Write a summary of three significant points that you find most interesting in the final chapter of If This is Your Land, Where are Your Stories?
In his final chapter of If This is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories?, J. Edward Chamberlin argues that in order for us to find common ground, we must abandon our need to be right. When we encounter a story that challenges our beliefs, we tend to draw a line in the sand; distinguishing ourselves from the other. However, in putting up this boundary, we set up harmful barriers between ‘Us’ and ‘Them’—the kind of barriers that result in prejudice, discrimination, oppression, and war. Through a vivid metaphor, Chamberlin addresses the dangers of only accepting a Single Story. Just as two painters sitting on different sides of an inlet will paint the same boat from two different perspectives, so too will stories paint a picture of an event in two different lights. In this way, our question is no longer ‘which story is right?’, but rather ‘how do these stories inform a fuller picture of the world?’ (222).
Photo Credit: Daderot. Burrard Inlet with Sailboat. 2015. Web. 20 May 2016.
Chamberlin also challenges his readers not to approach story-telling as a chance for debate. He likens the telling of stories to a ceremony. During ceremony, we accept that imagination and reality can exist simultaneously. We approach ceremonies with a sense of reverence and decorum. We live within these spaces peacefully because we understand that to accept a ceremony, we do not have to ascribe to the beliefs behind the stories being told, songs being sung, or dances being danced. For example, we may stand at a Canuck’s game and belt out the national anthem with all the fervor of someone who believes the words they are singing; but is belief in these words a pre-requisite for participating in the ceremony? Chamberlin would argue that it is not. We can participate in and respect a ceremony without having to accept the underpinning beliefs. And so it should be in listening to the stories of others. We can listen to, participate in, and offer respect and reverence to a story and storyteller without having to choose between our beliefs and theirs. Indeed, perhaps living within this tension will help us to open our minds and “see with an innocent eye”, to accept that there is more than one story to be told (221).
The last point I would like to discuss is a story from the beginning of Chamberlin’s final chapter. The story tells of the Gitskan (Gitxsan) people of Northwest British Columbia. Within the history of these first peoples is the story of a village in the valley between two peaks. Over time, the village grew to ignore ancient teachings about how to care for the land and each other. The spirit bear of the mountains, seeing their actions, stormed down the mountainside in a rage, bringing with him a giant rock slide that engulfed the village. Years later, the Gitskan people told this story in order to assert their claim to the land. However, the crown wouldn’t accept this story as proof of their rights to the land. But, when a group of geologists corroborated the story of a landslide, the crown conceded. Chamberlin points out that “the storyline of geology was framed by a narrative just as much the product of invention as the story told by [the Gitskan] people; and [ . . . ] each storyteller’s imagination—whether telling of tectonic plates or of grizzly outrage—was engaged with discovering a reality that included much more than the merely human” (221). What Chamberlin so cleverly reveals through this story is that science, faith, religion, belief, culture, and even history are all stories. There are degrees of reality to each, but also of imagination. And only by recognizing that reality and imagination belong together in story, will we ever be able to find common ground with others. We need to recognize that affirming the story of another does not automatically preclude the efficacy of our own stories. Indeed, as Chamberlin’s chapter asserts, the process by which “we divide up the world into Them and Us is inseparable from the way we understand stories themselves” (239). So if we learn to accept the stories of others, we will be well on the way to finding a common ground.
Works Cited
Chamberlin, J. Edward. If This is Your Land, Where are Your Stories? Finding Common Ground. Toronto: Random House of Canada Limited, 2003. Print.
sean sturm
May 21, 2016 — 2:17 pm
After reading Chamberlin’s book, and reading your post, I believe what Chamberlin is asking us to do is suspend our judgement. To be able to listen to and accept other’s beliefs and opinions as equally viable to our own. This is an amazing idea, and definitely worthy of further exploration, but I believe it is easier to propose than to achieve. This response is not meant to be cynical, although it will seem that way, but to be practical. The difficult aspect of this approach is not the suspension of judgement, or even the viewing of other’s perspectives, but in the weighting of our opinions and beliefs vs. theirs. How does one override their convictions, beliefs and ingrained practices, as flawed as they may be, without potentially smothering key aspects of themselves. It is a fine balance between collaboration and certainty in pre-conceived notions. This concept is illustrated clearly in the Gitxsan court ruling. The judge, representing Western ideology, firmly discredited the Gitxsan belief structure when presented to him in its natural form. In fact, he was not swayed at all until science, something more comfortable to him, corroborated the traditional Gitxsan belief. My question would be whether either side actually suspended their judgement here. Did the judge suddenly realize the validity and power of First Nation belief and tradition? Likewise, did the Gitxsan elders decide that their views were flawed and concede that their history was actually scientifically viable rather than spiritually driven? Likely the answer is that neither side did this. On the other hand, perhaps this is the perfect example of what Chamberlin is trying to express, maybe the actions are more important than the thought processes behind them. Maybe the suspension of judgement doesn’t necessarily preclude the changing of one’s entire belief structure, but rather an acceptance of a second reality. I realize now that in my response I am raising more questions, even from my own perspective, and I look forward to any insight you may have along this vein.
