The Painful Consequence of Narrative in the Modern Middle East
Though the power of narrative to drive meaningful action is plain, so is the power of narrative to drive immoral action.
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This is a guest essay written by Daniel Clarke-Serret, author of “Exodus: The Quest for Freedom.”
We are lost.
Science has never taught us so much about the natural world. Technology is developing at an extraordinary rate. Medicine is extending our lives and curing hitherto incurable illnesses.
And yet, we are lost, stumbling hopelessly around in search for principles to guide the way forward.
Are we to fall prey to relativism, scientism, or nihilism? Are we to live by a narrative that will lead us to the gates of hell? Will we decide collectively as a society or as Soloveichik’s lonely man of faith? And even if there is a true path — and it stands before us in plain view — how will we even be able to identify it?
These are far from dry academic discussions. For, in answering the questions set before us, we are forced to consider what values — if any — still guide us in a liberal democratic age of the rational individual. And, in so doing, we protect our societies from strong-man tyranny on one hand and pure despair on the other.
The stakes could not be higher.
When Narrative Clashes With Morality
Narrative is a powerful tool to guide us in decision-making.
You should see yourself as an author, a wordsmith with the responsibility to scribe the next chapter. A baton-holder in a story begun by your ancient ancestors and stretching onwards beyond the horizon.
Should you choose to absent yourself — or opt for irresponsibility by omission — you betray the sacred gift thrust into your trust by generations past. You act with nihilism and refute the undeniable necessity for meaning that forms part of our psychological makeup.
By engaging with the narrative of your nation(s) or your religion, or all three, you give meaning to your being and make purposeful and embodied the life of your collective (i.e. nation, religion). Even more, the category of the story instructs — even commands — the listener on which road to follow on the uncertain path of life.
Linear time is thus collapsed and you live not as a self, but as a collection of all the selves that came before you. You are the personification of your society. And at once you become the shoulder of the collective giant upon which your offspring will stand to advance towards the transcendent.
But beware the danger standing unsubtly before us. Though the power of narrative to drive meaningful action is plain, so is the power of narrative to drive immoral action. Morality — or correct action — is not coextensive with national (or religious) belonging. The collective may lift us up with the will to be, but collective hate acts perversely and leads us directly to hell; by connecting with the mythical past of our collective, we may make ourselves eyeless and deny the will to be of the other.
The 20th Century is a guidebook par excellence to dangers of collective savagery. The Nazis saw themselves as the inheritors of a historical master race and, in its name, they acted decisively and with twisted meaning to fulfill a clear goal. Yet that goal — which gave purpose to the lives of the lost — was antithetical to morality and the deliverer of the greatest of evils.
In “The Last Days of Socrates,” Plato noted that just because the gods command does not make the action so commanded moral. Insofar as their will is revealed, the gods are merely approving of an action which stands alone as moral. In the words Socrates posed to Euthyphro: “Is (an action) pious because it is loved by the gods, or loved by the gods because it is pious?”
In the terms of the debate now before us, just because the logic of your narrative — the “god” which commands you — demands you gas the Jewish People at Auschwitz does not mean that, by so doing, you act according to the dictates of morality. Quite clearly you do the precise opposite.
The Painful Consequence of Narrative in the Modern Middle East
This debate is also rearing itself in the modern arena of geopolitics. Although the Western telling assumes that the Israeli-Palestinian conflict amounts to a petty, intractable land dispute, it would more accurately be categorized as a battle of narratives.
The logic of the Palestinian position is that they are the ying to the Israeli yang. If the State of Israel as a Jewish country is illegitimate, they argue, then justice dictates that its removal is the only acceptable endpoint. And to this end, all manner of evils is justified — from raping women, kidnapping the elderly, and slaughtering the pregnant.
The Zionist entity must be delegitimized in international forums and rained down with rockets until it submits to the narrative’s demands for justice; or at least justice as defined by the logic of one-dimensional storytelling.
Leaving to one side the historical inaccuracy of the Palestinian position, the point to be underlined here is that they act — and justify their actions — according to the chaptered progression of a narrative that underlines their identity. To deviate one iota from their national story would be to betray their people and — from a specifically psychological perspective — to act without meaning. Palestinian nihilism personified.
And thus the tool for individual human meaning and collective national coherence has become a snare for progress towards regional peace. The dictates of morality and the exigences of narrative therefore rub up against one another oxymoronically — and are the fusion blast of tragedy.
