Professional Documents
Culture Documents
and
Story
Creating Self in Narrative
Edited by
Dan P. McAdams, Ruthellen Josselson, and Amia Lieblich
Published by
American Psychological Association
750 First Street, NE
Washington, DC 20002
www.apa.org
The opinions and statements published are the responsibility of the authors, and such
opinions and statements do not necessarily represent the policies of the American
Psychological Association.
BF697.13492 2006
155.2'5— dc22 2005032036
Contributors vii
Acknowledgments ix
Introduction 3
Dan P. Me Adams, Ruthellen Josselson, and Amia Lieblich
vi CONTENTS
CONTRIBUTORS
VII
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Identity
w
Story
INTRODUCTION
DAN P. McADAMS, RUTHELLEN JOSSELSON, AND AMIA LIEBLICH
We are all storytellers, and we are the stories we tell. Had William
James (1892/1963) been a narrative psychologist when he wrote his much-
quoted chapter on the self more than 100 years ago, he might have conceptu-
alized his famous distinction between the "I" and the "me" as that between
the self-as-teller and the self-as-the-tale told. James imagined the I as a
stream ol consciousness, but what is consciousness if not an inner narration
of experience? The neuroscientist Antonio Damasio wrote, "Consciousness
begins when brains acquire the power, the simple power I must add, of
telling a story" (1999, p. 30). The 1 emerges, many developmental psycnolo-
gists suggest, in the second year of life as a narrating autobiographical :;elf—
a nascent sense that one is a narrator of one's own experience (Howe 6k
Courage, 1997; Tomasello, 2000). The I tells a story of the self, and that
story becomes part of the Me.
The stories we tell about our personal experiences grow in complexity
and detail as we move through childhood and into the adolescent: and
young-adult years (Fivush & Haden, 2003). It is not until adolescence, some
researchers and theorists have argued, that we are able and motivated to
conceive of our lives as full-fledged, integrative narratives of the self (Haber-
mas & Bluck, 2000; McAdams, 1985). The timing corresponds neatly with
the emergence of what Erik Erikson (1963) described as the period of identity
development in the human life course. According to Erikson, adolescents
and young adults in modern societies are challenged to formulate meaningful
answers to the twin identity questions: Who am I? How do I fit into the
adult world? Beginning in adolescence, we address these identity questions
in many different ways: through exploration and commitment, for example,
in behavior, attitudes, feelings, and goals (Marcia, 1980). A key part of the
process is the construction of a self-defining life story (Cohler, 1982; Giddens,
1991; Maclntyre, 1984; McAdams, 1985; Polkinghorne, 1988; Singer, 2004;
Singer & Salovey, 1993). We use the term narrative identity to refer to the
stories people construct and tell about themselves to define who they are
for themselves and for others. Beginning in adolescence and young adult-
hood, our narrative identities are the stories we live by.
Identity and Story: Creating Self in Narrative is the fourth book in
our edited series, The Narrative Study of Lives, published by the American
Psychological Association. The series showcases the best and most innova-
tive research and scholarship using narrative methods and theories in the
empirical study of human lives. For the purposes of the book series, we
conceive of "narrative" in a broad sense, encompassing approaches and
traditions that focus on personal experience as expressed or communicated
in language. Included in our purview, then, are case studies, life histories,
autobiography, psychobiography, ethnography, discourse analysis, and other
related approaches and traditions that tend to emphasize qualitative over
quantitative analysis, hermeneutics over positivistic frames, idiographic over
nomothetic points of view, and inductive over hypothetico-deductive strate-
gies of inquiry. Narrative inquiry rests on the assumption of the storied
nature of human experience (Sarbin, 1986), a standpoint that has attracted
burgeoning interest over the past 15 years. The first three volumes in the
series focused, respectively, on narrative studies of life transitions (McAdams,
Josselson, & Lieblich, 2001); the teaching and learning of narrative research
(Josselson, Lieblich, & McAdams, 2003); and the relationship between
narrative and psychotherapy (Lieblich, McAdams, & Josselson, 2004).
For this fourth volume, we have gathered together an interdisciplinary
and international group of creative researchers and theorists whose work
addresses some of the most important and difficult issues in the study of
narrative identity. We have organized the 11 chapters in this volume in
terms of three implicit dilemmas or debates that run through much of the
literature on narrative identity. The first dilemma concerns the extent to
which narrative identities espouse unity or multiplicity in the self. The second
involves the relative contribution to narrative identity of individual self
agency on the one hand versus the impact of society and social context on
the other. The third pits the extent to which narrative identities display
stability and continuity of the self versus the extent to which they show
personal growth and development.
INTRODUCTION
and purpose, the authors of chapters 3 and 4 suggest that integration can
still be discerned in the midst of multiplicity. In chapter 3, Gary S. Gregg
shows how oppositionality in life narratives can express a certain kind of
coherence of selfhood when narrative identity is viewed in structural and
dialectical terms. Gregg undertakes a line-by-line analysis of a fascinating
interview transcript wherein a middle-aged man describes his work as an
engineer and businessperson. Gregg shows that multiple images of the self
are related to each other in terms of their oppositionality, like thesis and
antithesis in a dialectic. The dialectical nature of narrative identity is the
central theme for Dan P. McAdams and Regina L. Logan in chapter 4.
McAdams and Logan examine the stories of creative work and personal life
told by accomplished academics. Even though these stories spell out stark
oppositions in the lives of their subjects, McAdams and Logan maintain
that a certain kind of unity of selfhood can still be discerned. According
to the authors of chapters 3 and 4, then, narrative identity can sometimes
be seen as expressing multiplicity in unity, and unity in multiplicity.
INTRODUCTION1
(relatedly) those same stories should express some themes of stability and
continuity in a given life. Life stories may sometimes contain plots that
account for how a person has indeed "remained the same" over time (Haber-
mas & Bluck, 2000). Nonetheless, life stories also describe change, develop-
ment, and growth, and we would expect that life stories themselves should
change and develop over time.
The last four chapters in the volume take up issues related to stability
and growth in narrative identity. In chapter 8, Jennifer L. Pals examines
how midlife narrators express both continuity and change in their narrative
accounts of negative life scenes. Of special interest in her analysis are
examples of what she calls springboard effects in narrative identity—stories
of transformative and redemptive life changes. Pals is one of a growing
number of narrative psychologists (e.g., Bauer, McAdams, & Sakaeda, 2005;
King & Raspin, 2004; Singer, 2004) who aim to discern just what kinds of life
stories are associated with psychological health and psychosocial maturity.
Among the important themes emerging in this literature, as documented
in Pals's research on midlife adults, is the importance of working through
negative life experiences and ultimately finding redemptive meanings for
them in the life story (Maruna, 2001; McAdams, 2006).
In chapter 9, John Barresi examines continuity and change in the life
story of Malcolm X. Barresi suggests that the developmental course illustrated
in the autobiography of Malcolm X—a story that has been reshaped and
reworked in many different ways to become a strongly contested cultural
narrative—is less linear than a traditional Eriksonian analysis would suggest
and rather assumes the form of a circle. Barresi focuses on the public records
and published works of a famous individual in history in this instance.
Barresi's study recalls the tradition of psychobiography (Schultz, 2005)
through which the investigator seeks to construct an interpretive, third-
person narrative to make psychological sense of an individual life. Whereas
most of the chapters in this volume consider the ways in which people make
sense of their own lives (implicit first-person accounts), Barresi examines how
others have made sense of Malcolm X, at the same time offering his own
narrative interpretation on that life.
In their study of the role of personal ideologies in narrative identity
in chapter 10, Ed de St. Aubin and his students (Mary Wandrei, Kim
Skerven, and Catherine M. Coppolillo) show how normative and humanistic
belief systems provide consistent themes that run through life narratives
over time. Whereas narrative identities express considerable change and
growth over time, a story's ideological setting can make for strong counter-
vailing themes of stability and continuity. The extent to which a person
perceives life in terms of stability or growth is also a central idea in chapter
11, written by Rivka Tuval-Mashiach. In her study of midlife Israeli men
and women, Tuval-Mashiach asks, "Where is the story going?" Some stories
REFERENCES
Bauer, J. J., McAdatns. D. P., &. Sakaeda, A. (2005). Interpreting the good life:
Growth memories in the lives of mature, happy people. Journal of Personality
and Social Psychology, 88, 203-217.
Baumeister, R. F. (1986). Identity: Cultural change and the struggle for self. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Cohler, B. J. (1982). Personal narrative and the life course. In P. Bakes & O. G.
Brim Jr. (Eds.), Lije span development and behavior (Vol. 4, pp. 205-241) New
York: Academic Press.
Damasio, A. (1999). The feeling of what happens: Body and emotion in the making of
consciousness. New York: Harcourt Brace.
Erikson, E. H. (1965). Childhood and society (2nd ed.). New York: Norton.
Fivush, R., <Si Haden, C. A. (2003). (Eds.). Autobiographical memory and the construc-
tion of a narrative self. Mahwah, NJ: Erlbaum.
Gergen, K. J. (1991). The saturated self: Dilemmas of identity in contemporary life.
New York: Basic Books.
Giddens, A. (1991). Modernity and self-identity: Self and society in the late modem
age. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.
Habermas, T., &. Bluck, S. (2000). Getting a life: The emergence of the life story
in adolescence. Psychological Bulletin, 126, 748-769.
Hermans, H. J. M. (1996). Voicing the self: From information processing to d:.alogi-
cal exchange. Psychological Bulletin, 119, 31-50.
Howe, M. L., &. Courage, M. L. (1997). The emergence and early development ol
autobiographical memory. Psychological Review, 104, 499-523.
James, W. (1963). Psychology. Greenwich, CT: Fawcett. (Original work pub-
lished 1892)
INTRODUCTION
Josselson, R., Lieblich, A., & McAdams, D. P. (2003). (Eds.). Up close and personal:
The teaching and learning of narrative research. Washington, DC: American
Psychological Association.
King, L. A., &. Raspin, C. (2004). Lost and found possible selves, subjective well-
being, and ego development in divorced women. Journal of Personality, 72, 603-
632.
Lieblich, A., McAdams, D. P., & Josselson, R. (2004). (Eds.). Healing plots: The
narrative basis of psychotherapy. Washington, DC: American Psychological
Association.
Maclntyre, A. (1984). After virtue (2nd ed.). Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre
Dame Press.
Marcia.J. (1980). Identity in adolescence. InJ. Adelson (Ed.), Handbook of adokscent
psychology (pp. 159-187). New York: Wiley.
Maruna, S. (2001). Making good: How ex-convicts reform and rebuild their lives..
Washington, DC: American Psychological Association.
McAdams, D. P. (1985). Power, intimacy, and the life story: Personological inquiries
into identity. New York: Guilford Press.
McAdams, D. P. (1997). The case for unity in the (post)modern self: A modest
proposal. In R. Ashmore & L. Jussim (Eds.), Self and identity: Fundamental
issues (pp. 46—78). New York: Oxford University Press.
McAdams, D. P. (2006). The redemptive self: Stories Americans live by. New York:
Oxford University Press.
McAdams, D. P., Josselson, R., & Lieblich, A. (2001). (Eds.). Turns in the road:
The narrative study of lives in transition. Washington, DC: American Psychologi-
cal Association.
McCrae, J. J., & Costa, P. T., Jr. (1990). Personality in adulthood. New York:
Guilford Press.
Polkinghorne, D. (1988). Narrative knowing and the human sciences. Albany: State
University of New York Press.
Rosenwald, G. C., & Ochberg, R. L. (1992). (Eds.). Storied lives: The cultural politics
of self-understanding. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Sarbin, T. (1986). The narrative as root metaphor for psychology. In T. Sarbin
(Ed.), Narrative psychology: The storied nature of human conduct (pp. 3-21).
New York: Praeger.
Schultz, T. (2005). (Ed.). The handbook of psychobiography. New York: Oxford
University Press.
Shorter, J., & Gergen, K. J. (1989). (Eds.). Texts of identity. London: Sage.
Singer, J. A. (2004). Narrative identity and meaning making across the adult
lifespan: An introduction. Journal of Personality, 72, 437-459.
INTRODUCTION 11
I
UNITY VERSUS
MULTIPLICITY
MULTIPLICITY AND CONFLICT
1
IN THE DIALOGICAL SELF:
A LIFE^NARRATIVE APPROACH
PETER T. F. RAGGATT
Thanks to Amanda Middleton and to "Charles," who willingly gave up his time and his stories. The
research was supported by Merit Grants to the author from James Cook University, Townsville,
Australia.
15
I argue that the life story is really more like a conversation of narrators, or
perhaps a war of historians in your head. This suggests that we must pay
close attention to the synchronic, and not just the diachronic, in our efforts
to understand the emergence of a narrative identity.
What evidence is there for problems posed by narrative alluded to
here? One place to look for evidence that might carry some weight is among
skilled and expert storytellers who address their writing talents toward their
own autobiographies. For example, in his diaries the acclaimed eighteenth-
century biographer James Boswell wrote of being "possessed by a double
feeling" (Boswell, 1791, cited in Koch, 1999, p. 3). In the journals he kept
throughout his life Boswell identified an array of underlying and opposing
personifications or voices, including the "married man," the "unfaithful
husband," the "writer and wit," and the "devout Christian" (Koch, 1999).
In more recent times the writer Joyce Carol Gates observed in response to
a question about her own identity development that "each angle of vision,
each voice yields ... a separate writer-self, an alternative Joyce Carol Dates"
(cited in Gergen & Gergen, 1988, p. 31). And the novelist Philip Roth
has observed in his attempts at self-narration that "with autobiography
there's always another text, a counter-text, if you will, to the one presented"
(cited in Freeman, 1993, p. 132). For all of these authors, instead of one
story, there are an array of possible starting places and stories that are
oriented in space as well as time.
These testimonies present a serious challenge to narrative psycholo-
gists, particularly those engaged in the study-of-lives tradition. If we assume
these writers are experts in the exposition of storied selves, then it brings
into focus some problems for investigating and understanding identity by
narrative means. The primary function of narrative articulated in the human-
ities and social sciences has been one of integration (McAdams, 1985b, 1993,
1996). The individual constructs a life story to "reduce the multitude of
motley information about the self to manageable personified categories"
and to "provide our lives with a sense of inner sameness and continuity"
(McAdams, 1985b, p. 127). In support of this view, there is a long tradition
that perceives the task of successful self-work to be attaining an integrated
ego identity around a stable center or core (e.g., Erikson, 1959). Although
the development of coherence in self-representations (whether in the form
of scripts, schemas, or stories) is obviously important for functioning, the
assumption of a core self underlying all this might be misleading, particularly
if we lend credence to the evidence of celebrated storytellers such as Boswell,
Gates, Roth, and others. My point is not that integration is somehow wrong-
headed. Individuals clearly derive happiness and a sense of purpose from
the experience of integrating past, present, and future into synergistic wholes.
However, the tendency to normalize and even reify these experiences as
the quintessence and sum total of identity development might not be condu-
16 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
cive to a more nuanced understanding. To meet these challenges we may
require a theoretical framework and a set of methods for study that can
admit of multiplicity, conflict, and even contradiction in the structure of
the self, including the storied self.
One way to attack this problem might be to allow for multiplicity in the
way individuals go about constructing a sense of selfhood. In the remainder of
this chapter, then, 1 show how life stories can be used in the study-of-lives
tradition without the assumption of a definitive or single story line, and
hence without assuming a singularity of identity or even of selfhood. In
what follows, relevant theory is distilled and a method is introduced that
is designed to examine narrative aspects of a plural or dialogical self. The
method, called the personality web protocol, combines life-story interview-
ing with a quantitative approach to examining multiplicity in narratives
about the self. In the second half of the chapter, a case study is presented
to illustrate both the method and the narrative formation of a diaiogical
self. The case comes from a research program examining in depth the life
stories of midlife adults who are confronting or have confronted conflicts
over identity.