janine fleming
May 23, 2016 — 2:30 pm
Hi Sean,
Thank you for your comment and questions. I’ll begin by qualifying the story with this: I don’t believe that Chamberlin was using the story of the Gitskan people to illustrate how we can come to an agreement or even how we can suspend our judgement.
The point of the story, in my mind, is to illustrate that regardless of how scientifically-founded our beliefs may appear, they still involve stories. In this case, Chamberlin is pointing out that both the geologists and the Gitskan formed stories for how the rock-slide began. While the geologists told the story of an earthquake, the Gitskan told the story of a Grizzly bear God. Either way, there are no known concrete ways to verify these stories. The first is based in a story created by science, the second in a story created by tradition.
What Chamberlin is cleverly pointing to here is that if we can recognize that even our own beliefs are based in “story”, we will be more likely to a) have respect for the stories of others and b) find common ground.
I think this also shows that there is more harm in dogmatically sticking to our own stories than in allowing for the possibility that another person’s story is correct.
Hope that helps. I look forward to hearing any further thoughts!
Janine
JuliaUllrich
May 22, 2016 — 4:41 pm
Hi Janine,
Firstly, thank you for your concise summary of the final chapter. As I was reaching the end, I was starting to feel very overwhelmed by the many ideas and stories Chamberlin proposed, and was at a loss for the takeaway I was supposed to get. So thanks for clarifying.
I feel now that, overall, Chamberlin is trying to encourage respect and open-mindedness across cultures. As Sean says in his comment, this is a pretty tall order, realistically. However, for people like me, who perhaps have been lazy and apathetic until recently, it certainly provides enough evidence as a kick-in-the-pants to sit up and listen more effectively. And, as you say, the point is not to abandon one’s own story, it’s to see the potential for viewing the world in a different way. In that vein, I particularly enjoyed the way that Chamberlin explained science as part reality, part story — which is certainly not how I would normally think of it– and how story and science can work in harmony to support each other, as they did in the Gitskan story of the Grizzly bear.
janine fleming
May 23, 2016 — 2:38 pm
Hi Julia,
Thank you for your comments!
Chamberlin’s ideas do call us to a new way of thinking that is bound to be challenging. But, I think his book is best taken in the context of his final few sentences.
I (unfortunately) don’t have my book with me right now to quote, but I’ll try to paraphrase. His final few sentences make the disclaimer that he is not calling for an all-out abandonment of principles, beliefs, or personal conviction. He is also not naive enough to propose utopian ideals. What he is suggesting is that when we recognize the role that story plays in our own narratives, it will be easier to digest the stories that we see in the narratives of others. Meeting at the crossroads of differences only requires that we look for common ground. It doesn’t mean that we have to agree on everything, or throw away our questions. It only means that since we share this planet, we might as well share our ideas in a civilized manor and give the stories of others the same respect that we would like to receive ourselves.
I’m not as eloquent as Chamberlin on this one, but I encourage you to re-read the last few pages of his book. I’d love to hear your thoughts.
Janine
LorraineShen
May 23, 2016 — 10:28 am
Hi Janine,
Thanks for your well-organized and insightful post. Do you ever notice that most people, including myself, struggle to emotionally detach ourselves from our views when challenged? I feel it’s almost like we vehemently defend our thoughts as though the thoughts are us and without defending them, internally or externally, they lose their validity. Often times, what I find the most challenging is to remain silent when listening to another’s story that contradicts the one running through my head. It certainly feels uncomfortable to contain what you want to express, yet common ground is only found in honouring the space which exists between us. I also like how you highlight Chamberlin’s point that everything put in language is just people trying to make sense of the world. Stories pertain to all fields of study and are subject to change. I think it’s crucial for people to understand that it’s all stories, however much we mentally believe in them. If held on too tightly, we might just go mental.
Cheers,
Lorraine
janine fleming
May 23, 2016 — 2:46 pm
Hi Lorraine,
I agree. We all have a tendency to hold tighter to our beliefs when we feel we are being challenged. I know that at times in my life I have been quite combative in my approach to discussing issues close to my heart and beliefs. However, over time, as I have met more people and listened to their stories, I have felt an increased sense of empathy. I am way more quick to listen than I am to offer my own insights. I enjoy hearing the stories of others and being challenged on my pre-conceived notions of what is true, logical, right, or best.
