Finding Stories in Aphorisms [Duty]
Aphorisms are especially well-suited to generating story ideas, because they often contain recommended approaches or courses of action that serve as kernels for story themes. Here, we look at an aphorism that addresses the idea of duty.
To Whom Much Is Given
The following aphorism is attributed to the 19th-century Swiss philosopher and poet Henri-Frédéric Amiel.
"Our duty is to be useful, not according to our desires but according to our powers."
This simple saying contains a wealth of ideas that are defined by its four main operative words: "duty," "useful," "desires," and "powers." Implicit in the aphorism is the idea that we human beings are obligated to employ whatever powers we possess—whether we earned them or they were given to us—in the service of something outside ourselves to which we are beholden. And because the idea of "usefulness" implies need, which in turn implies the existence of a living entity (to possess the need), it is reasonable to assume that the "outside" referenced here consists of some community of our fellow human beings.
According to the aphorism, we are obligated to do what we can for the sake of our community.
The community might be small, like a family or group of friends, or as large as the entire human race. But no matter its size, according to the aphorism, we are obligated to do what we can for its sake whether we feel compelled to do so or not. In this sense, the aphorism can be seen as a variation on the Bible verse, Luke 12:48, "For unto whomsoever much is given, of him much shall be required;..."
Deriving Issues from the Aphorism
It is an easy matter, then, to derive from this aphorism issues having to do with obligations, such as:
- Fulfilling one's obligations in the face of temptation to avoid them
- Avoiding one's obligations for the sake of self-interest
The first issue, for example, might spawn a story involving a keep character who struggles against a seemingly innocent temptation to break with a longstanding tradition of fulfilling an ongoing obligation—for example, a priest who finds himself drawn to pursue a relationship that might create scandal and cripple his ability to serve his parish. A story derived from the second issue might involve a gain character whose attempt to satisfy a lifelong lust for power and wealth might be derailed by something that pricks his conscience and alerts him to his social responsibilities.
And yes, it is true that neither of these issues or the stories spawned from them are directly derived from the aphorism—but that's not the point of the exercise. The point is, rather, to glean issues from the aphorism and use them as the starting points for stories.
We can also derive issues from the "powers" aspect of the aphorism—for example:
- Advocating the use of personal powers to help humankind
- Developing powers that are useful for helping others
In this case, the first issue might lead to a story wherein a gain character attempts to evangelize her peers regarding the importance of "doing good" for the sake of the local community—and encounters opposition either from those whose interests might be harmed from the "good" (such as criminals whose incomes might suffer) or from within herself when an offer appears that tempts her away from the position she advocates.
And the second issue here might spawn the story of a gain character who attempts to develop powers that are useful to others, for example by becoming a doctor to help those in under-served neighborhoods, and then faces the temptation to turn his back on his initial goal in the face of the chance to acquire wealth with his medical degree.As always, any of these issues (as well as any others derived from this or any other aphorism) can be developed into a story using the procedures outlined in Part Three of Discovering the Soul of Your Story.
For More Information
For details regarding the concepts and terms used in this article, refer to the Discovering the Soul of Your Story overview video and the glossary.
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Excellent essay! One which I can relate to on a very personal level:
When I was at my lowest point two and a half years ago after the loss of my “kid” sister (after having previously lost my other sister and father) , I called a casual — but I knew highly religious — friend who I knew would tell me all the reasons I had go on.
Even though I’ve never been particularly religious that (as I had hoped) helped get me through the first day, and then that night I remembered what my younger sister had once told me she would want me to do if something ever happened to her: spread her ashes at a certain point in the mountains of the Angeles National Forest.
Since that is about two thousand miles from here, and I had little money, it took a while to make that happen. But I did, thanks to some other friends, who were much more sympathetic than my remaining relatives. (Of course, if we had had better relatives she probably wouldn’t be dead in the first place, so I guess that is fitting.)
Going out there and spreading her ashes at her special point was cathartic. In fact I stayed out there a couple extra days, finding any excuse I could to avoid coming back. But soon the money was gone and I had to come back and figure out (now that the deed that had giving me a reason to stay alive alive was done) a more permanent reason to go on.