18 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
the idea of positioning becomes important. How are voices positioned in a
dialogical self? The concept of positioning emerged first among social and
discursive psychologists interested in developing conceptual tools to analyze
discourse (Harre & Van Langenhove, 1991; Hollway, 1984). Taking the
conversation as the proper object of analysis for the social sciences, Harre
and Van Langenhove (1991) used the concept of positioning within dialogue
as a "dynamic alternative to the more static concept of role" (p. 395).
"Positioning," they wrote, "can be understood as the discursive construction
of personal stories that make a person's actions intelligible ... as social acts,
and within which the members of a conversation have specific locations"
(p. 395). Positioning is also defined as "a metaphorical concept through
reference to which a person's moral and personal attributes as a speaker are
compendiously collected." Thus one may be variously positioned in an
exchange as dominant or submissive, dependent or independent, comforting
or threatening, and so on, according to the flux and flow of conversational
dialogue and the context in which it is embedded.
Considering the formation of a dialogical self, we can ask whether
the idea of positioning in conversation can be applied to the internal
representations and social exchanges of such a self? A conversation or any
dialogical exchange will involve the discursive positioning of the interlocu-
tors. If the dialogical self is fashioned after the metaphor of a conversation,
then positioning should take place by a means analogous to that in dyadic and
group interactions. Harre and Van Langenhove (1991) defined a position, in
the dialogical sense, as "a set of 'locations' on a variety of polar pairs of
moral attributes" (p. 398). What is noteworthy is the combination of an
empirical conceptualization of positioning in terms of constructivist, binary
scales, with the idea that positioning takes place in a space defined by the
moral order. Indeed many theorists of the self would concur that narratives
of self are positioned in a matrix of social and moral relationships. "The self,"
Gregg wrote, "is performed as a kind of contrapuntal dialogue of voices [that]
. . . debate and dispute among themselves the moral basis of the . . . social
order in which they find themselves positioned" (1991, p. xiv). Positioning
implies that conflict and opposition may be a normal part of our subjectivity.
Harre and Van Langenhove also made a broad distinction between personal
and social positioning. Social positioning is governed by contemporary soci-
etal expectations and prescriptions that, as it were, bear down on the person
in all directions from the outside. Personal positioning, on the other hand,
is not conferred directly from the social order—it is generated from internal
dialogues, in which the person grapples with the problem of "the good" and
their "orientation in moral space." Later I address questions about the moral
and political formation of the self, understood through processes of both
personal and social positioning.
20 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
combine both the qualitative depth that is only available by the long road
of doing interviews with a more constructivist approach in which elements
taken from a person's repertoire of narrative representations are metrically
scaled and clustered using multidimensional scaling algorithms (Raggatt,
2000, 2002). The objective is to develop a methodology that can help
illuminate the contrasts and oppositions theorized to be present in a dialogi-
cal self.
This harks back to the problem of telling a definitive life story. Perhaps
an approach that allies dialogical theory with a narrative-based research
method can help provide an alternative paradigm for pursuing the problem
of identity. Although the emphasis is on plurality, the integrating power of
narrative, in the sense used by McAdams, is not denied in this approach.
Rather, the position is taken that one way to study the storied self is in
terms of multiplicity and plurality, and we should see where this leads.
I make two core theoretical assumptions in my own work: (a) that
there is no definitive life story that can account for narrative identity and
(b) that identity is dispersed in a moral landscape defined by often conflicting
narratives—for example, the good versus the bad voice, the optimist versus
the pessimist, and so on. Two additional assumptions address methodology.
One concerns a narrative approach to research and the other a constructivist
approach: (c) that identity can be read in narrative as a polyphony of texts
or stories (narrative assumption) and (d) that certain people, object's, and
events are the signatures for those texts, acting as icons or landmarks for
life stories (constructivist assumption; Raggatt, 2000, 2002). I call these
landmarks attachments. Following Bakhtin, it is proposed that identity devel-
ops initially tn a process of dialogue between the individual and the host
Table 1.1 presents the taxonomy of attachment types that was used
as the basis for developing the PWP. The taxonomy was constructed to
capture the informant's central life concerns in the social (people), physical/
environmental (objects), temporal/historical (events), and embodied domains.
An affective dimension was also explored by eliciting attachments associated
with both positive and negative emotional valency. In the first interview,
each attachment is explored at some length using a semistructured interview
format. The goal is to tease out the context, history, and significance of each
attachment for the person's experience of self. For example, the following
questions and probes were used to explore important positive figures in the
participant's life:
22 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
• I want you to identify two people who are positive figures in
your life. Beyond merely being a role model, a positive figure
is someone who has inspired you, occupied your thoughts, and
guided your actions. The two figures must come from differ-
ent dimensions of your experience: (a) a person you know
and (b) either a public figure whom you have never met, or a
fictional character from a story or other product of the
imagination.
• I would like you to relate a brief story about each of the figures
which typifies the figures' good qualities.
• Imagine it were possible right now to have a conversation with
each of the figures. What would you choose to talk about?
The probes for negative figures were similar. Negative figures were
defined as "more than mere stereotypes of evil or human weakness" and as
"people who have occupied your thoughts and influenced your actions, but
with whom you associate strong negative thoughts and feelings." Objects-
in-the-world are defined broadly as "including your most private mementos,
and your most important material possessions." Objects are divided into an
additional series of subcategories (see Table 1.1). Events are broken up into
peak and nadir experiences, following the method of McAdams (1993). For
objects and events, the only structured interview probes were to (a) elicit
temporal orientation and (b) ask interviewees to "reflect on the associations
and connections you draw from the object (event, etc.)." Finally, interviewees
were asked to "think about particular body parts that mean different things
to you" and to discuss the meanings associated with four such parts (e.g.,
legs, eyes) that were respectively "liked," "disliked," "strong," and "weak."
I have found that the first interview may take as little as 2 hours or
as much as 4 hours to complete and may therefore be divided into several
sessions. A week before the first interview, I provide participants with a
copy of the interview protocol in the form of a booklet, with space to make
notes about responses. I have found that by using this approach, informants
give richer and more elaborated responses in the interview sessions.
^ •« t; CD
^ b 55 §
i-1 CM CO ^
CD CD
O O
CD CD C C
O o CD CD
C C '^ 'C
8 CD
'C
CD CD CD
"w CL d
a §.£$£ a.
X X i- X X
CD = CD
_ _ CD CO
§ CO T3 D- C
CD CO -
Q. C CD 0)
-
E"
co
= = O O 3 3
-C -C T3 T3 T3 T3
I OO « «
i-1 cJ CO •* 16 CO
^
CD
ro
T
-a T3 ,-
^§^§1
^ °-
E
2
< O o o
•-0
'!8 8
£
0)
E
.c
o
I
?!
iB-f£-
CD CD
« eg
o 'o
I O O
® D)-§ ^ ^ C
co «= § ^ co eg
O O (0 -Q 'C 'C
o ~ <n -^ o o
GO -O (0 CL CL Q.
O CD = = ?: ^
J2 J2 co co £ £
zi j b boo
T^ C\i CO ^ LfS CO
24 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
association, and 1 to 3 a weak association. This procedure yields a triangular
matrix of ratings for input to MDS. Using this approach, dimensions and
clusters of self-relevant attachments can be identified based on the quantita-
tive judgments provided by the informant.1
After completing this quantitative task, the participants are asked to
group the attachments into separate clusters or "self-relevant facets" m a
subjective and qualitative fashion. The participants are asked to try and
limit the number of clusters they make to between two and six (in other
words, to make large-broad rather than small-specific clusters). No restric-
tion, however, was placed on the number of clusters that could be created.
A self-relevant descriptive label for each cluster was then elicited from the
informant (e.g., "dominant self," "religious voice," "adventurer"). Pair-wise
ratings were then elicited between each of these cluster labels and the 24
attachments produced by the participant. Collecting these ratings allowed
the cluster labels to be fitted as properties within the MDS solution.
The pair-wise ratings data (attachments with attachments, and attach-
ments with cluster labels) can then be input to the scale program of the
Statistical Package for the Social Sciences (SPSS; SPSS Inc., 1999). Typi-
cally, an interpretable two-, three-, or four-dimensional solution is produced,
containing up to 30 scaled data points (the 24 attachments, plus between
two and six attachment cluster labels). This scaling procedure effectively
produces a multidimensional semantic map of the individual's self-relevant
attachments (an example follows). Although this map represents the web
of associations among an interviewee's attachments (people, objects, events,
etc.), remember that it also includes scaling of the self-relevant cluster la.bels
provided by the participants when subjectively sorting their attachments.
This means that interpretation of the MDS space began with the participants'
own efforts to sort through and label clusters of attachments. In the case
study that follows, I illustrate the potential for this approach by showing
how the clustering of attachments maps on to specific narrative voices in
the individual portrayed.
In statistical terms, MDS relies on a Euclidean algorithm for deriving the coordinates of a set of
points (the 24 attachments) in a space of r orthogonal dimensions, where the rank order of distances
hetween each point in the spice conforms to the rank order of distances between the elements in
the original ratings data (see Kruskall & Wish, 1978). The spatial representation produced by MDS
is intended M help identify the underlying psychological (symbolic) activity that produced the
ratings in the first place.
All identifying details in the case material have been altered to preserve anonymity.
26 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
EXHIBIT 1.2
Charles's Web of Attachments Grouped Into Voices of the Self
1. Humiliated self
Rejected by father after Age 8: "made to feel I'd let him down"; guilt
football match
Discharged from navy Age 17: admitted homosexuality; fear, shame,
confusion
Excommunicated from Age 19: "attempted to 'cure' myself"; "they said I was
church demonically possessed"
Quentin Crisp Gay activist, but also a negative role model: "his
extreme femininity was a negative influence"
Crooked face "Barbara Streisand nose"; "Prince Charles ears"; "lips
and teeth that aren't aligned"
2. Activist
Armistead Maupin Age 15: first gay public figure discovered; "his stories
influenced my life"
Running for public office Fear; pride; "gained respect from society"
as .gay candidate
Attending New York City Coming together of my world; met A. Maupin;
Gay Games achievement, success, pride
Strong face "Craggy"; conveys "strength of character"
Home Symbol of success
3. Manhood
Father "Masculinity is what I have taken from my father";
father was sports champion as young man
Joined navy Age 15: "I was a man"; "I felt I was conquering the
world"
Men in military uniform Aggressive, hard, heterosexual
4. Wild Self
Recurring sexual fantasy Various homoerotic themes, memories, and images
Having sex in jeans
Having sex in boots
Body tattoo "To celebrate my body"
"ACTIVIST'
1.0 # Home Sexual
Ran for election * O
* fantasy
Armistead Maupin *
O "WILD
SELF"
0.0- DIM.
Tattoo *
Men in uniform # Sex in boots
Father * O Back * * Underwear
MANHOOD * Quentin Crisp
-1.0 Joined Navy *
* Crooked face
Excommunicated # Rejected by father after
From Church # football match
O "HUMILIATED SELF"
-2.0 Discharged from Navy *
1.0 2.0
Being accepted into the Navy gained Charles his father's approval and
was, for him, a rite of passage into manhood. But it also signified the
awakening of Charles's sexual interest. Charles planned to make his career
in national defence, but this dream was cut short at age 17 after a liaison
involving a ship's officer. In an inquiry, Charles admitted his homosexuality
and was honorably discharged, although under duress. Charles says that
being discharged reopened the earlier wounds of humiliation associated with
his father (see Figure 1.1), and this initiated a painful search of the self.
Charles left the Navy shamed and frightened and looking for a new life.
28 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
Confused about his sexual orientation, Charles sought a "cure" in a
branch of the charismatic church. He describes what ensued.
In my attempt to "cure" myself after 1 was forced to leave the navy, I
questioned a lot of things about myself and I went through the usual
thing of trying to change and I became a born-again Christian. . . .
They attempted for a year and a half to cure me by getting me to
repeatedly write out passages of the Bible. . . . Of course ... I continued
to fall from grace, I was honest about my falling from grace, and they
eventually said that I was demonically possessed. Then one Sunday
afternoon at a church service in front of 450 people, it was a big church
assembly . . . [the pastor] asked everybody to stand and turn their back,
and ne asked me to leave the church ... I was excommunicated. And
as I was walking out down the center isle and nobody would face me,
1 was thinking that a lot of these people had grown to become very
good friends of mine over the time. I was devastated. [The pastor] went
into a spiel about how if I was seen on the streets they were to cross
the road, I was not to be communicated with in anyway. Yeah, so, the
church was a major negative influence on me.
Charles's wild self is uninhibited and allows him to give free rein to
his love for men and gay culture. The attachments associated with this
voice delineate Charles's private sexual world, including some of his sexual
experiences and fantasies, his body tattoo, and fetish objects including
boots and jeans (see Figure 1.1). In opposition to Charles's gay sex life are
attachments associated with strong masculinity—his sporting father, his
time in the Navy, and images of strong men in uniform. On this more
private and less public level of narrative, there is conflict involving Charles's
strong sense of manhood, which comes up in opposition to his sexual
orientation. Charles strongly resists stereotyped constructions of his gay
identity as meaning he is feminine. On the contrary, Charles wants to be
a "man's man." These conflicts are best exemplified in the interview material
in which Charles talks about Quentin Crisp (a "feminine" gay activist).
Talking about Crisp leads Charles to explore his views of manhood.
My other positive figure was both positive and negative at the same
time and that is Quentin Crisp. He was such a flamboyant feminine
figure, which is why he is both a positive and a negative role model
for me. . . . He is positive because of his strength of character . . . but
his extreme femininity and eccentricity was also a negative influence.
It was like I only wanted to take pieces of him. . . . I've always been extremely
proud that I am a man, my maleness is totally different to my sexuality,
they are not connected except for the fact that I think my maleness is
so much more important to me as a homosexual than what it would
have been to me as a heterosexual, [emphasis added]
The conflict (and opposition) between Charles's manhood and his
sexual interest and between his humiliation and his activism is transfigured
in the "feminine" figure of Crisp. Note in Figure 1.1, for example, that
although Crisp was a prominent gay rights activist he is positioned not with
Armistead Maupin but in a middle zone between the activist voice and the
humiliated voice in Charles's MDS solution. Hence, Crisp is a symbolic
marker for Charles's conflicts. He is a touchstone in the dialogue between
Charles the activist and Charles the humiliated homosexual and between
Charles the man and Charles the "wild" gay person. Indeed the text quoted
30 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
is evidence that this is a dialogue with a long history. Back when Charles's
activism was emerging in his twenties (and Crisp was still alive), Charles
"only wanted to take pieces of the feminized gay activist role model. Today,
little has changed. Charles continues to have a strong investment in asserting
his masculinity. For him the powerlessness of the humiliated voice is over-
come not just in his activism but in a vision of strong, agentic masculinity.
In short, Charles's dialogical voices reveal a complex landscape of opposing
narratives. These voices talk to one another across the life course, evidenced
in this case through the figure of Crisp. At the social and cultural level,
Charles's activism is a redemptive story of overcoming marginalization,
rejection, and humiliation. At the personal and psychological level, Charles
continues to wrestle with conflict over identity in his private domain—in
one voice, a "wild" gay man, in another, a fighter and navy recruit.
CONCLUSION
32 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
example, Me Adams (2000) has drawn a distinction between "contamina-
tion" and "redemption" scripts that might prove useful in this regard. Distin-
guishing between the dynamics of personal and social positioning, discussed
earlier, may also be helpful. The PWP methodology can potentially assist
with these objectives. It provides a structured approach, and can be a
powerful tool for facilitating the process of self-exploration. Indeed, after
the interviews Charles remarked that he was better able to articulate and
clarify the private dimensions of his sexuality and masculinity using the
PWP. As a framework for assessment, therefore, the approach offers a rela-
tively efficient means to the kind of in-depth analysis of the self demanded
by the dialogical approach.