I think you are onto something very significant. We don’t have to accept another person’s beliefs as our own in order to show them respect.
Whenever I truly listen to another person’s story, the conversation tends to move away from questions of who is right and who is wrong. I am suddenly more focused on connecting with this other person as a fellow human being than I am about discerning whether their story or mine is more correct.
It is this process that, I believe, Chamberlin is welcoming us to.
Would you agree?
Janine
mariam manghat
May 23, 2016 — 12:18 pm
Hi Janine,
I really loved your post, you really summarized the final chapter perfectly. I think the Canucks example was really a suitable example for what Chamberlin was trying to point out, because I have done that so many times myself. When reading the national anthem I do not always think of what I’m doing but I just do it. I think one could be confused as to what Chamberlin means but that example really put his thoughts in perspective. We take part in these little celebrations as a part of our life but do not always think of the meaning behind them, and that is what Chamberlin proposes to accept these celebrations at face value, even if you do not always understand them. I also find Chambe
rlin’s other point which you have outlined very interesting, about how the Gitsxan story had less of a value over the geologists story. This brings me to my question where people in this world celebrate so much, and have profound stories behind those celebrations why do we still accept science as something more superior? Even during that time the Crown listened to the geologists rather than the Gitsxan. Will celebrations always be less important than other factors? Why is that when Chamberlin gives them so much important and it is evident through customs today that they are important.
Thanks,
Mariam Manghat
janine fleming
May 23, 2016 — 2:57 pm
Hi Miriam,
Thank you for your question.
I would guess that the prioritization of science in Western societies has a lot to do with our system of education. Historically based on Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, our educational system is founded on a standard grading system. The closer you are to the established standard, the better your grades will be. Over time, I think we subconsciously learn that there is a target “right” answer and a target “wrong” answer. And in order for this to be so, there has to be a way to calculate our proximity to the answer. Ceremonies and traditions are not founded in reading, writing, or arithmetic. They are founded in far more nebulous (nebulous to a western mind, that is) ideas of culture, tradition, family, and heritage. They are equally important, but they are not “valuable” in a Westernized educational sense. (In cultures where ceremonies are highly valued as tools for teaching, education, and child-rearing, such traditions are revered.)
I’m not sure if this answers your question or not, but I suspect that our prioritization of science has a lot to do with how we are raised to think and process the world.
And this educational system could be the basis of the stories we tell ourselves and others. I think Chamberlin would say that in order to engage with others, we have to recognize that this educational system has shaped our view of the world and of our own stories. It is not that our educational system is superior, it’s just that it is what we are used to.
What are your thoughts?
DanicaFerguson
May 23, 2016 — 7:10 pm
Hi Janine, it was great to read your response to the last chapter of the book. I too enjoyed the points that you have highlighted. I find it interesting how Chamberlain would say that you do not need to believe in a ceremony to be a part of it. To a certain extent I believe his view is correct, participating in ceremonies because it is “just what you do” is a common thing in this day and age. However, I do not think this can be said about all ceremonies. I think there is a line with ceremonies that can be done without believing in them and ceremonies that require belief in order to add value to them and be authentic. One example I can think of is Vedic Rituals performed by certain Hindu groups. At one time the rituals had meaning and every action and word meant something significant and important. However, over time these actions and words became ritualized and the meaning became less and less focused on and even forgotten. The rituals that once required nothing but belief in the actions and words performed turned into a series of actions with meaning in which no one knew, yet the overall ceremony still required a belief in what it would achieve. With this in mind, I think there is a difference between ceremony and ritual and that rather than being totally separated from the beliefs or invested in them, it is a spectrum. In other words, ceremony is something done due to belief, yet the rituals performed within this ceremony may no longer be as meaningful to the people performing them, they still create the bigger picture of the ceremony that is important in the first place.
janine fleming
May 23, 2016 — 9:09 pm
Hi Danica,
Thanks for your thoughtful reply. I completely agree that there are instances where participating in a ceremony requires belief.
However, I think what Chamberlin is doing here is using “ceremony” as a metaphor. I don’t think he is saying that we should participate in all ceremonies regardless of our beliefs. I think he is saying that if we listen to the stories of others with an air of ceremony (a practice that often encompasses both reality and imagination), we are more likely to be comfortable resting in a place of uncertainty. Sitting with the inconsistencies of someone’s story as it relates to our own.
Does this make sense?