And then it hit me: all that had been invested in me by others (and myself) over the years was just starting to pay off before these tragedies happened, and thus didn’t I have a duty to continue on and try to give back for all I had received?
I thus immersed myself with greater resolve in writing, and have made some good progress. I am currently happily at work on — almost finished in fact — with a play that I think is the best thing I’ve ever written. And as long as I remain busy writing I am fairly content and on solid ground. But when the more mundane aspects of life keep me away from writing, the temptation to join those I miss so much on the other side becomes very strong.
So I quickly put an end to whatever I’m doing and get back to my latest play or essay… and those feelings soon subside.
Interesting take, Neal. It sounds like you have a great story in your quest to fulfill your duty to your sister regarding her ashes. It may take some years of distance to tell it, but it’s a journey worth relating and has a lot of great elements, including a definable goal and conditions of value that are easy to sympathize with and relate to.
Writing literally from one’s own life tragedies can be compelling, but it’s not an imperative unless you believe it is. Professional actors often act directly from the truth of their own lives, but channel that spirit through the work at hand, which it sounds like you are doing now, Neal. It’s only the emotion, insights and confusions, physicality, and so forth of your truth that’s revealed, not personal details. Exercising unspeakably painful sense memory fully and honestly in this way can be very freeing, addressing the need to do so without actually sharing circumstances you’re not ready to share, even circumstances and private matters that may never be anyone else’s business but your own. It also gives you permission to express yourself immediately, or at least soon, as it does not require the likely requisite time for “distance” to reveal the facts of the matter—and of course there’s no requirement to do so, ever.
It’s also true, Roger, that when we come up with a theme statement for our writing we’re essential creating an aphorism out of our play, no?
Dear Roger and Bernard,
Thank you both very much for your comments. Interestingly, about two weeks ago I wrote a letter (yes, an old fashioned letter!) to somebody in which I said (after talking about the family tragedies):
“I imagine there may come a time when I will want to (and can figure out an original, meaningful way to) write about these things, but for now it is still too soon. So I’ve been back to writing about my other areas of vital interest. Although I have noticed that what I’ve been through does sometimes end up unexpectedly informing a scene, character, or other aspect of the play.”
And, as I’ve mentioned to one or two others at or just after the ceremony, I intend someday for the off-the-cuff “mountain monologue” I gave to the friends of hers (mostly local, and therefore recent and casual) that were at the ash-spreading (only one of whom I knew, but I will always be grateful to her for contacting the others) to be the opening of a non-fiction biography/auto-biography/memoir book.
Basically, our family history as revealed by her and my lives, and how we only survived it (well, me more than her as it [unfortunately] turned out) because we, despite our age difference, had so much in common with each other, as well as a tight bond due in part to the age difference (almost a father/daughter type thing).
THEN, once I’ve written the book (and published it, even if self-published), I would feel more comfortable doing dramatic stories based on parts of it. (Who could resist a scene, from my high school days, when the police were out front demanding that my dad let my mom back in, and my dad refused!?) But I want the real, actual, unembelished story to be out there first.
(By the way, my dad let her back in the next day after she spent the night at a friend’s and apologized for calling the police. And don’t assume my dad is the villian here… he died back in 1996, and in recent years I’ve come to realize that my mom was just as responsible for how bad things were back then, if not more. In fact, that arc of understanding will probably be one of the main themes of the book.)
But I think it will be at least a couple more years before I’m ready to seriously work on it. Though I’ve already written down the gist of the monologue I did off the top of my head at the funeral, and periodcallly jot down other notes. (Sometimes, as now, in the guise of a letter or comment.)
Spoiler alert: The monologue is about my earliest significant memory, the night before and the day after (or so) when I first saw her from outside as someone (my mom?) held her up to the hospital window. It starts off comedic, and ends (at least to me) very touching.
And (speaking of themes), just as the day she died was the worst day of my life, in retrospect I realized that day she was born was the best.