This chapter began by noting the perplexity of skilled storytellers when
they come to tell their own life stories. About which self should they speak?
I have argued that the problem of identity can be approached by a lie wing
for multiplicity and conflict in the self. The approach described offers some
promise as a generative paradigm for psychology, particularly for narrative
psychology and the study-of-lives approach. Yet the discipline has largely
left these ideas to the novelists, biographers, and artists, perhaps because it
is so difficult to study a human subject that is shifting positions, caught
between conflicting stories. I argue that there is merit in approaching the
subject on the subject's own terms—whatever they may be.
REFERENCES
34 PETER T. F. RAGGATT
Neitzsche, F. (1968). The will to power. New York: Vintage. (Original work pub-
lished 1887)
Raggatt, P. T. F. (1998). The Personality Web Protocol. Townsvillc, Queensland,
Australia: James Cook University.
Raggatt, P T. F. (200C). Mapping the dialogical self: Towards a rationale and
method of assessment. European Journal of Personality, 14, 65—90.
Raggatt, P. T. F. (2002). The landscape of narrative and the plural self: Exploring
identity using the Personality Web Protocol. Narrative Inquiry, 12, 290—318.
Rosenberg, S. (1988). Self and others: Studies in social personality and autobiogra-
phy. In L. Berkowitz (Ed.), Advances in experimental social psychology (Vol. 21,
pp. 57-95). New York: Academic Press.
Sampson, E. E. (1993). Celebrating the other: A dialogic account of human nature.
Boulder, CO: West view Press.
SPSS, Inc. (1999). Statistical package for the social sciences: Advanced models 10.0.
Chicago: Author.
37
the religious element often exhibiting flexibility in the face of a sexual
orientation seen as more intrinsic and therefore less negotiable. For Orthodox
Jewish gays and lesbians, however, we find that this is not the case: Religion
represents a far more encompassing web of beliefs, values, ritual practices,
and social and familial connections that cannot easily be uncoupled from
the individual's deepest sense of being. Precisely because of the profound
and pervasive impact of religion on their overall identity formation, Ortho-
dox Jews provide an extreme (and heretofore invisible) counterpoint to
previous assessments, a revealing window into the spectrum of cases in
which the conflicting claims of same-sex attraction and other deeply held
valuative frameworks face each other in all their irreducible and irreconcil-
able differences.
The temptation to view as atypical any identity conflict that does not
result in eventual synthesis is a testament to the power of the Eriksonian
developmental model, both as a reflection of the urge for integration and
resolution and as a historical—theoretical reference point. In the past 10
years, however, a number of theorists have posited models of the self that
challenge the premise that identity conflict must move inexorably toward
synthetic resolution. Coined by various authors as "the dialogical self (Her-
mans, Kempen, & van Loon, 1992), "the mutable self (Cote, 1996), and
"the protean self (Lifton, 1993), these models share the insight that the
self need not be viewed as abhorring dissonance, requiring consistency and
coherence as prerequisites for survival or even psychic health. The dialogical
self, for example, "contrasts with the notion of the self as the center of
METHODOLOGY
THE SAMPLE
This study used a sample of 18 adult men and women aged 25 to 30.
They were residents of New York or Jerusalem, were engaged in a variety
of occupations, and defined themselves as both Orthodox and gay/lesbian.
This age cohort was appropriate for our study because it generally represents
a more advanced stage of religious and sexual identity formation, combining
a broadened perspective on earlier developmental dynamics (the interview-
ees had all "come out," at least to some extent, and had already passed
through the exploratory stage of identity formation generally associated with
adolescence) with a still-sharp lens into the present world of gay and lesbian
religious young adults. Unlike the generation immediately preceding them,
this is the first generation of Orthodox Jews to feel that it was possible
(albeit far from easy) to come out publicly, or at least in limited social
circles, as religious gays and lesbians.
ANALYSIS OF INTERVIEWS
INTERVIEWER AS INSIDER-OUTSIDER
By the time in their lives at which we met with our participants, they
could speak openly of how the self-knowledge with which they eventually
had managed to come to terms had previously signified certain danger,
In contrast to Ghana, who was able to speak the word "lesbian" only
by addressing herself in the second person, Tal spoke from the "I," yet
obfuscated her identification with lesbianism via the unspeakable and un-
namable "it." What we find is a kind of conservation-of-distancing mecha-
nism, wherein the speaker either uses the first person or speaks directly of
her homosexuality. To use both in concert would create a stronger, more
unequivocal form of identity knowledge than our participants were prepared
to allow.
CHOICE
So one, was the tirst time 1 was with a woman physically and I just
said: "oh this is it, now the world makes sense to me, just everything
makes sense, this is it" . . . and the other time I had this experience-
was one of the hrsi times I studied Chumash [Torah], and i could hardly
read Hebrew, and as I am reading it 1 thought, I have been here before,
this is sueh a hig part of me, it was completely an experience of "this
is it." I didn't know exactly what this "it" was, hut I knew that ir has
to be a part oi my life. . . .They both hit me at the same places—to
the core.
Tal also related to the strength of her gay and religious identities as
equivalent. She defined her religious identity not as an emerging discovery
about herself nor as a choice but rather as a defining element of who she
is. She formulated her religiosity as a tautological truism: "I am religious
just because I am religious." Expressing a parallel experience of his parallel
identities, Amiram, aged 28, expressed his God-given dilemma in terms of
a lament.
"You are stuck with both of them. . . .Whatever they say, this is not
from choice. 1 am not planning to tight with myself or change myse.f,
there is no point, I will never change, and to become straight I wdl
never in this life become straight. This 1 know. This is the hardest test
for me to withstand—you are torn from the inside, the Evil Desire is
so great and "just this" you say, it had to come in my sexuality. How
many gays are there in the whole world, and from them how many
have to be born religious, and I had to be that kind? Why me.'
You feel like you are in a war with your hands tied.
There is nothing you can do.
You don't wan: to give up on anything.
You don't wan: to give up on the religion.
You don't want to give up on the mitzvoth (the religious laws).
And I do not want to give up on me1. |emphasis added]
Noach felt certain that leaving one of his identities would not bring
him inner peace, that in fact "it. . . will always come back to you, no matter
what you do." Even if one were to forfeit one or the other, this cop out
would not work as a long'term solution: Both identities, gay and religious,
would eventually have to somehow find expression. This profound inner
dualism is what marks Orthodox gays and lesbians—and others who not
only feel the external pressures of the antigay valuative frameworks in
which they live but who internally identify with the values these frameworks
represent to such an extent that rejecting them is simply not an option—
as distinct from gay men and lesbians for whom the pressure to be something
other than what they are derives from sources that can ultimately be external-
ized, analyzed, critiqued, and abandoned in part or in whole. For our partici-
pants, the identification with Jewish tradition was as axiomatic as the attract-
ion to members of the same sex.
The lonely journey of negotiating with the religious world has, for our
participants, taken different forms. Many began by consulting with rabbis
to find a way to resolve their predicament: Either to help them become
heterosexual or to help them find a way to remain gay or lesbian within a
religious framework. In both cases, they were left wanting. On the whole,
they left those meetings full of guilt, reproach, and with a tool kit of bizarre
methods toward a "cure." Eventually these conversations broke down, as
faith that the religious leaders' ability to help them was progressively attenu-
ated and often, ultimately, abandoned. This alienation from the religious
establishment led to crisis points out of which new modes of identity synthesis
were attempted. Yehezkel, 28, made a series of statements about the Jewish
perspective with regard to homosexuals, born out of his conversations with
rabbis, which evidence an emphatic prominence of the harshly condemna-
When Noach's dialogue with the rabbis had run its course, he reached a
point of crisis. His sense of profound alienation from both his religious and
sexual identities is evident from the following series of helpless questions.
I looked for answers:
How will God accept me?
How can I connect to Him?
What should 1 do? How can 1 exist as a kosher Jew with this . . . ?
1 felt I was in jail, where there was no way out.
Whatever I have tried to do never worked out.
Noach accepts the category of sin and his accountability within the
framework of Divine commandment and Jewish law. What is interesting is
his attempt to maintain, even after giving up on rabbinic guidance and
authority, a viable relationship with the very God whose religion (and it
is important to note that the God with whom Noach converses remains a
particularly Jewish God—a God who cares about which sexual acts a person
does and refrains from doing, and speaks the language of kosher and traif
rather than an abstract spiritual being) he understands to reject his sexual
orientation, while remaining a source of profound personal dialogue and an
offering of compromise and respect. In a sense, Noach can be seen as going
"over the heads" of the rabbis, whom he sees as unwilling or unable to
CONCLUSION
Hermans et al. (1992) posited that "the dialogical self can only be
fully understood when its cultural constraints are acknowledged." It is indeed
within an intricate context of culturally specific constraints that we sought
REFERENCES
This chapter analyzes data collected as part of Targets for the Worksite Prevention of Alcohol
Abuse, funded by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism and the Robert Wjod
Johnson Foundation; Dr. Sol Levine, Principal Investigator, Dr. Thomas Mangione, Project Director.
63
course of analysis (narrative approaches). Structuralist analysis of narratives,
however, suggests that individuals construct identities by the same implicit
and figurative processes that use ambiguity to create metaphoric, ritual,
poetic, and musical meaning.
Empson's classic Seven Types of Ambiguity (1966) described the crucial
role of ambiguity in creating meaning, and Nowottny (1962) showed how
poetic meaning arises in loose juxtapositions of concrete symbols and abstract
concepts, which create a semantic space of meaningful ambiguity. In his
generative theory of music, Bernstein (1976) argued that in contrast to
linguistic meaning, only some of which is figurative, musical meaning is
entirely figurative and created with the precisely structured ambiguous rela-
tions of tonal music's octave system. Anthropologists and literary theorists
have explored the implicit and figurative construction of selves for several
decades. Levi-Strauss recognized the musiclike structure of cultural meaning
as early as 1975 in his The Raw and the Cooked (from which I take my title).
Ortner (1973) called attention to the pivotal role played by complex and
emotionally rich key symbols, such as Christ on the Cross or Tibetan wheel
images, which condense multiple, often ineffable meanings. Turner's (1967)
studies of Ndembu life-status rituals showed how symbols of bodily substances
and processes (milk, semen, blood, decay) are arrayed to delineate initiates'
new social roles, with the juxtapositions of nature and culture establishing
implicit dimensions of identity. Ohnuki-Tierney (1990) traced the ways
Japanese culture has used the monkey as a polytropic symbol to reflect both
divine and bestial aspects of human nature. All of these approaches suggest
that identity has something akin to what Levi-Strauss (1963) termed a deep
structure, from which multiple and sometimes conflicting surface structures
may be generated.
In this chapter I show this layered organization of identity by performing
a Levi-Straussian structuralist analysis of an interview conducted for purposes
other than studying identity and in which the narrator offers no explicit
self-descriptions and tells only fragmentary stories. I argue that identity is
organized simultaneously as (a) a deep structure underlying a set of homolo-
gous binary oppositions, as proposed by Levi-Strauss (1963, 1966, 1967,
1975) in his studies of myth and (b) articulated in a formulaic plot-episode
structure, as identified by Propp (1968), Lord (I960), and Raglan (1979)
in their studies of folktales and oral epics. Criticized for reifying texts and
ignoring their history and social contexts, structuralism has gone out of
academic fashion. But it need not commit either of these errors, and it
remains a powerful tool for analyzing narrative self-representation. It is
important to emphasize that structuralism provides one of several textual
analysis strategies, which by no means is sufficient by itself. In my own
studies of longer life narratives, I have adopted Ricoeur's (1970) double
hermeneutic approach, and combined structuralist analysis with both psy-
64 GARY S.GREGG
chodynamic interpretation of emotional tensions and existential interpreta-
tion of the authentic moral imperatives that orient lives. I present the
following analysis to show how powerful structuralist analysis can be for
identifying implicit structures of identity.
I adopt structuralism's surface structure—deep structure model rather
than just speaking of implicit meanings, because it offers a fuller account
of the cognitive organization of identity. This model does not hold that
identity resides in the deep structure rather than in the narrative surfaces
but rather in the generation of surface structures from deep structure. In
this respect self-representation resembles musical meaning, which musically
trained listeners derive less from surface cues, such as changes in pitch,
tempo, volume, and texture, than from apprehension of the underlying
structure (Tan & Spackman, 2005)—ultimately derived according to
Schenker's (1954) theory from a kernel consisting of a single tone and
its overtone series. A structuralist-inspired layered model can enable both
information-processing and narrative approaches to move beyond their cur-
rent limitations.
THE INTERVIEW
Methods
66 GARY S. GREGG
1975), derives from the observation that, for example, the s in "The jaguar
shows the boy fire" gets its third-person-singular-present meaning both in
agreement with "the jaguar" (a syntagmatic relation) and in contrast to a
set of other possible suffixes, -ed, -ing, and '(paradigmatic relations).
Meaning in a narrative, and in the construction of an identity, similarly
entails relations along these two dimensions.
To describe the syntagmatic dimensions, I draw on Propp's (1968)
theory of plot structure in folk tales. Like Levi-Strauss, Propp has argued
that narratives are componentially constructed, but his work focused not
on an atemporal structure of contrasting "mythemes" but on sequences of
generic plot episodes. An alcohol policy interview is hardly a folk tale, but
Mr. Bororo's answers nonetheless sketch a storyline of heroic identity. To
identify paradigmatic relations, I draw on Levi-Strauss's (1963, 1967, 1975)
theory of binary oppositions in myth, treating each part of the interview
as if it were a myth episode and searching for the primary contrasts Mr.
Bororo uses to construct meaningful events and relationships. I say "meaning-
ful events and relationships" in contrast to "information" (Bruner, 1990)
because I will not be concerned with the facts Mr. Bororo provides but rather
with the contrastive relations by which he traces the cultural geography of
his corporate milieu and by which he locates himself as an intriguing feature
of its terrain. These contrasts will prove to take the form of binary oppositions
mediated by third terms that implicitly define the identity Mr. Bororo
performs for Ms. Sherente. I do not believe meaning must always take this
form, but the Bororo-Sherente data fit Levi-Strauss' schema surprisingly well.
Interview Text
The verbatim interview should be read before the analysis, but space
limitations prevent its inclusion in this chapter. Selected strophes appear
before the analysis of each part, but I sometimes quote portions of the
interview not presented in this chapter. The full text is available on the
Web site of the Foley Center for the Study of Lives (http://www.sesp.
northwestern.edu/foley).
Ms. Sherente: If you'll just start off and tell me a little bit about the
history of the company from your perspective, particularly in relation-
ship to the alcohol policy.
1
The lack of a suffix means "I," "You," "We," or "They," present tense.
68 GARY S. GREGG
TABLE 3.1
Story Episodes
Episode Main theme
Initial situation Unusual or special birth (Raglan's scheme)
Lack Hero lacks or desires something
Departure Hero begins quest to redress lack
Donor Hero tested, usually by future "donor" of powers
Magical agent Hero acquires use of magic from "donor"
Struggle Hero and villain struggle
Victory Villain defeated
Redress/attainment Initial misfortune or lack liquidated
Return Hero returns
Pursuit/chase Hero is pursued
Rescue Hero is rescued
Wedding Hero marries and ascends throne
Stanza 11: If you look at State B and you look at State C, | where by
the way we did experience significant illegal drug problems within the
company, | without question.
These four strophes lay out the terrain Mr. Bororo traverses during
the remainder of the interview. Strophe 2 introduces what becomes the
central theme of the interview: the contrast of engineering and sales-
manufacturing cultures, which he later will associate with lighter and heavier
drinking styles. Stanzas 3 and 4 sketch an origin story, in which he traces the
company's original but vanishing culture to the "dream" of its "nondegreed,"
"aggressive," "salesman," "peddler" founder. Mr. Bororo says he had the
"elite" experience of knowing this man personally in now-mythic time and
space—"in the back of the manufacturing shop which probably is no more."