Alan Mairson, former editor of “National Geographic” magazine, outlined a similar problem quite brilliantly in his recent essay: “We have our story and we’re sticking to it.” Here he broke down the logical dissonance between the narrative of Islam and establishment of the State of Israel. In his words:
“Why would 900,000 Jews — in Iraq, Yemen, Syria, Egypt, and elsewhere — be in ‘grave danger’ just two days after Israel declared its independence in 1948 Because this was the moment when the Islamic world woke up and realized something essential: If the return of the Jews to their ancestral homeland is left unchallenged, then we’re effectively admitting that the Story we Muslims are telling — about ourselves and about human history — is fatally flawed. A lie.
“Zionism means Islamic history is running in reverse. We have withdrawn from land we once controlled, which is not how our Story is supposed to go. We should be expanding, not contracting. A sovereign Jewish state on land that was once part of the Islamic caliphate is a defeat. A major narrative f*ck-up.”
“Which leaves us two options: revise our Story to make room for the state of Israel (and for, say, Spanish and Portuguese control of the Iberian peninsula); or stick to our existing Story and eliminate both Israel and, perhaps, the people who tell the Story that brought the ‘Zionist entity’ back to life.”
“Islamist anti-Zionism isn’t rooted in anti-colonialism, Palestinian nationalism, opposition to ‘apartheid,’ or some formless, inexplicable, or baseless hatred. It’s rooted in a 1,300-year-old Islamic narrative that can’t survive intact if Israel does.”
“That’s why Zionism is an existential threat to the Muslim world — not physically, but narratively. The Story that gives meaning to more than a billion Muslims is deeply undermined as long as a sovereign Jewish state continues to exist on land that once was part of the Islamic caliphate.”
Investigating Narrative Structures: From Hollywood to the Torah
So, if narrative is essential for meaning, crucial for motivated action, yet potentially immoral, divisive, and conflict-inciting in its effects, what is the way forward? Are we to abandon narrative and be left in nihilistic hopelessness? Or are we to act strictly in accordance with the dictates of our national/religious story and cause untold ill effects to the outgroup in our so acting?
To answer this question adequately, we are called upon to explore the structure of storytelling; of which there are several variants. There is the Hollywood feel-good movie where good ultimately triumphs over evil. There is the horror flick where, although the demonic adversary appears to have been slayed by the protagonist, the face of evil returns to reassert itself in the final act. (Evil, though occasionally tamed, never dies.)
This reminds us of a third, more ancient, narrative form: the tragedy. Fate is circular and undefeatable. A fatal flaw in the protagonist's personality will predictably cause his ultimate doom.
And then there is Christian comedy, most memorably showcased in William Shakespeare’s “Measure for Measure.” There is evil in us all, but the Church will intercede on our behalf and God will ultimately be merciful. The sins of the past will be forgiven and forgotten in a piss up at a wedding party.
Yet, to these well-worn formulas, there is the Jewish narrative form, most notably showcased in the story of Moses: Exodus through Deuteronomy. These stories are remarkable in the following respect: They do not have an ending.
Moses led the Children of Israel from Egyptian bondage and, after receiving the law and wandering with his people throughout 40 long years in a landscape of nothingness, he died within reach of the Promised Land. “Lord of the Rings” without the happy ending. Or without any ending at all. Although the personal journey for Moses ended tragically, in the sense that he fell short of his anticipated goal, the story of his people goes on. And it is still continuing to this day.
Indeed, the narrative is demonstrative of the famous dictum of Rabbi Tarfon, who lived in the period between the destruction of the Second Temple and the fall of Betar. He wrote: “It is not up to you to finish the task, but you are not free to avoid it.”
The individual, if seeking personal glory, will always fall short. But the individual, if seeking a letter in the national scroll, will achieve immortality. And so Moses upon Nebo stood with the power of destiny in his eyes, happy that his unfulfilled individual desire for narrative completeness was subsumed within a greater collective narrative.
But — and here is the key point — just as Moses’ individual story never neatly ended, we too must act in full awareness that the national story has no end point. We may work towards a laudable goal of international peace, individual liberty, and the public prayer of all nations in Jerusalem, but that story may never end. Unlike Hollywood happiness or the hopeless horror show, our narrative structure is eternally incomplete.
Greek Science and the Eternal Story
The Ancient Greeks too had the sense of the eternal story; they placed this narrative style in the realm of sciences. While their most famous theatrical style was tragedy, foreshadowing the doom-laden Shakespeare plays of “Macbeth” and “Hamlet,” the science of Aristotle placed the emphasis on future ideals.To every form of being in the universe there was an ideal:
The ideal form of living
The ideal citizen
The ideal politician and political system
The ideal form of every substance and way of being
And so it was that the ancient Athenian placed their emphasis on virtue: how to achieve the reasoned ideal. In the sciences, Aristotle saw causes as more than a question of mere cause and effect.
