made so by reference to narrative resources, to stories, comprised of settings, circumstances, intentions–existing in and through time. “Narrative history of a certain kind turns out to be the basic and essential genre for the characterization of human actions.”10
Consider some examples, such as what may be called conversion stories–not merely religious, but intellectual, political, aesthetic–and others, such as the transition from one working industry to another. When asked to account for a given belief, state of affairs, or form of behavior, we must inevitably draw upon a narrative history–not only of the settings, situations, and circumstances we may find or have found ourselves in–but also upon that of our prior beliefs, understandings, commitments, intentions, and so on. Questions like, “How did you and your spouse meet?”; “What do you do professionally?”; “Where are you from?”, are all questions which, in the absence of a narrative history, lack sufficient intelligibility. If someone points to a picture on my wall and asks, “Who is that?” The answer, implicitly or explicitly, will draw upon narrative forms and structures–the ever-fluctuating web of interrelated settings, circumstances, and intentions.
The emergence of narrative11 to a given life can be likened to that of a sphere of influence, in this case a Narrative sphere, which describes the unique story of that life as well as its range of influence–its reverberations and ripples through time as they affect the lives of other people. The story or content of a given life is what resides within the sphere. It’s boundary–what I describe as the “arc” of a given narrative–refers to the limits of influence of that particular life. Choices of consequence, those that effect the trajectory or directedness of a given life, therefore expand the limits or “arc” of a given sphere. And the arc of a given narrative may continue to expand long after the subject of that narrative had died. Thus, some people have more influence, their lives overlapping–affecting–more lives than others; their sphere is larger, others smaller.12 Nonetheless, each of us has one; first existing entirely within that of our parents and immediate family, until, as we grow and develop, the narrative arc of our life emerges uniquely upon the stage of the human world. Some of our lives–or spheres–never come in contact, while others may make intermittent or momentary contact, others come to overlap (in the case of relationships), while still others already overlap at the time of our conception.13 The Narrative spheres of others, particularly those of whom overlap with our own, place constraints upon the arc of our lives, such as those placed upon us by kin, by marriage, by friendship. Again, we are never more than co-authors of our own lives.
As we will see, the enacted narrative of human life, providing a broader and deeper structure of context, enables a more clear and coherent understanding of the role of virtue and vice in a given life. It also enables us to identify a directedness14 unique to individual lives, which emerges within the narrative arc of a given life, acting in many ways as a telos–or end–guiding one on the journey of leading their life in such a way that it emerges as a unified whole. The narrative of human life also bears upon the subject of happiness–the classical telos of life and existence.15 On the classical (pre-modern) view, happiness is closely bound up with the life well-lived, though this is largely an abstraction until we consider the concrete lives in which it is situated. Just as every life is unique, and may only be brought to a unified whole in a unique way, so too is the good life, or the life well-lived, unique to the narrative arc of a given life.
Notes:
1. In this context we may begin to understand the otherworldly nature of forgiveness. See also, Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition.
2. In this thought I am largely following Alasdair MacIntyre. The notion of unity as related to narrative will be explored in the future. See Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue.
3. See Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition.
4. I am well aware that invoking a common nature is controversial in some circles, especially by those privy to debates over species within the philosophy of biology. Let me clarify that nothing I say here is incompatible with Darwin’s theory of evolution.
5. See Hannah Arendt, The Human Condition.
6. By “exist forever” I am not referring to an immortality of the soul, if that is understood as the soul existing independently of the body for all eternity. What I refer to, rather, is that each individual life exhibits a kind of immortality in the same way that actions cannot be undone. For a person to have lived and died is something which cannot be historically altered, even if the universe were to collapse and all that exists suffer complete annhillation–it would remain the case that unique people lived and died upon the face of the Earth. The enacted narrative of human life is part of history.
7. See Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue.
8. Implicitly if not explicitly. Note that intentions, passions, and desires are often elicited by objects or persons external to us.
9. Accountability follows intelligibility. It is the primacy of intelligibility as related to action, which enables us to be put to the question.
10. See Alasdair MacIntyre, After Virtue.
11. Notice that upon conception the narrative of a given life is not “written” by the subject of that life. Until we are old enough to act in the world independently, the narrative arc of our life will exist entirely within the confines of our parent’s or guardian’s Narrative sphere.
12. It is important to note that the range of influence of a given Narrative sphere, i.e., a given life, does not equate to the goodness of that life. Size and scope are one thing, goodness another.
13. Consider the web of relations we may be born into, such as the social roles we may inhabit: I am someone’s son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, and so on.
14. The common saying “everything I have done has brought me here”, is, at first glance, completely obvious and banal. However, it is also true, in that a given life builds a kind of directedness as time passes.
15. Many words translated as happiness, such as the Greek eudaimonia, or Latin beatitudo, require an explanation. In contemporary English, happiness is understood as subjective, episodic, fleeting; a temporary feeling or emotion. Its Greek and Latin counterparts, however, retain no such meaning. They are more concerned with a state of life, and not a state of mind.