In stanza 5 he describes the company's ascendant aristocracy of "degreed
engineers" who now so dominate the company that executives (like himself)
who lack "a fairly significant engineering degree" have little chance of
advancing into "very senior management." I term this stanza "The Lack,"
in reference to Propp's folk tale schema (see Table 3.1), according to which
it sets the hero off on a quest.
Stanzas 6 and 7 develop the contrast of engineering versus sales cultures,
and the important stanzas 8 and 9 draw out its implication for drinking.
He begins with a mildly denigrating rhetorical flourish—"engineers are
engineers"—and then sets their "serious," always "professional" manner
against the salesman type's love of the "frat house" and the "corner bar."
With this contrast, he conveys important information about differences in
drinking between occupational subcultures. He then shifts abruptly to a
new theme: alcohol (and especially drug) abuse is less likely to occur "at
Ms. Sherente: What would you suspect about the alcohol problem?
Strophe 1, stanza 1: The alcohol problem is a real tough issue for us.
| It's a tough issue for us here at headquarters. | I would suggest that
virtually anyone employed in hometown in any position of line
attachment,
Stanza 2: including sales, | with the exception that I don't think our
MIS group travels very much, | I don't think our bean counters travel
much, | clearly our audit people do,
Stanza 3: but if you think about the line people, | the engineering
groups, | the sales people, the market type of functions, | who travel
extensively . . . . [Stanzas 4—6 omitted.]
Strophe 3, stanza 7: Once you get away from here, once you go to the
road, that is part of the culture. | Your options are limited. That becomes
what becomes socialization. | There are groups within who travel 80%
of the time, and that's a job requirement. | Our traveling plant techni-
cians, our start up people, or our construction crew.
70 GARY S.GREGG
Stanza 8: The first thing they do is scout out a town and find a bar. |
That's the Tech-Mat bar. | That's where we'll hang out. | That's what
we'll do. [Stanzas 9—11 omitted.]
Stanza 12: Now rarely will you ever see anybody at an exempt level
even acknowledge that they've ever brought drugs there. It isn't done.
| It isn't like somebody slipping off and doing marijuana in the corner.
It isn't done. | But boy, having a few beers and staying up to 2:30 or
3:00 in the morning swapping stories, that's great, | and seeing if you
can get up early and wander in and still make the 8:00 breakfast call
is part of the culture. It's here. That's real.
Ms. Sherente asks about alcohol abuse, and Mr. Bororo's initially
halting, repetitive response makes up part II, which develops a single new
theme: Drinking forms part of the on-the-road culture of executives who
travel. He stutter-steps his way up to stating this theme, but in strophes 3
and 4 he hits his stride and enthusiastically describes drinking on the road.
Note that the paradigmatic contrast of travelers and stay-at-homes parallels
that of salesman types versus degreed engineers in imagination but not in
fact. That is, the travelers who show their stamina by drinking, playing
cards, and swapping "war stories" until the wee hours are to the bean counters
who stay at home as the college students who "hit the frat house" and
"corner bar" were to the engineering students who kept their noses in their
"bookwork." In part I Mr. Bororo emphasized the engineers' "professional
manner at all times" ethos, implicitly defining the salesman types as less
formal and reserved. Here his language ("guys" and "gals") and setting of
scenes ("Let's go out and have a few beers") emphasizes the informality,
machismo, and near-delinquency of the travelers, implicitly redefining the
stay-at-homes as bland and perhaps overly reserved. The contrast of types
thus remains constant whereas the facts change: Here he travels with the
livelier team of trouble-shooting engineers, while the boring accountants
stay home.
Indeed, after placing himself in the thick of the drinking party—in
the hospitality suite, where "the beer and the hard liquor will never run
out" (strophe 4, stanza 10), he returns to the theme he introduced at a
similar point: at the end of part I: exempt-level employees do not take drugs.
With the boundary between his behavior and real delinquency reestablished,
he signs off by stating his enthusiasm for the challenge of partying the night
away and still making the "8:00 a.m. breakfast call." Paradigmatically, then,
part II introduces a new contrast—travelers versus stay-at-homes—which
parallels that between engineers and salesmen types, and then reasserts the
contrast ot hourly versus exempt statuses to fence off substance abuse from
his group. Syntagmatically, it follows the special origin and lack episodes
of part I with a departure from home that leads him into remote lands, to
72 GARY S.GREGG
Strophe 9, stanza 20: [On dealing with alcohol abuse] You need some-
hody who's got a little bit of vision, | not a senior guy. Senior guys are
uninteresting. | Who the hell pays attention to the senior guys when
you've got to get the job done?
Stanza 21: You need somebody who's got a little bit of purer fuel to
stand up and say what they think, | who's one of the drunks, who can
afford to say, | "Hey, my name's Kenny so-and-so. I've taken a pledge
to have somebody saved." | You need that.
Stanza 22: I think if you can get the driver of the year, or the mechanic
of the year | to stand up and testify a little bit on one of these things . . . .
74 GARY S.GREGG
of-control forces—"a plant that craps out," an "outage," the "true alcoholics,"
reunions of hard-drinking plant managers—and restores order. These mis-
sions put him at risk, as loneliness and stress soften his ears to the cg.ll of
the gin mill, but his story shows he can take it while others cannot.
Because of space limitations, all stanzas have been deleted from this
part, in which Mr. Bororo reaffirms the presence of true alcoholics in the
company by telling of a friend who died in a drunken car crash. Ms. Sheiente
has listened with increasing alarm, and begins to question him about what
managers might do to moderate such excesses. After he describes efforts to
discourage drunkenness at plant managers' meetings, she pushes the issue:
"What do you think it would take to turn around that culture?" Mr. Bororo
appears to feel accused, and responds in a more argumentative tone. Part
IV provides the researcher with useful inside information: At least some
executives have been concerned that the company encourages alcohol abuse,
but he explains (in the omitted passages) that they have done little about
it. His unsolicited diagnosis by division redraws familiar terrain: groups
dominated by degreed engineers are clean, except for the salespeople, while
his group, which has promoted from the streets, has problems. One of the
clean groups has no "back-slapping good old boy network"—which again
associates a Southern stereotype with a penchant for abusing alcohol.
Syntagmatically, alcohol abuse potentially presents the top corporate officers
with a challenge, and Mr. Bororo subsequently insists that "we" can rise to
the challenge and maintain control.
Ms. Sherente: Could you tell me a little bit about the barriers to
identifying somebody with a problem early enough to get them the
kind of help they need?
Strophe 1, stanza 1: A major barrier is that if you drink with someone
yourself, | how do you accuse somebody of having a problem? [Remainder
of Stanza 1 omitted.]
Stanza 2: Where do you start? | Where do you end? j What's your
reputation?
Strophe 2, stanza 3: I mean, some of the classic vintage Tech-Mat
stones have a lot to do with both drinking, | particularly on planes,
| particularly with what happens thereafter, | and with associations
with customers.
76 GARY S. GREGG
drinking he has been party to in his division. His account gives more
explicit character to the in-group he implicitly locates in contrast to degreed
engineers and hourly workers by making two main points. First, his group
is bonded partly by drinking experiences and shared possession of the tall
tales they make up from them, about which they protect each other (How
could one of them "get off telling me I've got a problem?"). Second, to
correct the impression that they go out "to get blitzed," he emphasizes—
using engineering imagery—that "you've got control. You're watching the
control panel." The we he places himself among thus control forces that
threaten to get out of control: On the job they fix plants, handle strikes,
and start up new facilities; off the job they drink, tell war stories and tall
tales, and still get business done, make the breakfast call, arid stay on the
fast track.
After volunteering that "females tend not to be included" (strophe 6,
stanza 14), Mr. Bororo says women can find honored places among the
travelers—especially if, like a colleague to whom he refers, they can ["drink
the rest of them under the table." Abstainers can join too, so long as they
tell stories and "play the war games."] But when Ms. Sherente says she: has
heard his division described as the company's "cowboys," he responds with
a dismissive "I don't think so" and he subsequently speaks with a more
formal and distanced voice. He also escalates his forthrightness when he
describes how he and his division head threw a cocktail party for the
executives of a newly acquired firm to gather the intelligence they needed
to make quick decisions about it (strophes 11 and 12). "We found out more
in those 3 hours than we knew about them for months," he says. "It was a
way we could get people to relax in an environment.... It works . . ." he
explained, adding pointedly, "It's always control."
Paradigmatically, these strophes implicitly reassert his earlier contrast
of exempt employees versus blue-collar workers, especially by noting that
the previous day's conference, replete with stories about the night's partying,
was "very controlled—all management. I didn't see anybody slipping off to
the corner bar" (strophe 5, stanza 11). Syntagmatically, part V tells of an
initiatory bestowal of power and its generational passage. Mr. Bororo ex-
presses his love for the head of the technician group "I started with," the
donor (in Propp's scheme) who brought him into the executive inner circle.
Mr. Bororo says "we" now "take great pride in breaking in the new people,"
the "rookies." As he had "elite" experiences with the company's founder
and his dream, here too he metaphorically imputes an aura of specialness
and sense of magic to the handing down of classic company stories as
"treasures." And then in the final strophe, he and his division head deploy
their power to carry out an intelligence-gathering cocktail-party mission,
and return with the goods ("After that we knew where to send the audi-
tors looking").
Ms. Sherente: Do you think if they did some surveying in the company
and found some very strong indicators that people were worried about
alcoholism and that there really was more of it than the company was
willing to admit, that it might make a difference?
Strophe 1, stanza 1: Yeah, it would. | We're analytical. | We're engineers.
| If there's a problem, we'll fix it.
Ms. Sherente: How are you going to fix this?
Stanza 2: I don't know. | We'd fix it. | Wefixeverything. | That's what
we do: fix. | We're the best operators in the world.
Stanza 3: We may run around like crazed dogs figuring out how to get
something done, but we'll fix it. | We'll fix it if it costs a zillion dollars.
| That's our culture: If it breaks we'll fix it. | And now we'll usually stop
it from breaking. [Stanzas 4-5 omitted.]
DISCUSSION
78 GARY S.GREGG
TABLE 3.2
Paradigmatic Structure
Overcontrolled Undercontrolled
Bland Raw
Group: degreed crisis managers blue-collar
engineers and sales people workers
Location: stay in travel stay out
[West Coast] [South]
Substance: none alcohol drugs and
alcohol
Character: nerds, interesting, uncouth,
boring exciting, "pure fuel"
high stress
Speech uninteresting, war stories, confession,
silent tall tales, testimonial
[book work] treasures [slang]
Control the
out-of-control
second type more likely to abuse alcohol. He uses these contrasts to convey
valuable information about drinking, and we can see him as an amateur
epidemiologist struggling to identify three risk factors: working in sales,
working in jobs that require travel, and growing up in a blue-collar environ-
ment. But he also seizes the opportunity to perform for Ms. Sherente, and
he uses these oppositions to clump his social world into types of people that
serve as self-definitional landmarks.
The core oppositions do not mesh very well with each other or with
many of the facts he presents, and so he works throughout the interview
to combine, modify, and recombine them to produce a more coherent map.
His efforts look a little like he is following a terrain-mapping algorithm
designed to identify mountain—valley contrasts (e.g., executives vs. workers),
and then among mountains to identify forested-barren contrasts (e.g., engi-
neers vs. peddler types) and volcanic-sedimentary contrasts (e.g., stay-at-
homes vs. travelers). Such an algorithm would map some features accurately
but have a good deal of trouble settling into a solution when it comes across
chaparral, and it might be sent into a "jumpy" kind of oscillation by a
meadow or a lake. Yet these contrasts are Mr. Bororo's tools of thought,
and the facts he knows must be fitted into or around or concealed behind
them—which appears to give his narrative its jumpy character.
As tools of mythic thought, however, these contrasts fashion a colorful,
coherent social world and self. Table 3.2 diagrams the system of paradigmatic
relations by which he constructs his corporate culture and identity.
The group row lists the two anchoring stereotypes: on the left, the
"very professional at all times" degreed engineers; on the right the "pure
fuel," "put Mom out and have a cold one" blue-collar workers. His group
emerges in the middle: the salesman-peddler types and the travelers, whom
he defines as less professional and more at risk than the engineers but as
more professional and less at risk than the workers. He never says this
80 GARYS. GREGG
in so many words, but he establishes the middle "mediating" category by
continually shifting pairwise contrasts that implicitly sculpt his own group(s).
This is Levi-Strauss's primitive thought par excellence: The deep structure
of Mr. Bororo's self-presentation consists of a binary opposition—whose
concrete exemplars represent the abstractions "overcontrolled" and "under-
controlled," respectively—mediated by a third term: those who brave dangers
to control the forces that tend to spin out of control. This is what heavy
drinking means: Alcohol is an entropic, decontrolling force, which these
(figurative) adventurer-warriors seek out, drink in, and control. But Mr.
Bororo likely is correct to insist that their drinking is not about "getting
blitzed," and his identity is not primarily defined by his drinking styie. It is
all of the qualities listed in the table that construct him as an interesting
man whose strength of character shines in tall tales and war stories about
fixing broken plants, handling strikes, acquiring companies, and making the
breakfast call after hard-partying nights.
This paradigmatic structure enables Mr. Bororo to sketch the con-
tours of a mythic narrative—outlined in Table 3.3—in one of the most
basic and perhaps universal of genres: the hero epic. He begins by
establishing the special circumstances of his corporate birth ("elite" con-
tact with the founder in the no-longer-extant machine shop); the rise of
the engineering aristocracy that brought about his loss of honor; his
departure(s) from home to struggle with solitude and dangerous, out-of-
control forces; his receipt of power (the "handing down" of "treasures"
from a donor he "loves"); his passing of power to the "rookies"; his
intelligence-gathering triumph at the cocktail party; and, at the end, a
return home with the lack annulled in a corporate we: "We are engineers,"
"we're analytical," "if it breaks, we'll fix it, and we'll usually stop it from
breaking," "we're the best operators in the world." All this in figurative
language that could be viewed as but ornamentation to the communica-
tion of information, but which in fact drives his selection and interpreta-
tion of the information at every turn.
CONCLUSION
Mr. Bororo's discourse shows what Levi-Strauss has termed "the science
of the concrete." That is, lacking access to the specialized discourses of
alcohol researchers or personality psychologists, he thinks like a bricoleur,
a jack of all trades—with the tools at hand: stereotypic representations of
contrasting social groups. He proceeds by a kind of combinatorial experimen-
tation, in which he varies and reconfigures a core set of contrasts to produce
a collection of accounts of temperance, hard drinking, and alcohol abuse.
No single account provides a straightforward explanation of drinking or a
82 GARY S. GREGG
Mr. Bororo's interview thus shows the structure of meaning Levi-
Strauss postulates to be elemental to mythic thought: a binary opposition
mediated by a third term, which is typically constitutive of valued culture
in contrast to devalued nature. Cooking thus "mediates" the opposition of
raw and rotten in the cosmologies of Amazonian Indians, distinguishing
the forces of culture from those of nature and identifying humans with the
former (Levi-Strauss, 1975). In Mr. Bororo's case, the triadic structure can
probably be termed dialectical in a Hegelian sense (Hegel, 1967), in that
the mediating category cancels and preserves both poles of the opposition.
He drinks in a corner bar style and speaks with touches of working-class
syntax and slang, but always retains control; he always keeps an eye iixed
on the control panel but sallies forth to face forces of chaos the nerdy
engineers keep under wraps. His identity thus emerges in opposition to a
pair of "undesired selves" (Ogilvie, 1987) but composed of features drawn
from each. In addition, the plot line develops this identity as a heroi.c one,
from a special origin through a lack and quest to a final completion, triumph,
and return.