To that was added telos (purpose). The purpose of a knife is to cut. The purpose of the plant is to bend towards the sun for sunlight and reproduce. And within this line of thinking, the human person has a purpose: as an individual and collectively and as a father/mother/son/daughter and within their particular profession.
And so a line of reasoning emerged that each person in their particular setting needed to strive for an ideal; an ideal in line with a thought-through purpose. As with the Jewish endless narrative structure, the thinking “scientific” Greek sought a perfect end that, although beyond reach and unattainable, they were “commanded” to strive for.
Every action in this life was laden with meaning — the quest for virtue-driven action and the journey towards truth — and nihilism was thus expelled. It was not necessary that all persons had the same precise outcomes; after all, each was in a different personal situation and profession. But the goal of virtue was the same and it informed action on a society-wide basis.
Twentieth-century philosopher Leo Strauss was instrumental in noting the difference between science in the modern era and “science” as understood in ancient times. The utility of modern science is beyond question. The health-comfort dividend achieved in the wake of scientific discovery is unparalleled. And our technological advancement is plain to see.
But it would be arrogant to see matters in terms of linear progress; although the post-Enlightenment moderns made gains in one domain of life — technological progress — they sacrificed meaning in its wake.
As Nietzsche rightly prophesied, the post-Darwinian reality forced those once united by one perspective of religious truth into atomized confusion. Each had to choose their own path. And so it was that the nation-tate was conceived as a group of rational individuals, each of whom on their own assented to join their society in return for benefits received in kind. The ideal was replaced with the real.
What checks and balances did we need? What was required to deliver for the individual? In short, what worked?
Virtue and striving for the ideal was replaced with cultural relativism, or focusing on competence, economic growth, technical research, or scientism. (“What does the science say?” as we heard ad nauseam in Covid times.) Even worse, it oft led to those who could tyrannically imposing their will on others through the acquisition of power.
As Leo Strauss noted, whereas ancient Greek “science” was all about values and virtue (but not dogma), modern science is, by design, value neutral. It can tell us what, but not why. And so, in its search for the natural truth, it leaves us entirely lost about the truth of action.
The Nietzschean answer (heroically find your own path) is insufficient and lacking. The Greeks and Jews — always seeking a noble end goal that might never come but finding virtue by dint of the journey — were in this way more demonstrative of the path to progress than that which we see in more confusing, more scientific, modern times. Modern science is clearly a wonder, but so is ancient virtue. We can learn from both.
Reconciling Narrative: Meaning and Morality
If the logic of narrative leads us to evil, then it unacceptably sacrifices morality for meaning. If the logic of morality leads us to abandon narrative, then it leads us to nihilism, confusion, and mental anguish. If modern scientism causes us to abandon the why, then we are abandoned.
This being so, we are commanded not to subscribe to any old narrative, even if it has been handed down to us by our parents or some system of indoctrination. Instead, we must join hands with a narrative that seeks but does not find. A journey that continues in the wilderness, without necessarily arriving in the Promised Land.
We must strive for an ideal; we must seek better days; we must do what we can to achieve a better world; but we must never be so arrogant as to say that we got there. We must live the immortal words of Rabbi Tarfon in our own personal story.
In the thoughts of Leo Strauss, when one claims to have found a definitive solution to a problem without still being aware of the enormity of the question, one ceases to be a philosopher. Likewise, the narrative that gives us meaning through seeking after perfection (while never fulling grasping it) is worthy, moral, and gives us healthy meaning.
And in uniting the telos-driven science of the Greeks, the never-ending narrative of the Hebrews, the technical progress of the moderns, and the freedom to choose virtue over dogma in the modern liberal, democratic era, it sets the conditions for future, peaceful times on this Earth.
We may never arrive there entirely. But we are obliged to continue striving. And that is the moral meaning that should invigorate our collective endeavors.
Godspeed.
Well Daniel, you have certainly packed a lot of ‘meat’ into that narrative ‘container’! I have found myself engaging with, and wanting to comment on, so many discreet portions that I; 1) hardly know where to begin (perhaps, the ‘beginning’?) or, 2) how to address all of the most significant points without the response being overly long to the point of seeming pedantic. As the day is still young here in NW Florida, I’ll hope to circle back to this and offer at least some observations to certain elements. But, regardless of whether I do or not, I wanted to acknowledge and thank you for crafting such an interesting, thought-provoking, piece of writing. Kol Hakavod!
May the G-d of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, bless, guide, and keep you - together with all Israel - in this dark and evil day. Love, Mike
I agree with Mike below. This one was a head-full.