A challenge for our generation

In his essay The Storyteller, Walter Benjamin writes that the decline of the storytelling tradition can be attributed (in part) to alterations in social and economic structures. Essentially obsolete occupations such as "the resident tiller of the soil, and . . . the trading seaman" reduce our experiences to what Benjamin calls "strategic experience": "tactical warfare, economic experience by inflation, bodily experience by mechanical warfare, moral experience by those in power." Today, our experiences, though highly valued, are also highly controlled. We often experience within bubbles of safety.

Last weekend I visited friends who, for the past year, have been serving as missionaries among the Didinga people of Sudan. Hearing their stories of logistical issues, language barriers, social structure confusions, and lack of government intervention made me wonder how they function. They experience a society in which no code - moral or otherwise - exists to keep things in check. No code protects them - or anyone else, for that matter - from dangers of . . . well, living. I was reminded how intrinsically I depend upon an assumed 'code' to keep my experiences in check, safe. Even while studying abroad in Barcelona, Spain, I was protected by moral codes, international codes, relational codes, language codes, institutional codes. My experience there, though seemingly 'liberated,' was actually highly controlled. My friends' experiences in southern Sudan? Not so much.

Their stories are better, though. (Partly because they're characterized by a raw suspense that I've never encountered.)

Benjamin writes that the storytelling of such "peasants and seamen" thrived because their stories "combined the lore of faraway places, such as a much-traveled man brings home, with the lore of the past, as it best reveals itself to natives of a place."

I wonder, even if we don't experience the same caliber of storytelling today, are we developing new forms?

In his New York Times article entitled "The Odyssey Years," David Brooks writes that a new life phase is making its way into normalcy. He calls it "the odyssey" phase, and he identifies this stage of life in this way: "During this decade, 20-somethings go to school and take breaks from school. They live with friends and they live at home. They fall in and out of love. They try one career and then try another. . . . The parents don’t even detect a clear sense of direction in their children’s lives. They look at them and see the things that are being delayed. They see that people in this age bracket are delaying marriage. They’re delaying having children. They’re delaying permanent employment." Brooks is certainly onto something. As I approach graduation, more of my friends are committing to "gap years" - year or more commitments to teaching, traveling and exploring other countries. Even those who aren't devoting their gap years to international volunteer work are intending to lay low for a period, trying new jobs, moving to new locations. Few of my 20-something friends have intentions of settling down in any aspect of life. Most see their next career or educational move as transitive.

Considering this undeniable development of the odyssey phase, I wonder if, once my generation ages to 'settled' - to Benjamin's resident tiller equivalent - we'll revive the storytelling tradition. After all, if we're all embarking on our odysseys for the next decade or so, we're sure to accumulate unregulated, unbridled experiences. And those are bound to make great stories.