This view of identity as constructed by the science of the concrete
differs markedly from models that seek to describe self-cognition as a
cluster of attributions, a tree of superordinate and subordinate categories,
or a group of schemas or scripts. Identity resides in a nexus of relations
at the intersection of paradigmatic and syntagmatic axes of meaning: It
is defined by a paradigmatic "surface structure" of homologous concrete
contrasts that represent a deep abstract opposition, mediated by a third,
emergent category, which is developed by an implicit syntagmatic plot
line. Simpler information-processing or schema-script models may make
it possible to predict a range of behaviors. But identity entails the creation
of meanings, which only a layered or generative (surface structure—deep
structure) model that incorporates both paradigmatic and syntagmatic axes
can adequately describe. Here studies of figurative and mythic thought
offer a common ground for joining information-processing and narra'iive-
based theories of self-representation. Indurkhya (1992) challenged his
readers to see similarity in "fog" and "cat" before they read Carl Sandburg's
"The fog comes / on little cat feet. / It sits looking / over harbor and
city / on silent haunches / and then moves on" (cited in Indurkhya, 1992).
Mr. Bororo's identity can no more be captured by his surface self-attributions
(executive, traveler, west coaster, engineer, etc.) or even by the deep
schema overcontrol versus acontrol than Sandburg's poem can be reduced
to "fog resembles cat.." It is in the generation of continually shifting and
often inconsistent surface contrasts and of an implicit heroic plot structure
that an identity is fashioned and performed.
84 GARY S.GREGG
peers. It is the more abstract deep structure of his identity—demonstrating
control of dangerous inner and outer forces—that establishes his solid ideo-
logical alliance with the elite. Bourdieu (1984) has shown how an aesthetic
of self-control underlies the generally classical tastes of the corporate bour-
geoisie, in contrast to working-class styles of self-presentation that cften
signify freedom from control.
In spite of professing generally progressive views on gender equality,
the deep structure shows a culturally traditional construction of male iden-
tity. Many of Mr. Bororo's terms traditionally connote manhood ("we're
analytical," "we're the best operators," telling "war stories"), and alcohol
researchers since McClelland, Davis, Kalin, and Wanner (1972) have seen
the demonstration of control over the dangers of drink as a ritualized source
of distinctly masculine empowerment (Capraro, 2000; Lemle & Mishkind,
1989; McCreary, Newcomb, & Sadave, 1999; West, 2001). Controlling the
entropic construes him as a preserver of culture against nature, which Oitner
(1974) suggested may be universal in cultural constructions of masculinity.
In all these ways, Mr. Bororo appears as mythic and as sociocentric in his
self-construction as any primitive villager or nomad.
REFERENCES
86 GARY S.GREGG
Ogilvie, D. (1987). The undesired self: A neglected variable in personality research.
journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 52, 379-385.
Ohnuki-Tierney, E. (1990). Monkey as metaphor? Transformations of a polytropic
symbol in Japanese culture. Man, 25, 89-107.
Ortner, S. (1973). On key symbols. American Anthropologist, 75, 1338-1346.
Ortner, S. (1974). Is male to female as nature is to culture? In M. Rosaldo &
L. Lamphere (Eds.), Women, culture and society (pp. 67-88). Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press.
Propp, V. (1968). Morphology of the folktale. Austin: University of Texas Press.
Raglan, L. (1979). The hero: A study in tradition, myth, and drama. New York: New
American Library.
Ricoeur, P. (1970). Freud and philosophy. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Rosenberg, S., & Gara, M. (1985). The multiplicity of personal identity. In
P. Shaver (Ed.), Self, situations and social behavior (pp. 87-113). Beverly Hills,
CA: Sage.
Rosenwald, G., & Ochberg, R. (Eds.). (1992). Storied lives. New Haven, CT: Yale
University Press.
Sarbin, T. (Ed.). (1986). Narrative psychology. New York: Praeger.
Saussure, F. (1966). Course in general linguistics. New York: McGraw-Hill.
Schenker, H. (1954). Harmony. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Tan, S. L., &. Spackman, M. (2005). Listeners' judgments of the musical unity
of structurally altered and intact musical compositions. Psychology of Music,
33, 133-153.
Turner, V. (1967). The forest of symbols. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
Wagner, P.. (1986). Symbols that stand for themselves. Chicago: University of Chi-
cago Press.
West, L. (2001). Negotiating masculinities in American drinking subcultures. .Jour-
nal of Men's Studies, 9, 371-392.
89
identity texts worthy of systematic scrutiny. Consider, for example, the case
of Jerry Dennett.1
In the sixth grade, Dennett wanted to build the perfect robot. He still
does. Today, Dr. Dennett is a professor of computer science at a major
research university in the United States. He teaches courses on robotics,
computer programming, and artificial intelligence. "I'm interested in how
the mind works," Dennett says, with the aim toward "building systems that
can interact with an unpredictable environment and respond appropriately."
Robots are such systems. They are machines programmed to "see" the physi-
cal environment and to interact with, perform tasks within, and move
through that environment in an efficient and goal-directed manner. Like
people, robots must be self-regulating. They must be able to enact internal-
ized scripts in accord with the demands of the environment. As they move
through space, they must avoid collisions. They must be programmed to
control themselves and do things on their own. Self-regulation is a big
problem for robots, and for many of the other characters in Dennett's
life story.
Why might a boy wish to build a robot? Dennett's story, told 30 years
after his wish first appeared, suggests at least two different answers. First,
the boy's wish stems from an intuition that this is something very cool that
he can do. An unmotivated and underperforming student, Dennett showed
precocious skills in the sixth-grade computer programming sequence. Almost
immediately after he began this sequence, his grades began to improve. He
began to research computers and robots at the local Radio Shack. The
fantasy of building a robot made him feel competent and powerful—that
much is explicit in Dennett's story. What is more implicit is that the fantasy
may also have filled an interpersonal void. An only child in a family wherein
little affection was ever displayed, Dennett felt himself to be an "outcast"
(his term) at school as well. Looking back on his childhood, he says, "I
pretty much had no friends; I was pretty much a depressed child." A robot
is much more than a model airplane or racing car. It is like a person. To
build a robot is akin to creating a life, making a person.
In high school and college, Dennett studied computer operating systems
and artificial intelligence. He spent 2 years working on the problem of
computer vision. Dennett found much of this work to be dull and overly
abstract. The perceptual theories that scientists developed to explain how
computers might make sense of video streams coming from cameras seemed
too arcane to Dennett, and too divorced from what he believed intelligent
1
To protect the privacy of individuals interviewed, all names and identifying information have been
changed-
Yet one cannot help but see patterns and similarities across different
domains of Pagano's life. Contrary to postmodern preferences for surface
over depth and role-playing over stable selfhood (e.g., Gergen, 1992), Pagano
searches for authenticity in her work and personal life. In her research and
writing, and in her love relationships and friendships, Pagano looks for what
is real. In her life, there are many "different areas where you have various
CONCLUSION
REFERENCES
We thank Danny Ambrose, Brooke Hollister, Stefan Esposito, Natasha Molony, and Yasmin
Vetdugo for thoughtful coding of the narratives, and Lewis Jones for critical comments and
conversations on voice and storytelling. The title was inspired by a discussion of "feminism lite"
(Bullock &. Fernald, 2003), although our application of the term "light" is quite different. We would
also like to thank Dan McAdams, Ruthellen Josselson, and three anonymous reviewers for their
editorial comments and suggestions.
Ill
about identity development by looking at the lighter side of trouble. We
contrast trouble that is associated with the development of self-insight with
trouble that is also regarded as self-defining but that does not seem to demand
explicit meaning. The latter kind of trouble does not signal a dramatic
turning point but rather a memorable adventure that is more pleasurably
entertaining than self-explaining. We refer to this entertaining side of narra-
tive identity as "identity light" to contrast with the more serious identity
business that is often pursued in narrative studies of lives.
Our choice of the term identity light is somewhat tongue in cheek,
but not whole-heartedly so. We use the term to refer to stories that are easy
to tell, are well-rehearsed, and do not require explicit meaning-making. In
a metaphorical sense, these stories often lighten one's mood and brighten
a room—they are pleasurable and entertaining to share with others. In the
spirit of Labov and Waletzky's (1967) pioneering work on narrative analysis,
we work with the notion that personal narratives that emerge in everyday
life, often manifested in entertainment stories, are as crucial to understanding
and becoming a person as are narratives of more serious and perhaps more
momentous life experiences.
Choosing to write a chapter on identity light is not without risks. We
acknowledge the risk of losing some of our audience, who might consider
identity light to be no identity whatsoever. To show what we mean by
identity light, we will examine some specimens from a recent study of self-
defining memories of college students (McLean, 2004). We then contrast
identity-light memories with memories that show deeper self-reflection.
After familiarizing the reader with exemplars of identity light and identity
deep, we consider how identity-light narratives can contribute to under-
standing the development of self and identity in late adolescence. We suggest
that identity light is a viable part of identity in its own right, that identity
light shifts our attention to the social contexts in which self stories are told,
and that this shift can enrich what can be learned about how identity
develops in everyday life.
Surely many people who grew up with ample toilet paper showered it
on the neighborhood at some point. But why did Bobby interpret this as a
self-defining memory' Why does Bobby view this as an event that will help
others get to know "who he really is," which is a part of the instructions
that elicited this narrative? Perhaps this is the most exciting moment of
Bobby's life. Perhaps he is slow in relinquishing childish things. Perhaps
this is a glorious moment of adolescent rebellion that he cherishes as a story
to tell for self-acceptance in his peer group. Similarly, 18-year-old Nadine
also reportedly told the following memory for the purpose of entertainment,
on the subject of peers.
[Event narrative, age 18] I was walking down the hall to my friends'
room (Jamie and Lindsay's). I push open the door and Lindsay moons
me. I hysterically laugh. Then Jamie and Rochelle come down the hall
and then thev start to laugh. So there is a pile of girls in the hall
In concert with other narrative psychologists, our past work has defined
meaning-making as explicit reports of reflection on and interpretation of past
events for the purpose of better understanding oneself, one's relationships, or
the world at large. For example, a statement that one has become a stronger
person as a result of a traumatic experience exemplifies what we and other
narrative psychologists have customarily regarded as meaning-making. Also,
like other narrative psychologists, we have found that meaning tends to
emerge in narratives of events that involve conflict or trouble. However,
we have also found that while the majority of late adolescents' self-defining
memories refer to some sort of conflict, most conflict memories do not show
explicit reports of deeper meaning (McLean & Thome, 2003; Thorne,
McLean, & Lawrence, 2004). In short, although meaning-making usually
makes sense of trouble, most trouble does not show meaning-making, at
least in two large samples of late adolescents' self-defining memories.
We propose that entertainment memories represent another kind of
meaning: meaning achieved through energizing a valued audience rather
than revising one's internalized life story. Stories told for entertainment
move meaning outward by tickling the audience with one's story and making
the audience laugh. Does making an audience laugh have something to do
with identity? We think so, but it requires knowing more about the audience
and why one wants to make the audience laugh. This brings us to the second
challenge that identity light presents for narrative studies of lives: attention
to why an identity story is told and to whom it is told.
[Telling narrative, age 19] We just became friends in our freshman year
of college. We were in her room one night recounting life stories and
that was part of my story. I told her easily, without hesitation, because
1 have come to terms with my parent's divorce and it is easy to talk about.
I knew she would understand because her parents are also divorced. She
was very supportive as I told her about it, and I felt very comfortable
at the end of the conversation.
[Probe: Did telling this memory help you to understand it? If so, how?]
Every time I recount this memory, it helps me to accept it and to better
understand why it happened. It gives me a chance to look at my life now
and see how much it has improved since that event.
[Probe: Did you feel comfortable sharing this memory? Why or
why not?]
\es I did. I don't feel ashamed by it because it is part of life and
part of me. If someone can't accept that, they are not worth it to me.
I feel comfortable sharing it because I think it helps people to better
understand who I am.
[Probe: Would you tell this memory in a different way to a different
audience? If yes, please explain why and how you would tell it differently,
and to whom you would tell it differently.]
I think if I was telling it to a stranger, 1 wouldn't feel comfortable
giving them a large amount of detail. I would just make it short and
to the point because I don't know them very well.
Other times, the telling of stories does not seem to produce new or
deeper meanings, but rather a sense of mutual enjoyment and of camaraderie.
• "I drew the picture for them, us young kids smoking out of the
windows trying not to get caught, and eventually how we did
get caught. It was hilarious for everybody."
• "I felt stupid telling this, but we all got a laugh out of it, so i.t
was all good!"
• "I believe I told this memory to Chris because I knew he would
get a kick out of it."
• "I told them the same way as above. I told them one time when
we were smoking or drinking. They thought it was hilarious. I
thought it was funny too. ..."
• "It [telling] made me realize that I really enjoy being in groups
and laughing."
CONCLUSION
REFERENCES
Alea, N., & Bluck, S. (2003). Why are you telling me that? A conceptual model
of the social function of autobiographical memory. Memory, 11, 165-178.
Angelou, M. (1970). I know why the caged bird sings. New York: Random House.
Bamberg, M. (2004). Narrative discourse and identities. In J. C. Meister, T. Kindt,
W. Schernus, & M. Stein (Eds.), Narratology beyond literary criticism (pp.
213-237). New York: Walter de Gruyter.
Brewer, W. F., &. Lichtenstein, E. H. (1982). Stories are to entertain: A structural-
affect theory of stories. Journal of Pragmatics, 6, 473—486.
Bruner, J. S. (1990). Acts of meaning. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
HEATHER
Speaker (S): So, Heather called me, and I talked to her like I do, a
couple of times a week, and, she basically told me, like, that she loved
me over, over, again. And how wonderful I am, and how we're gonna
be together and all that stuff. My feelings are ...
Listener (L): Can I talk? Cause I have something. . . .
S: No, you're the listener, (laugh). My feelings are that she's like too
dependent on me, and, and needs to like, go her own way, and figure
out stuff for herself, and it was positive cause she was talking me up
the whole time. But, it was negative because she needs to like, chill out.
You can talk, dude. Kay?
L: Sure. Okay, where was I at. Oh yeah dude, it's cause, am I mental,
um, she's in a new place. You know what I mean?
S: Yeah.
L: That's what I'm saying. She's, it cause, it's 'cause she doesn't really
have anything there. You know, she . . . some . . . here.
129
S: Mmhmm. A little safety.
L: It's some safety net. Stability, (laugh) That's what I, that's, yeah,
that's it. Yeah. Yeah.
S: good point, (snicker)
L: You see my point. Um, what else. Cause, you, you're
S: She told me I'm the man, like she always does, cause I am the man.
L: Well, you know why. You know, you know, the, the . . .
S: Okay, we're done.
BLOCKBUSTER
S: Okay, so, we're at Blockbuster, the other, goes Friday, three days
ago, and when we walked in, I was trying to check, see if I had any
fees on my card.
L: You mean you and me were at Blockbuster.
S: Yeah.
L: Oh. Okay.
S: You and I were at Blockbuster. And uh, and I was checking to see
if I had any fees cause if we, I did, we'd have to go to another Blockbuster.
And uh, I was just talking to the girl behind the counter, and she said, hey
uh, I said "Do 1 have any fees," and she said "No," and then she proceeded
to recommend some movies which were chick flicks, like, what was it, Sweet
November, she said, "Why don't you get Sweet November," and I said,
"That'd be great, considering I'm with my buddy here." (laugh) Who is
male, anyway (cough), and she's like, "Well, get your girlfriend, and I said
well, uh, and she said why don't you get your girlfriend and watch it, and
I said well, I don't have a girlfriend. And she's all, that's kind of surprising.
L: Oooh.
S: Yeah, and I said, "Well, why is that?" You know, kind of just fishing for
compliments, I guess.
L: Oh, geez.
S: (laugh) And she said, "Well, cause you're really cute." And I was
like, whoa.
L: She said that?
S: Yeah.
L: Are you talking about that. . . .
S: Rebecca, the girl . . .
L: Yeah, I met her at church the other day. Ahhhh . . . anyway.
S: And, a, I think it was kind of a positive experience for me, because
you know, I , I broke up with Rachel few months ago, and just hadn't
had any. . . .
