lawyers and literature

Exercise 2-2: Thinking About Our Lives as Stories

Lawyers, before they are lawyers, have taken on some story or stories, important ones from their legal education yes, but perhaps more significant ones from the families that introduced us to the world, from the towns/villages/communities where we first lived and grew-up, and from the stories blasted at us in popular culture--television, films, novels.

Long before one begins the study of law, there is some knowledge of "law and order," judges, trials, and lawyers, we learn from parents, watching television, conversations with friends. It is from these various sources of knowledge and stories, before we are lawyers (and while we are becoming lawyers), that we enter a profession with already formed notions of law and what it means to be a lawyer.

Becoming a lawyer involves coming to grips with a set of stories (imagined and lived) and seeing how these stories are going to hold up out in the world (with its stories).

What stories brought you to law school? What hopes and dreams do you find in this story?

How did you learn these stories? Where do we get our stories? James Carse notes that "stories have a way of emerging out of nowhere. Rather than making them up, we seem, instead, to find them; it may even be more accurate to say they find us." [James Carse, "Exploring Your Personal Myth," in Charles Simpkinson & Anne Simpkinson (eds.), Sacred Stories: A Celebration of the Power of Stories to Transform and Heal 223-232, at 224 (1993)]. In what sense is the story that brought you to law school, a story "emerging out of nowhere"? Or is the story that brought you to law school a story with a long, involved, history? Is it even a story you know how to tell? Is it a story, upon being told, would tell us something important about you?

Do you see yourself as a creator and teller of stories?

What kind of person are you in the story you tell about your own life?

Is there a connection between the stories we know, tell, and hear and the meaning we attribute to our lives? Carse argues that "[w]hen we come to know the stories of our lives, we come to know the meaning of our lives as well; stories shape the way we see ourselves." [224]. Do you agree that the meaning you give your life is found in the story of your life? Can you think of any way to get at the various meanings expressed in and through your life without telling a story? How is the law school/legal education/becoming a lawyer story a way to give meaning to life? [See James R. Elkins, The Quest for Meaning: Narrative Accounts of Legal Education, 38 J. Legal Educ. 577 (1988); James R. Elkins, Rites de Passage: Law Students "Telling Their Lives," 35 J. Legal Educ. 27 (1985)]

Do you see your law school story as a quest? Is your story to be told in the form of a heroic journey story? If you do not see heroic quest in your own life in legal education, what kind of myth are you living? If you do not see any "myth" in your life, what does that tell you? Is it possible that your life is driven or dominated by a myth of which you are unaware? If you do not see your life as mythic, or heroic, how do you see yourself? "We are," says Allan Hutchinson, "never not in a story." Can the same claim be made for myth? Do you imagine your life being lived beyond or outside myth?

| Personal Myth | Understanding the Stories/Myths We Live By |

| Autobiographical Memory and Vocations of Learning |

| Childhood as Personal Myth in Autobiography |

Becoming a lawyer involves coming to grips with a set of stories (imagined and lived) and seeing how these stories are going to hold up out in the world (with its stories). But the proposition raises a host of questions:

When taking up the narratives of professional life, where do we begin? Which stories? Whose stories? What kind of stories? Can any single story (or definition, description, explanation, or theory) provide an appropriate beginning for a study of professional life?

What "basic" stories do we carry around with us that shape the stories we live as lawyers?

Where (and when) do we begin to educate ourselves in the narratives we inherit and invent for ourselves as lawyers?

What happens when we take up the study of law, adopt the culture of legal practice, and the mythic stories of lawyers, without conscious awareness of what we are doing?

How are the stories we carry with us into law school transformed by the "new" stories we discover in law school?

"When we tell our stories, we want to create a vivid and continuous dream in the listener's heart and mind. As John Gardner says, this dream is the aim of all fiction, all stories. As an analyst, therefore, I look for the language, details, memories, events, and metaphors that make the analysand's story precise and vivid. I watch for the distractions, defenses, and narrative flaws that break the continuity of the dream. We all . . . have a unique, compelling, and coherent story to tell. When psychotherapy works, the patient can tell her or his story with narrative competence and create a powerful, vivid, and continuous dream in the analyst's mind." [Excerpted from The Narrative Impulse: Telling Stories, "The Educated Heart," Donald Williams, a work-in-progress]

Williams contends that "we create our lives and the world with the stories we hear and tell. In other words, we maintain our world primarily in conversation--inner dialogues, face to face conversations, and a vast series of conversations we carry on through books, newspapers, films, magazines, television interviews, electronic mail, Compuserve forums, and paintings worth a thousand words."

Williams goes on to point out that, "For most of us, the stories we depend upon work like morality plays (Seek this above all; avoid that at your peril. . .), like manuals for adulthood (Here's how to. . .), or like private prayers to soothe and protect us (Now I lay me down to sleep. . .). Well-ordered fictions can be reliable maps and compasses (You are here, there's a road there. . .) and sometimes cosmologies (In the beginning. . .). We could not make death or birth, love or tragedy, human experiences without stories. We would not recognize, experience, or understand the meaning of loyalty, friendship, sacrifice, wonder, grief, or desire without good stories. We will always need new stories and the retelling of old stories."

We might take Williams a step further: In what sense is a story, your own story, or any story therapeutic? To respond to this question you need to have some sense as to what it would mean for a story to be therapeutic. The world therapeutic is derived from a Greek root meaning to attend, to treat. Today, the word is used to mean having or exhibiting healing powers. Therapeutic refers then to the treatment of disease or disorder by remedial agents or methods. In what sense, then, can we speak of particular lawyer stories as therapeutic?

Note: "There are many stories being imagined and enacted, but we can only listen to them and comprehend them within the vernacular contexts of other stories. Our conversations about these narratives are themselves located and scripted in deeper stories that determine their moral force. . . ." [Allan C. Hutchinson, And Law (or Further Adventures of the Jondo), 36 Buff. L. Rev. 285, 286 (1987)]
Narrative & Storytelling (Professor Elkins notes and selected web resources)

 

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