Storytelling, doctrine, and spiritual formation

Alasdair MacIntyre argues that whatever counts as virtue in our lives, whatever counts as true, as noble, as worthwhile, as reliable and as certain-these virtues are defined and preserved in our storytelling or they are lost. There is no "scientific" proof of the objective value of fidelity or integrity or kindness. There are no double-blind controlled studies statistically proving the value of courtesy or forgiveness or courage. There are no rigorous philosophic demonstrations, no toughminded proofs. There are only stories, stories that testify to the dignity and the hope and the humanity of virtuous lives.

It is in telling such stories about our own lives that we discover what our lives mean, what our values are, what differences our virtues make, and how we are connected to the past and to the community in vital ways. And it is in sharing our stories that we grow in the virtues that provide whatever we know of honor and serenity and hope, because the virtues are sustained and transmitted and taught through storytelling and not by means of abstract, systematic argument. The world becomes a kinder place when you tell three other people about someone's kindness to you. The world becomes a more honorable place when you tell them about honest decisions you made or saw someone make. The world becomes a more courageous and cheerful place when you recount your troubles and how you nonetheless survived with your sense of humor intact.

In short, stories change the world. The world changes in all of these ways because your story encourages me to act or to feel in certain ways by immersing me-just for a while-in a created world in which the power and the importance and the meaning of virtue are much clearer than they ever can be in "real life." Sandra Schneiders argues that when we hear a good story we are changed because we have experienced something that ordinary life does not commonly provide. We have come face to face with new possibilities, with new grounds for hope, with new support for the struggle of our own lives. When we leave the world of a story we walk out changed, she says, because now we will see our own lives in a new light. Our sense of life's possibilities can be permanently changed or enlarged.

If every night over dinner you tell your kids some story-even a very small and simple story-admiring some small bit of honesty or kindness you have seen that day, or maybe rejoicing in the chance you had to be kind or generous or straightforward, then your kids will grow up to be kinder, more honest, more generous, and more cheerful. If every night you complain about the evidence you have seen that people are just out for themselves and nobody can be trusted, your kids will grow up to be suspicious and distant. The stories we tell create the world. And that dynamic informs our lives as believers no less profoundly. Church community, as a reservoir of stories and storytelling, can create a world in which God is stunningly real and present, in which grace is reliably given, in which growth is possible and hope has meaning.