L: She said you were good-looking?
S: Yeah. And today the missionaries, I took them over to West Point, 1
don't know if this is part of the thing, yeah, I took them over to, to a, the,
a West Point place for, to the other missionaries' house, and they're like,
These two stories were told by young adult males to good male
friends in a psychology laboratory. Their conversations are part of a set
of 16 conversations between same-sex friends about recent positive events,
which serve as the primary data on which this chapter is based. In both
pairs, the storyteller talks about a recent encounter with a young woman
who expressed her attraction to him. Both stories provide some factual
information about the event and some sense of what the experience meant
to the storyteller. Both stories elicit several responses from listeners over
the course of the telling. Both stories are in fact about relatively everyday
events rather than significant or life-changing experiences. However, I
contend that both conversations provide a sense of how the speaker may
think about himself.
In other ways, these are strikingly different stories. In "Heather." the
storyteller uses a reflective mode, talking about what happened briefly, and
spending rather more time on why the experience was positive and how it
made him feel. His friend participates quite actively in this endeavor—
pointing out alternative understandings of the experience that, presumably,
would change how the storyteller felt. In "Blockbuster," the storyteller spends
more time in what I will term a dramatic mode; I have indicated the
dramatic sequences with italics. Therein, the storyteller enacts dialogue,
uses nonverbal signals and gestures, and otherwise re-creates the original
event in the current storytelling situation. Reflective modes more efficiently
communicate information, especially interpretive information. Dramatic
modes make for more vivid, dramatic, and entertaining stories, and this
global difference between the two modes was my rationale for naming them.
THE DATA
These examples illustrate that people can use a dramatic mode even
when they are not necessarily quoting dialogue between people.
REFUND
COLLABORATIVE SELF-CONSTRUCTION IN
REFLECTIVE MODES: EXPLICIT AND IMPLIED
COLLABORATIVE SELF-CONSTRUCTION IN
DRAMATIC MODES: PERFORMING A SELF
UNANSWERED QUESTIONS
In the film Big Fish (Burton, 2003), a father tells wild, fantastical tales
about his life; the film renders those tales in dramatic mode. The great
tragedy at the center of the story is that his son cannot see the father in
those stories and feels as though his father is hiding behind the tall tales,
and as though he does not really know his father's real self. The problem,
of course, is that the son is looking for reflective tellings and communicated
meanings (it is no accident that the son is a journalist). And in this pursuit
he deserves some sympathy. The father's stories do not permit the son a
role in shaping them, aside from wholesale rejection or approval. The son
also has a painfully wooden ear: The father's stories communicate volumes
about the father, regardless of their objective truth, not the least because
of the way they are told. Big Fish shows us that in tuning our ears to only
some kinds of telling, we may be deaf to a world of meaning. At the end
of Big Fish, the son learns to use the dramatic mode to coauthor his father's
ending. Like that son, we too might learn much from the "sow's ears" of
everyday and dramatic tellings. As someone interested in storied selves, I
believe the best silk from the sow's ears presented in this chapter points
toward broadening our approach to the everyday and the performed, as well
as the significant and reflective.
REFERENCES
More than most people ... we had to invent ourselves out of whole
cloth. . . . We had the freedom to self-define, a sense of ourselves as
recording and witnessing what had only been shadows before, present
at the creation of something unheard of. (Monette, 1994, pp 205-206)
151
of life experience emerge among members of a generation-cohort who share
particular historical, social, and cultural contexts of development (Elder,
1974, 1996; Mannheim, 1928/1993). There is also intracohort variation
that is based on such factors as gender, social status, geography, and sexual
orientation (Griffin, 2004; Sears, 1991; Settersten, 1999). Possessing and
embracing an identity of contested social status, gay men and lesbians have
developed a particular narrative of development counter to that of the
master heteronormative narrative (Bamberg, 2004; Plummer, 1995). These
counter narratives, which focus on the emergence of a gay identity, are
rewritten by subsequent cohorts of sexual minorities in the context both of
social and historical change and the prevailing counternarratives of gay
identity available at a particular cultural moment.
This chapter explores the interplay of social change and life writing
in the construction of a gay sexual identity through the life stories of three
men of different generations. We suggest that these life stories reveal the
social, cultural, and historical basis of gay identity. We define a gay identity
as the assumption of a particular sexual story, one in which same-sex desire
is fully realized and integrated into the life story through social practice.
Rather than being an achieved status, we view gay identity as a narrative
rooted in sexual desire but motivated by social practice. Our approach to
the study of these life stories follows that portrayed by Lieblich, Tuval-
Mashiach, and Zilber (1998) as holistic-content analysis. This approach
views the narrative of a life as a whole and identifies themes, turning points,
important characters, key relationships, and key events.
Following a brief theoretical overview in which we further develop a
life-story perspective on gay identity and demonstrate its relationship to
other social science perspectives, we consider in detail the life stories of
Paul Monette, Tim Miller, and Kirk Read. We have selected these particular
narratives following guidelines suggested by Plummer (2001), choosing life
stories of men writing about self and sexual desire that are information rich
within a readily identifiable historical context. In this way, we were able
to focus on the role and salience of generational cohort in constructing gay
male identity. Clearly, no claim can be made that the self-authored accounts
chosen for analysis in this chapter are representative in any statistical sense
of their generation of self-life writers seeking sex with other men. Rather,
our analysis is meant to both develop and illustrate a particular theoretical
perspective on gay identity and the gay male life course. In addition to
being information rich, the accounts selected for discussion have been
included on the basis of two other criteria. First, the personal account had
to be entirely self-authored by a man living in an American community.
Second, the life story had to include the course of life as a whole from
childhood to the time at which the account was written, based on a presently
remembered past, experienced present, and anticipated future. An analysis
REFERENCES
Asked to tell his life story, the middle-aged man who is just quoted
begins by making a causal connection between his sense of himself in the
present—his identity—and a significant piece of his past. With his opening
statement, this man makes his volatile childhood a central lens of
The research described in this chapter was supported by a Midlife Development in the United States
Pilot Grant from the National Institute on Aging. This research used interview transcripts from the
Social Responsibility in Midlife, 1995 data set (made accessible in 2002, machine-readable data
files). These data were collected by A. Colby and are available through the archive of the Henry A.
Murray Research Center of the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Study, Harvard University,
Cambridge, Massachusetts (producer and distributor). I thank Mary Anne Machado for her
assistance with interview coding and analysis and Dan P. McAdams for his helpful feedback on
earlier drafts of this manuscript. Please note that the names of the three adults featured in the
interview case studies have been changed to maintain the participants' anonvmity.
175
interpretation through which he makes sense of his life and constructs
his story. As his story continues, he makes another causal connection by
explaining that the abusive relationships he witnessed as a child caused him
as an adolescent to form the belief that marriage is a damaging institution:
"I learned that to be married might be a very bad experience." He then
describes how he entered adulthood with this attitude and carried it with
him until a healthy relationship with a woman challenged his belief and
caused him to transform it.
When I made the decision that I wanted to get married. ... It opened
up so many doors that . . . were impossible, I thought at that time,
psychological blocks. ... It was a springboard effect. I started growing
leaps and bounds. . . . The way that I started acting toward others and
myself was just an incredible change. ... It was unbelievable.
J 78 JENNIFER L. PALS
in that they pinpoint coherent moments of self-defining significance as rhey
emerge spontaneously, within the flow of the oral narration of the life story.
Habermas and Paha (2001) recently took a similar approach to life-story
analysis in that they collected orally shared life stories from adolescents and
divided the stories into linguistic indicators of coherence, including causal
connections between past events and enduring changes within the self.
Consistent with the current theoretical perspective, they found that the
formation of causal connections increased with age during adolescence as
the challenge of self-making became more central to development. The
current analytical procedure extends Habermas and Paha's (2001) approach
by not only identifying causal connections within the life story but also
assessing the self-defining meaning contained within and across them. This
procedure is described in detail.
The first phase involves the identification of all of the causal connec-
tions a person makes in the telling of his or her life story. In this phase,
two identifiers independently read through the transcript from a life-story
interview and look for passages in which the narrator spontaneously and
explicitly interprets an aspect of past experience, broadly defined (e.g.,
events, relationships, life stages, etc.) as having enduring causal meaning
in relation to an aspect of the self or identity, broadly defined (e.g., self-
understanding, beliefs and values, life-changing decisions, mental health
issues, life lessons, etc.). For example, when a person says, "My rural upbring-
ing has made me realize that old-fashioned values are very important," this
passage is marked as a causal connection, because there is explicit causal
language ("made me realize") that links an aspect of past experience ("My
rural upbringing") with an impact on self-defining beliefs and values ("old-
fashioned values are very important"). After the two identifiers complete
their independent readings of the interview, they come together and discuss
their discrepancies, arriving at a final set of causal connections for the
participant. The full set of causal connections identified within a person's
life story may be thought of as providing an idiographic portrait of that
person's present understanding of self-development, embedded within the
shaping influences of past experiences.
The adults whose life stories are analyzed in this chapter were part of
an interviewed subsample of the Midlife Development in the United States
(MIDUS) Survey conducted in 1995 through 1996 by the John D. and
The causal connections within the first life story, told by a single
woman in her late 30s whom I will refer to as Sharon, are dominated by a
narrative pattern in which positive experiences are connected to the positive
growth of self. However, when causal interpretations of negative experiences
are included, they are described as threatening and reversing positive aspects
of self, thus creating patterns of contamination (McAdams, 2006). An
In this passage Sharon clearly articulates how getting the job pleased
her parents and, in the process, put her on a path that gave her the maturity
and self-sufficiency of a "real adult." Sharon makes several more causal
connections in relation to her job in her story, highlighting the growth-
oriented themes of gaining acceptance in a man's world, developing courage,
and feeling pride in having mastered a difficult job. All together, this pattern
of causal connections consolidates the importance of Sharon's career in her
sense of self-definition and to her sense of having experienced progress and
growth in her life.
In stark contrast to Sharon's high point, which was highly integrated
with the rest of her story, her low point in life reveals a different part of
herself, a part that was completely excluded from the life-chapter section
of the interview.
Sharon: When I was—my first love—when I realized what was going
on with that ... I think that changed my attitude toward—you know,
when—we were raised to think that love is going to be a certain way,
and the sad realization that there is no white knight? And it isn't like
they said it was going to be. And that was hard. . . . And after that, I
built up the fences, after that. . . .
Interviewer: So you're single, never married? Is that going to be OK
with you?
Sharon: Yeah. I'm happy, I'm perfectly contained. . . . It's the safest
way to be emotionally. Because when I was—the first guy I ever loved,
the pain that I experienced from that, although it wasn't entirely my
fault nor his, but I was—we were raised to think that things, you know.
And I have a tremendous father, and my mother and father have been
married all these years, never fought in front of us—ever. ... I was,
like, so purely raised that when the reality of life started setting in, I
thought it was going to be, you know, I'm going to meet a guy, music
will start, and we'll be together and he'll treat me right, and you know.
And then it's like, what's going on here, what did I ever do? ... And
then I figured, I'm never going to let anybody be able to hurt me like
that again.
The causal connections within the second life story, told by a married
man in his 60s whom 1 will refer to as Ray, are striking in that they clearly
cluster into two coherent and completely separated patterns of self-making:
the positive impact of positive experiences on the self and the negative
impact of negative experiences on the self. An examination of these patterns
Ray vividly articulates the deep pain of watching his father hit his
mother, and he causally connects this experience to the self when he
acknowledges at the end of this passage that he may still be carrying the
effects of these painful experiences with him. Thus, all three of the causal
connections Ray makes to his father's drinking form a pattern that consoli-
dates longstanding and unresolved emotional struggles within himself and
his relationships. Moreover, the uncertainty of Ray's narration suggests that
this is a piece of himself that he is aware of but that he has never fully
examined or understood. This uncertainty and resistance to examination is
further developed when the interviewer asks Ray to elaborate on the impact
his low point has had on his life.
I don't know. One thing was [for] me to make sure for myself that I
never got into a position where I would be inclined to do those kinds
of things ... it has been a personal thing to not drink excessively and
to not abuse my spouse, as it were. . . . You know, I have not thought
about this, and just thinking about it extemporaneously as we sit here,
it perhaps has caused me to be maybe a little bit more introverted than
I might have otherwise been. I don't know ... I think I'm very a
compassionate person, a very forgiving person. But are those attributes
or—I don't know if they're attributes or not—those characteristics—
Were they fashioned by an event in my life or a series of events? I don't
know. I can't—I'm not a psychologist. I don't know that. So I really
can't answer a question that I haven't sat and pondered.
For the first time in his story, Ray makes a small connection between
negative and positive within himself when he says that his father's drinking
has led him to not drink excessively and not abuse his spouse. However,
this positive impact is still framed in negative terms; Ray is focused on what
he has avoided in response to this experience, not on how he has grown
in positive ways. As Ray continues discussing the impact, his uncertainty
becomes more and more evident; Ray uses the phrase, "I don't know" five
times in this passage. In addition to this uncertainty, Ray suggests possible
connections between his present self and his low point but resists fully
forming or embracing them in his story of self-development. This resistance
The causal connections within the third life story we consider, told
by a man in his mid-30s to whom I will refer as Jack, stand out in contrast
to Sharon and Ray's causal connections in that they do not cluster into
distinct narrative patterns that serve to separate the negative and the positive
within the life story. Instead, Jack's story is filled with redemption sequences
(MeAdams, 2006), which serve to bring together the negative and positive
into one integrative story of self-development. An examination of the pat-
terns of meaning created within and across Jack's causal connections will
show that by making the impact and exploration of his most negative
experiences a central feature of his life story, Jack creates a springboard
effect of positive self-transformation, which is a pattern of narration that
creates a sense of growth within the life story through opening the self up
to new ways of thinking and new possibilities in life.
As he makes causal connections throughout the telling of his Hie story,
Jack focuses primarily on the impact of two traumatic experiences of his
youth, the illness and death of his father during his childhood and the
experience of being molested in his early teens. Jack begins his story by
elaborating on his childhood chapter, which is defined by his father's illness
and death. Jack describes what life at home was like before his father died,
when his mother worked two jobs and his father drank heavily to numb
his pain.
Jack: [My father's] attitude became more and more manic, I guess. I
would say, in that he would go from basically stupor to rages of anger.
And so my reaction was, basically, just disappear. . . . Probably the
saddest thing—You know, now that, you know—looking back at my
life now—is that when my dad died, I felt relief, you know.' And my
wife had some problems, when we got married, with her father, and
probably the best thing I ever did for her was to get it through her head
that, you know, he's not going to be around forever, and that, do you
want him to go away—to die—without you ever having said all the
things you want to say to him? You know, yeah, you're mad at him,
but you still love him ... so there are lots of things that I never got
to say to my father that, you know, age and maturity would have allowed
me to say and allow me to understand, which I have.
Interviewer: What do you wish you had said?
Jack uses the insight he has gained from his experience to help ethers
who have also been the victims of sexual abuse. As with his father's death,
the negative impact of a deeply threatening experience has become the
source of generative outreach to others and a genuine desire to make a
positive difference in people's lives. With these powerful causal connections,
Jack vividly demonstrates the relationship that McAdams (2006) and Mar-
una (2001) have shown between redemption and generativity by articulating
how one's greatest difficulties in life can provide a deeply meaningful basis
for finding self-defining meaning in generative goals and values.
The idea that Jack draws directly from the acknowledgement of the
negative impact of his experiences to help others is reinforced by the fact
that as he continues to talk about how he has helped his coworker, he returns
to the psychological effects of being sexually abused, this time focusing on
how the experience led to sexual identity confusion and feelings of low
self-wort b.
It's like, why I am I—why—you know, when 1 was a teenager it was,
why I am doing this? Do I still like girls? Yeah, I still like girls. Well,
why am I doing this? And, you know, I didn't understand, understand
what was happening to me, and it wasn't until a little [later] before I
even felt comfortable dating, or even trying to date, because I wasn't
sure what I was supposed to date. And then when I felt I was confident
in what I was supposed to date, I didn't understand why anyone would
want to date me. I was damaged goods.
Figure 8.1. Constructing the "springboard effect" within the life story.
The first step in the springboard effect is to bring one's most negative
experiences into the center of one's life story and openly acknowledge the
magnitude of their negative psychological and emotional effects. Indeed,
this acknowledgement of impact can be considered to be the springboard;
once a person embraces just how low he or she has gone in life, it can fuel
an upward trajectory of growth within the story. From this perspective, what
is so interesting about Sharon's story is that when she provides an overview
of her lite with her life chapters, her lowest point in life—the end of her
first romantic relationship—is nowhere to be found. In fact, the period from
age 18 to 25, the period when this event would have occurred, is Sharon's
most vaguely narrated life chapter; a coherent pattern of causal connections
does not begin until age 25, when she becomes a police officer. Thus, by
not bringing her low point in life and its negative effects directly into her
story, Sharon distances the processes of self-making from a springboard for
growth within her story. In contrast, both Ray and Jack bring their most
negative experiences directly into their stories and acknowledge the negative
CONCLUSION
REFERENCES
Baerger, D. R., & McAdams, D. P. (1999). Life story coherence and its relation
to psychological well-being. Narrative Inquiry, 9, 69-96.
Bauer, J. J., & McAdams, D. P. (2004). Personal growth in adults' stories of life
transitions. Journal of Personality, 72, 573—602.
Blagov, P. S., &. Singer, J. A. (2004). Four dimensions of self-defining memories
(specificity, meaning, content, and affect) and their relationships with self-
I thank Jolien and Tony Barresi, Susan Bryson, Tim Juckes, the editors, and referees of earlier
versions of this chapter for tneir useful comments and suggestions for revision. The research and
writing of this chapter were supported by a Social Science and Humanities Research Council of
Canada operating grant to the author.
201
identities that Malcolm had and has—identities that he himself generated,
as well as those imposed on him by others. Furthermore, his impact should
not be understood as one of a straightforward model for others. Malcolm
was, and remains, a controversial figure. Indeed, the same could be said of
Luther and Gandhi, which a simple Eriksonian analysis might miss.
Goodheart (1990) has already provided an Eriksonian analysis of
Malcolm X. In this chapter I show what remains to be said about Malcolm X
that cannot be captured in such a linear theory of identity development. I
use the life history of Malcolm X, with a particular focus on his autobiography
(Malcolm X, 1965), to illustrate how narrative theory can inform our under-
standing of the social and personal identities of an individual. Unlike a
strictly historical approach to a life, which focuses mainly on causes affecting
the development of an individual, a narrative approach focuses on the stories
out of which an individual constructs his or her personal and social identities.
In the case of Malcolm X, I believe that one cannot fully appreciate his
significance as an individual without considering the variety of narratives
that constituted his many identities. Some of these narratives are personal
and familial; some are narratives of race and culture; some are national and
some international. All are situated in historical time. Through time, these
narratives and their relationships to each other were transformed. Some of
these narratives of identity were unique to Malcolm, but many of them
were shared by other Black Americans of his time. Malcolm was the source
of some of the more important of these identity narratives, and from
Malcolm's clear expression of these narratives, they spread to others. Just
as in the cases of Luther and Gandhi, it is Malcolm X's long-lasting influence
on others that makes his personal quest for an affirmative self-identity
important to consider.
THEORETICAL FRAMEWORKS
SURRENDERED IDENTITY
With the illusion of becoming White shattered, believing that his own
intellectual ability and accomplishments did not matter and that what did
matter was that he was Black, Malcolm lost interest in school and wanted
to leave the White world he was living in. In his autobiography he described
this event as "the first major turning point in my life" (1965, p. 35).
Fortunately, during this same period his half-sister, Ella, a daughter
from his father's first marriage, visited Malcolm's family from Boston. He
was extremely impressed with her.
I think the major impact of Ella's arrival, at least upon me, was that
she was the first really proud black woman I had ever seen in my life.
She was mainly proud of her very black skin. This was unheard of
among Negroes in those days, especially in Lansing. (Malcolm X, 1965,
p. 32)
NEGATIVE IDENTITY
Malcolm's 6-year term in prison (he was paroled before his full sentence
was served) was, in terms of the development of personal identity, the most
important period of his life. It was the time when he recreated himself
from a minor hoodlum, with addictions, virtually no education, and a self-
defeating attitude toward life, into a self-educated, religious believer, with
a self-confident, optimistic, and morally upright attitude toward life. He
also acquired, through his new religion, a mission to teach other Black
people how to get rid of their own negative identities, as he had his. Part
of that lesson was for them to realize that the main cause for their negative
lifestyle was the "White devil." However, Malcolm's stay in prison involved
210 JOHNBARRESI
much more than a religious conversion to the Nation of Islam. Even before
he heard about the Black Muslims from other family members, he was already
undergoing transformations in prison. As detailed in his autobiography, it
was mainly under the mentorship of a wise older Black prisoner named
Bimbi that he awoke to the futility of his self-destructive behavior. Bimbi
recognized that Malcolm had misdirected intellectual capacities, and he
taught him how to regain their rightful use. Malcolm began a program of
self-education that, once combined with his interest in the dogma and
mythology of the Nation of Islam, led him in directions of self-reflection
about Blacks and Whites in America, which would eventually result in a
major transformation not only in Malcolm's self-narrative but in the self-
narratives of many Black Americans.
From the point of view of theory, what is fascinating about Maxolm's
psychosocial moratorium in prison, and his arrival at a new personal identity
during that time, is how such a radical transformation could occur. When
he entered prison his attitude was self-defeating: He was still on drugs,
constantly in solitary for breaking rules, and always swearing against God
and religion. Because of this behavior he was called "Satan" by other inmates.
Yet, in his transformation, this self-hatred and anger with God eventually
reversed itself into a hatred of a different source—the "White devil," or
White race, which in the origin myth of the Nation of Islam were all created
as devils. And, instead of anger with God and religion, he converted to the
Nation of Islam and loved Allah.
Malcolm's description of his conversion well illustrates the dialogical
nature of self in transformation. In a manner similar to James's (1902)
account of religious conversion, Malcolm was aware of two selves within
himself, the "bad" satanic self he had been and the "good" religious self he
ultimately became. The dialogical struggle between these two selves was
most intense in his attempt to pray.
The hardest test 1 ever faced in my life was praying. You understand.
My comprehending, my believing the teachings of Mr. Muhammad
[Elijah Muhammad, head of the Nation of Islam] had only required my
mind's saying to me, "That's right!" Or, "I never thought of that."
But bending my knees to pray—that act—well, that took me a
week. . . .
I had to force myself to bend my knees. And waves of shame and
embarrassment would force me back up.
For evil to bend its knees, admitting its guilt, to implore the forgive-
ness of God, is the hardest thing in the world. It's easy for me to say
that now. But, then, when I was the personification of evil, I was going
through it. (pp. 169-170)
Nevertheless, after repeated struggles to kneel and pray, he did succeed,
and soon he was into his new character and life.
MINISTER MALCOLM X
'A family history by Malcolm's older step-sister Ella's son, Rodnell Collins (1998) supports the clain
that Little was the name of the slave owner of Malcolm's ancestors on his father's side.
When Malcolm realized that he could not regain status in the Nation
of Islam, and not only that his suspension would be permanent but that
leaders in the Nation of Islam had put out the word that he should be
killed, he formally left the organization in March 1964 and formed his own
religious organization, the Muslim Mosque, Inc. His hope was to be accepted
as a member and minister within true Islam. The status of the Nation of
Islam within the international Islamic community was always in doubt,
although Malcolm and Muhammad had tried to make connections, and
even visited the Middle East in 1959. After that trip, Muhammad became
less interested in Islam, whereas Malcolm continued to maintain and even
cultivate his interest.
With the monetary assistance of his sister Ella, Malcolm made two
long trips to the Middle East and Africa in 1964, during the first of which
216 JOHNBARRESI
Malcolm was accepted into Sunni Islam and was able to make his hajj
(pilgrimage) to Mecca. This was an extremely rewarding personal experience
for Malcolm because, in addition to affirming his religious identity as Islamic,
it provided him with a new humanistic vision of society. The fact that Islam
included people of many visible races, including Whites, getting along
together without racism provided him with a realistic vision and conception
of the possibility of a nonracist society.
His visits to Africa in 1964 immediately after his hajj to Mecca had
a more political impact on his thinking and his sense of racial identity.
When he returned to the United States, he had an expanded sense of his
own personal identity and of African American social identity in general.
He also had a much less separatist and more humanitarian vision of how
to effect improvements in the United States. After this visit to Africa,
Malcolm formed the Organization of Afro-American Unity (OAAU) as a
secular organization devoted to the improvement of conditions for all African
Americans, regardless of their religious orientation. Malcolm was not able
to effect much with this organization. The little progress he made in acquiring
a new nonracist social and political identity because of his past image as a
racist separatist, and the mobility of his rapidly changing ideas, was tragically
thwarted when he was killed in February 1965.
From the point of view of narrative theory, Malcolm, during this last
period of his life, was trying to develop a voice that he could claim :o be
fully his own. This voice would have integrated his personal and social
narrative viewpoint and combined in a balanced manner his several commit-
ments: his religious commitment to Islam; his political commitment to Black
Americans; his cultural commitment to pan-Africanism; and his commit-
ment to individual human rights and justice, regardless of culture, race,
gender, or other social category that might inhibit human flourishing. How-
ever, because he was seen by others through the lens of his past alliance
with the Nation of Islam and the social identities that developed around
his public appearances, he was not allowed, as he said, to "turn the corner"
and take on a new, more humanitarian role as a leader in the civil rights
movement. Instead, he was continually harassed by the Nation of Islam,
misrepresented by the media, and unable to form alliances with the other
Black political leaders by the time of his untimely death.
218 7OHNBARRESI
Our history and our culture were completely destroyed when we
were forcibly brought to America in chains. And now it is important
for us to know that our history did not begin with slavery. We came
from Africa, a great continent, where live a proud and varied people,
a land which is the new world and was the cradle of civilization. Our
culture and our history is as old as man himself and yet we know almost
nothing about it. (Malcolm X, 1970/1992, pp. 53-54)
CONCLUSION
Malcolm's search for a positive identity both for himself and more
generally for Black Americans illustrates how personal and social identity
are intertwined, how narrative is crucial to both forms of identity, and how
society can be transformed by changing personal and social narratives. Right
from infancy, Malcolm was caught up in personal and social stories of
identity. Malcolm's position in his family as well as his family's position in
Black activism during the 1920s provided the basis for identities and stories
that would later develop in Malcolm's self-narrative and his attempts to
provide social narratives for Black Americans. But the stories and identities
that Malcolm adopted as well as those that were imputed to him by others
were not mere transformations of a single coherent story. A number of
inconsistent stories and identities were developed around Malcolm and by
him, in his attempts to make sense of his life and of the lives of other
African Americans. The struggle to develop affirming identities that could
be accepted by self and would be accepted by others was a struggle in which
Malcolm engaged throughout all of his postadolescent life. And, although
Malcolm effected more dramatic changes and engaged in a more intense
struggle than most of us, Malcolm's search for a positive identity through
narrative as well as through political action, illustrates in an extreme form
the struggle for a coherent sense of personal and social identity that occurs
for many people in the modern and postmodern era. Stable personal narrative
identities fixed by social role are a thing of the past in Western culture.
Instead, the predominant theme is the dialogical emergence of identities,
sometimes multiple and inconsistent, sometimes combined into a reasonable
coherence, all depending on stories we can tell that make sense of our lives
to external and internal audiences and that can lead to actions and historical
transformations in identity, inconceivable in earlier times.
We thank literature professor Krista Ratcliffe, playwright Peter Handler, and psychologist Peter
Graskamp for their contributions to our discussions of the liie-story material. We are also grateful to
the participants—the ideology exemplars who shared their life stories.
223
convictions, and assumptions one might hold—including what one believes
to be correct in the domain of morality, meaningful in spirituality/religiosity,
just in legal procedures, and appropriate in parenting practices. Individual
differences in personal ideology are manifested in political orientation in
general and in beliefs about particular political issues such as same-sex
marriages, laws regarding reproduction, and the justifications for declaring
war. Although particular positions on these topics are often supported with
evidence ("life begins at conception"; "history is rife with successful preemp-
tive strikes"), such evidence is typically refutable by the counterclaims of
those with differing opinions. One's political stance is more a matter of
belief and value than of facts, and thus it lies within the realm of personal
ideology. These and other political issues are salient today in the United
States and around the world—often creating fierce divides between individ-
ual citizens, regions, and groups (socioeconomic classes, political parties,
ethnicities). It is therefore wise to study personal ideology to fully understand
its meaning. Although we do not further address these societal and regional
(red vs. blue states) ideology dynamics, we believe that this work deepens
understanding in this area. As personality psychologists, we begin at the
level of the individual. We seek to discover the manner in which differences
in personal ideology are manifested in the self-identities created and
maintained by contemporary adults.
Several scholars have articulated the close connection between per-
sonal ideology and individual identity. For Erik Erikson (1950), these are
the two most salient psychosocial issues of one's adolescent years. "Identity
vs. Role Confusion" is the fifth of the eight stages that compose the Erikson-
ian life cycle model of development. It is during this period that one begins,
in earnest, the process of identity formation—to respond to the yoked
questions of "Who am I?" and "How do I fit into the adult world?" According
to Erikson, these questions are answered as the adolescent selectively incor-
porates and repudiates available models of belief and values from the adult
world. As a consequence, identity and ideology are intertwined.
Dan McAdams has questioned some of Erikson's basic assumptions
regarding identity development, yet he agrees that identity and ideology
are inseparable.
POLARITY THEORY
METHODS
05
E C
CD ^- CD O h~ CM CO i-
0 S CM C\J CO T-
CD
f~
T *?
g>
CD
CO O ,. O) O) CD 00 |v. CM
c Z3 U- CD -i- i- CO 1
CO
m
o CO
_J
CO t . . C D
LL CO
CO
CM
|v.
i-
O5
CO
i- 00
CD
5
CO T
O
o "2?
0 CO C
C/3 Q. CD -2
0 £ CD cfl
CM |v.
Q. CD
X
CD £«£ £ - 8 £c,fe S 0
CO
™. 05 W.
CD CM ^ o'"'-^1"^^
O E « 2-
O o
CM 7 CD CO m
P
o.l
•*-•*
W
15
LLJ & C
o
03 DC £2
< CO
CD ^
o ^ CD O CO CO •* CM
Q.
H- CD CO
O
£
C/3
0
75
CO E _J-
CO o CO — CO CO O -o co in
Q. C CO
2 •* in co ^
E 3 CO '"
0 o
X ~
LU £
co
C CO Tf
CO .CM O> i- |v.
CO U- CD m co •*
E co '" 0)
(B
^
j— (0
CD 0)
X , O CO •<* O •J CM CM
C
cfl U- "st- in co in
IT ^~ C
ID
E
3
>• E jC
§» -2 03
o E 2 "^ >,
! i •§ 2
.0 C 0
g 1
O ^-
1 «
*— .—
9-1
C W
1
J
D 5 -*-1
x o S i i •£ W
H <
CD CD <1) O
CO < Q. Q. <
Intrapersonal
Interpersonal
Transpersonal
CONCLUSION
Our reading of the life stories told by the eight ideology exemplars
suggests clear group differences between ideological humanists and norma-
tives. These differences were evident in intrapersonal themes in that the
humanist stories contained relatively more emotional expression, less control
of self and other, and a tendency for intentional selfing that viewed self as
a complex, organic being to be explored and nurtured. Interpersonal material
from the life stories revealed the normatives to be more likely to maintain
a hierarchy of human worthiness, to create escape fantasies of clandestine
romance, and to maintain relationship modes that were distant. Finally,
within the transpersonal realm, humanists were more likely to deemphasize
religiousness and to value a spirituality allowing for self-growth and personal
meaning, whereas normatives either valued institutional religion or found
spirituality to be somewhat hollow or untrustworthy.
Our findings both support and extend the polarity theory of personal
ideology. We know of no previous attempt to discern the differences between
REFERENCES
I never knew what I'd be most suited to. I never had a master plan to
do this or that . . . and on the way, you know, at every stage there are
always new things to take into account and you think maybe this,
maybe that. The truth is that I really didn't know what I was going to
do. It was all so random, so unplanned. Things turned out the way they
did and I just let them happen. ... I didn't fight them, and they didn't
get me down. . . . (Joan, 48, middle status)
249
By now narrative has become a familiar concept in the social sciences.
In psychology, narrative is most frequently discussed in terms of its relation
to identity. Bruner (1990, 2002), Gergen and Gergen (1988), McAdams
(1985, 1993), and Polkinghorne (1988) all contend that personal narra-
tives—meaning by this both their form and their content—are people's
identities. According to this approach, the relationship between story and
identity is reciprocal; identity infuses the life story with content and meaning
even as it is changed and shaped by the story being told. The story is one's
identity, a narrative created, told, revised and retold throughout life. We
know or discover ourselves, and reveal ourselves to others, through the
stories that we tell.
Stories have thus become a familiar vehicle for learning about identity
and personality dynamics (e.g., Josselson, 1996; McAdams, 1997; Plunkett,
2001). Most analyses, however, concentrate on the content of stories rather
than on their form, and there are but a few examples of analyses of form
in relation to identity (e.g., Farrell, Rosenberg, & Rosenberg, 1993; Gergen
& Gergen, 1986; Linde, 1993; Maruna, 1998). Although content analysis
tells the researcher about the narrator's ideas and values and about the
context in which he or she lives, form analysis highlights the narrator's
subjective experience of the developmental plot. This difference can also
be described as the difference between perpendicular and horizontal mapping
of the narrator in the story realm, where perpendicular mapping refers to the
themes and topics with which the narrator is engaged, and horizontal mapping
refers to their change and development throughout life.
It is also important to bear in mind that the narrator, in most cases, is not
equally cognizant of formal and thematic aspects of the narrative. Although
awareness of content is usually high, allowing for some degree of control over
the narrative, awareness of the structure (or form) of a narrative is usually
more limited, and as such, analyses of form may touch on more unconscious
and less manipulated levels of identity. At the same time, it is also important
to remember that content and form are not easily distinguishable, and that
it is usually impossible to analyze form without referring to issues of content,
or vice versa (Lieblich, Tuval-Mashiach, & Zilber, 1998).
METHOD
second session I asked some questions and requested more details. (Note
that I was the sole interviewer.)
ANALYSIS
FINDINGS
High-Status Men
The life stories of the men in this group were quite similar in form.
All of them presented the course of their lives as dynamic and in constant
flux, and the graphs that were extrapolated from their stories suggest "con-
stant progress." Most of the men began their narratives in childhood, which
they saw as the basis or "anchor" for the evolution of the principle crama.
Adolescence was scarcely mentioned, if at all, and the years of young adult-
hood were similarly omitted. Exceptional attention was devoted to the
period of army service, which is compulsory and significant for men in Israel,
and thus presented extensively and at length. The last decade in the life
story was the one most vividly and fully described.
The participants in the study were involved in different occupations
and modes of employment, so that the contents and details of their stories
were varied. For this reason it was astonishing to find so much similarity
in the formal aspects of their narratives. All of the stories were about
advancement and progression, and their movement was in most cases de-
scribed as rapid, dramatic, unceasing, and continuous.
The plot in these men's narratives was unidimensional, and had onlv
one axis—the theme of which was the narrator's professional career. Other
axes or themes were markedly absent. Other people were scarcely and briefly
mentioned, and if so, only in relation to the narrator's professional track.
The stories therefore move at a brisk pace and many of their events are
condensed into a short time period.
I went, I finished the army, and right away I drove to the university to
begin my studies. Right away. ... It was immediately clear to me tha1:
I would continue to study. There was no other option. It's as if I were
to tell you that you have to stop at a "stop sign"—as clear as that.
High-Status Women
All of the women in this group held prestigious jobs and were in the
top ranks of the hierarchy at their places of work. Their life stories also
have a lot in common. There are two prototypical stories in this group:
The first is a defined and clear career plot straight through from young
adulthood, and the other is the story of a "late bloomer," of women who
began impressive careers in mid-life.
As in the high-status men's stories, the professional plot that emerged
from the women's stories is one of advancement, with consistent progress
and ascent. The progress, however, was described as less dramatic and slower
than most of the stories in the corresponding men's group.
There was, in effect, much similarity between the graphs of professional
development among high-status men and women. Indeed, aside from differ-
ences with regard to the pace and nature of progress in the two groups, the
prototypical graphs of the two groups moved in similar directions and de-
picted a similar developmental course. Nonetheless, a closer reading of the
texts does reveal meaningful differences between the groups. First, although
the professional narrative did assume a significant place in both prototypes
of the women's narrative, and although its structure was always clearly
defined, it was never the only narrative in the story. Although it was
1
It might be that competition is not central in these women's narratives, because most of them were
working in places in which there were no other women at their level.
My story should set an example for other women, who should know that
they ought to establish goals by themselves, for themselves, regardless of
what has happened previously in their lives or why. At every point in
their lives they should make the decision that is best for them, choose
the path that will allow them to grow the most, even if that path is
unconventional or presents unusual difficulties. I could be an example
for all women, not to give up (their professional wishes).
Middle-Status Men
For example, in 1978 there was a school strike, and I had already been
accepted to a prestigious managers' course at the First Union Bank.
Had the strike lasted one more week, I would have already been in the
course, and I would have stayed there. But the strike ended the evening
before the course started. ... I wanted to go. And I'm sure that if I'd
gone I'd have had a good managerial position at the bank today, I
don't know exactly doing what, but somewhere at the top. No doubt.
Economically, it was definitely a better deal.
I: (Mmmm.)
A: But there is no doubt that what I'm doing today is more interesting.
Although the stories of women in the high status and in both the
men's groups parallel in a number of ways the narratives and graphs of
women in the middle-status group diverged from all other stories: Their
lives were not characterized as structured by movement toward single, clear
objectives. No one domain was accentuated at the expense of all others.
Yet with the absence of single-mindedness comes greater flexibility. Women
in this group divided their energies among different realms, yet retained the
freedom to choose which of these realms to stress.
Middle-status women seemed to adapt more easily to the twists and
turns of fate. They seemed to find it easier than men in both statuses to
accommodate themselves to changing realities and to define goals that
befit their current situations (Bateson, 1989; Rabuzzi, 1988). A number of
interviewees seemed to bear out this hypothesis in their own reflections on
their lives, as both the following citation and the one in the opening of
the chapter demonstrate.
Life just flowed, it flowed, and I went along with the flow because I am
a person that goes with the flow. So O.K. there are certain routes, and
I can go along with them, and I can eventually get there because I am
creative, and I can go along and maybe get somewhere else altogether.
... I knew 1 wanted certain things, but I only thought about the
highlights—1 didn't go into it in detail—I want this and this and this
. . . and 1 went on, I mean, I didn't say I want this kind of family and
so forth—I never fully defined it. 1 knew generally what I wanted, and
I got just that. . . .Maybe if I had defined things more clearly I would
have gotten more . . . today I define things more clearly and I get
whatever I want to get. . . .Whenever I define a goal I get it ... in as
much as it's in my control—and even if it depends on the environment
I get it ... I definitely succeed in getting what I want.
As Ruth stressed, she has not always been naturally assertive or goal-
directed. These characteristics only developed at a later stage of life.
It was only at the age of 33 that I started to put things together for
myself. Then, more than at other times in my life, I knew what I wanted.
I mean, I made things happen, instead of waiting for them to happen
to me. ... I was in control, choosing how my life would be, instead of
letting my life control me. (Ruth, a worker in a pastry shop and a student)
The purpose of this study was to learn more about the use of form in
male and female narratives, and about the ways in which both gender and
status are involved in the construction of narrative form. My interpretation
is guided by the assumption that if gender is the more critical factor, same-
gender narratives will be more similar to one another than narratives of
individuals of the same social status. Conversely, if status is more critical
than gender in the construction of narrative, narratives by men and women
of the same status will be more similar in form than those of members of
the same gender. On this basis several important conclusions can be drawn
about the data presented.
The findings from the four groups create a rich and complicated picture.
Each group was unique in its narrative pattern(s), while at the same time
similar to others in some features. High-status men's narratives were the
most homogenous and easy to lay out on a graph. They were all characterized
by one clear plot, the theme of which was invariably professional. They
demonstrated constant positive development and many dramatic structural
components. The narrators in this group were active and resourceful and
let no obstacle stand in the way of achieving their objectives. The tacit
CONCLUSION
2
One may question the relation between what a person chooses to tell about him- or herself to an
interviewer and his or her inner identity. This question is beyond the scope of this chapter, but the
reader is invited to read about this issue in Ricoeur (1983) and Kerby (1997).
269
Davis, W., 85, 86 Gergen, K. J., 5, 6, 9, 10, 16, 34, 100,
Day, R., 143, 149 101, 107, 153, 169, 178, 198,
De Boeck, P., 20, 33 250, 252, 267
DeCaro, L. A., 209, 221 Gergen, M. M., 16, 34, 117, 126, 153,
DeCooke, P., 143, 147 169, 250, 251, 252, 264, 267
D'Emilio, J., 153, 155, 169 Gerrig, R. ]., 137, 148
Demorest, A. P., 105, 107 Gibbs, R., 81, 85
Denzin, R, 42, 59 Giddens, A., 4, 9
de St. Aubin, E., 8, 225, 226, 229, 247 Gillespie, A., 204, 214, 221
de Vries, B., 228, 247 Gilligan, C., 43, 59, 251, 267
Dickinson, C., 145, 148 Givon, T., 145, 148
Duberman, M, 153, 169 Glaser, B.C., 231,248
Duck, S., 143, 148 Goffman, E., 156, 157, 169
Dudukovic, N. M., 145, 148 Goldberger, N. R., 250, 267
Duncan, O. D., 251, 267 Gollwitzer, P. M., 144, 148
Goodheart, L. R., 202, 206, 207, 209,
212, 217,221
Graskamp, P., 223n
Eagly, A. H., 266, 267 Greenberg, D. F., 166, 169
Eichenbaum, H., 20, 33 Gregg, G. S., 6, 9, 20, 21, 34, 63, 84, 85,
Elder, G. H., Jr., 151, 152, 169 93, 95, 100, 106, 107
Elms, A. C, 105, 107 Griffin, L. J., 152, 169
Ely, M., 89, 107 Gruber, H. E., 93, 108
Empson, W., 64, 85 Gubrium, ]., 117, 122, 126
Epstein, D., 40, 59
Erikson, E. H., 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 16, 34, 38,
39,59, 167, 169, 201, 209,221, Habermas, T., 3, 8, 9, 111, 126, 176,
224, 232, 247 177, 179, 180, 198
Haden, C. A., 3, 9
Halbertal, T. H., 5, 7
Fanon, F., 207, 221 Hammack, P. L, 7, 154, 169
Farrell, M. P., 250, 267 Handler, P., 223n
Fernald, ]. L, 11 In, 126 Harding, S., 117n, 126
Fine, M., 48, 49, 60 Harre, R., 19, 34, 144, 148, 150
Finkenauer, C., 143, 149 Harwell, M. R., 228, 248
Fivush, R., 3, 9, 145, 148 Hegel, G., 83, 86
Flannery, D., 228, 248 Heilbrun, C. G., 250, 267
Fong, G. T., 144, 149 Hemenover, S. H., 196, 198
Foucault, M., 45, 46, 59, 153, 166, 169 Herdt, G., 154, 165, 166, 170
Freeman, M., 15, 16, 34, 194, 198, 231, Herek, G. M. 170
232, 248 Hermans, H. J. M, 5, 9, 17, 18, 20, 31,
Frenkel-Brunswik, E., 228, 247 34, 40, 41, 56, 59, 63, 84, 86, 95,
Freud, S., 105, 107 100, 108, 204, 214, 221, 232, 248
Hermans-Jansen, E., 232, 248
Higgins, E. T., 63, 86
Hirst, W., 145, 148
Gara, M., 81, 87 Hoffman, B. J., 143, 149
Gardner, H., 93, 106, 107 Holland, D., 153, 167, 170
Garents, L. D., 50, 59 Hollway, W., 19, 34
Gauntlett, D., 166, 169 Holmes, J., 39, 59
Gee, J., 66, 85 Holstein, J., 117, 122, 126
AUTHOR INDEX
SUBJECT INDEX
275
Conversations. See Storytelling, everyday Harlem, 210
Crystallizing experience, 93, 106 Hermeneutic circle, 231-232
Culture Hierarchy of human worthiness, 238-239
affected by outstanding individuals, Holocaust survivors, 197
201 Homosexuality. See also Identity, gay and
and effect of White culture on Afri- lesbian; Orthodox Jews, gay and
can Americans, 219 lesbian
and globalization, 166 and identity, 39-40, 46-47
and identity, 201 Jewish formulations of, 44, 45-46,
and meaning-making, 11 49
and sexual identity, 166 and religion, 38-40
Western conceptions of mental Humanists, 8. See also Personal ideology
health, 197 and emotional expression, 233-234,
245
vs. normatives, 227-228, 229, 237-
Death, 163, 189-192, 197 238, 241-242
Deep structure, 64, 66, 81, 82 and selfing process, 235, 238, 243
Disclosure, of homosexuality, 154-155, and spirituality, 244-245
158, 163, 165 Humiliated self, 26-30
Disharmony, 39-40
Divorce, 115, 197
narratives of, 115-116, 119-120 Identity. See also Causal connections, and
Dramatic mode, 7, 131-132, 133, life story; Identity, gay and les-
141-143 bian, Identity light; Life narra-
Drug abuse, 92 tives; Life stories, Israeli; Life
stories, of academics; Malcolm X,
identities of; Narrative; Narrative
identity; Personal ideology; Story-
Emotional expression, 233-234
telling, everyday
Enlightenment, 17
and adolescence, 3, 4, 5, 204
Entertainment stories, 112-114, 116,
and culture, 201
121-122, 123-124. See also Iden-
deep, 114-116, 119, 122
tity light
defined, 64, 83
Escape fantasies, 241, 242
development, 3-4
Exemplars' scores relative to sample score
and dialogue, 84-85
(table), 230
and homosexuality, 39^-0, 46^7
and narrative forms, 263-265
personal, 202-203, 224
Fantasy, 241-242 sexual, 38, 153-155, 167
Foley Center for the Study of Lives, 67 social, 202-203
stability vs. growth, 7—8
and stories, 250
Garvey movement, 206, 212, 218 Identity, gay and lesbian, 5, 7, 37-58,
Gay and lesbians. See also Homosexuality; 151-168. See also Identity; Homo-
Identity, gay and lesbian; Ortho- sexuality; Orthodox Jews, gay and
dox Jews, gay and lesbian lesbian
Gay Liberation Front, 155 acquired immune deficiency syn-
Gender, 85, 250-251, 266. See also Men, drome (AIDS), 154, 155, 157-
and narrative; Women, and 158, 161, 165, 166
narrative case study, 42-44
Globalization, 166 Charles's story, 25-31
283
(Conversations With Dvora, 1998) and the Israeli female poet Lea Goldberg
(Learning About Lea, 2003). She has also published (with Rivka Tuval-
Mashiach and Tamar Zilber) Narrative Research: Reading, Analysis, and Inter-
pretation (1998), a book that presents her approach to narrative research.
She has taught graduate courses on life stories and their use in research.