Applied narratology. Theory, Methods, and Analysis of Social and Political Narratives: How Stories Shape Power, Identity, and Reality

CHAPTER 3. INTERNAL STRUCTURE AND MEANING CORES

The problem is not that a person makes mistakes, but that they make mistakes systematically – according to the same pattern.

A person rarely realises that their life is governed not by events, but by the structure into which those events are embedded. This structure is narrative – the internal architecture of meaning by which one navigates reality. Having examined why the human brain inevitably thinks in stories, it is now important to understand exactly how a story is constructed internally. Not a literary one, but the internal one – the one each of us uses to navigate our own lives.

Narrative is often perceived as a chaotic stream of words: a person talks about themselves as best they can, from time to time. But beneath this stream, a structure is always hidden. It has its own constant elements: roles, meaning centres, plot lines, triggers, emotional nodes, and predictable developmental mechanisms. A narrative may sound free, lively, disjointed, but it is never random.

The task of this chapter is to reveal the internal architecture of narrative: what it consists of, how its centre of gravity is formed, and why some stories persist for decades.

Narrative as a System: Structure, Not Chaos

On the surface, a story may seem awkward; the narrator jumps from topic to topic, includes unnecessary details, forgets the sequence, mixes feelings with facts. But in depth, this story rests on several stable elements that make it a narrative. A narrative always has:

– a frame – a set of beliefs that sets the logic of perception;

– a configuration of meanings – what is considered important, what unimportant;

– a role – the person’s position within the story;

– a plot – a line of development that connects events;

– emotions – feelings that hold the story together;

– a rhythm – a recurring way of responding.

Even if a person says, ‘I’m just telling it like it was,’ this is merely a form of presentation. In reality, they are reconstructing their model of the world.

The Frame of Narrative: The Invisible Structure of Perception

The frame is a set of internal laws that a person takes for granted. They are so habitual that they are rarely articulated, but it is they that determine how information is selected and what meaning is assigned to it.

For example: ‘People are generally benevolent’ is one frame; ‘People want to take advantage’ is another; ‘Mistakes are part of development’ is one frame; ‘A mistake is a threat to status’ – another; ‘The world is unstable’ – one; ‘I can handle change’ – another.

The frame is a filter. Through it, only what matches the logic of this filter is visible. Everything else is discarded or attenuated. When an applied narratologist listens to a person, they listen first for the frame, because it is this that determines the limitation or resourcefulness of the entire story.

The Plot: How Events Are Gathered into a Line

Narrative turns disparate episodes into a story. Even if the drama is not explicitly stated, the plot still exists. It manifests through a typical sequence:

– an expectation or intention arises;

– an obstacle appears;

– a response strategy is chosen;

– this response has consequences;

– a conclusion is drawn (‘So, I am such-and-such’ or ‘So, the world is such-and-such’).

This cycle repeats again and again. Its repeatability is what makes the story stable. Some plots develop as a struggle: constant overcoming of difficulties. Some as a quest: moving towards something unattainable. Some as preservation: striving to maintain stability. Some as avoidance: the desire not to encounter something troubling.

A plot is not a sequence of facts, but a way of organising experience.

The Role of the Subject: Who Are You in Your Own Story

The central element of any internal story is the position the person occupies within it. They may be a hero moving forward; a witness observing their own life; a student needing to prove their worth; a saviour always helping others; a guilty one believing they must earn forgiveness; a victim of circumstances; ‘lucky’ or ‘unlucky’; an expert who understands everything but doesn’t always act; and so on.

The role creates a vector – the direction in which a person interprets events. If they perceive themselves as a hero, they seek challenges. As a victim, they seek threats. As an observer, they distance themselves. As a saviour, they overload themselves. The narratologist begins work not with an analysis of events, but with an analysis of the role – for changing the role changes the entire story.

Meaning Cores: The Internal Logic of the Story

In every narrative, there are cores – ideas around which a person’s life is built. They determine what is important; what is dangerous; what is possible; what is forbidden; what is obligatory; what is valuable.

For example: ‘Freedom is more important than comfort’; ‘Stability is the main thing in relationships’; ‘Success means recognition’; ‘Everything must be under control’; ‘Precision is valued in my work’; ‘Feelings are unpredictable.’

Meaning cores are like the laws of physics applied to the inner world. They set constant gravitational forces that shape a person’s choices.

Emotional Nodes: What Holds the Story Together

Every stable narrative is firmly linked to a strong emotion. It may be old, unconscious, tied to a specific episode, or distributed across many small situations. Typical emotions that hold a story together: shame – ‘I am inadequate’; guilt – ‘I must compensate for the damage done’; fear – ‘danger is all around’; resentment – ‘I am undervalued’; pride – ‘I must prove myself’; joy – ‘I have the right to move forward.’

Emotion creates a force of attraction that returns one to the same story because it is emotionally anchored. Without working with this node, it is impossible to change the narrative sustainably.

Rhythm: Recurring Cycles

Every person’s story has a rhythm – a predictable sequence of steps: how they enter a situation, what they consider a threat, how they react, where they accelerate, where they slow down, where they give up, where, conversely, they become activated.

Rhythm is the part of the narrative that manifests before words. Sometimes a specialist hears it in the timbre of the voice, in pauses, in recurring formulations. Rhythm is the dynamics of the story. And a change in rhythm often occurs before a change in content.

Why Internal Structure Matters

If a specialist does not distinguish between roles, cores, rhythms, frames, and plot, they see only the surface. And working with the surface leads to weak changes. A person may rewrite the story in words, but if the core remains the same, the story will return. They may change the rhythm, but if the role has not changed, behaviour will not be renewed. They may tell the story differently, but if the emotion has not been processed, the old plot will resurface.

The anatomy of narrative allows for deep and precise work. Therefore, it is the foundation of all applied narratology. As long as narrative is perceived as a mere telling, it seems subjective and elusive. But as soon as its structure becomes visible – frame, role, core, rhythm – it becomes clear: a story can not only be understood, but also taken apart.

Until a narrative is broken down into its elements, a person will continue to reproduce it, even when consciously wanting to live differently.

CHAPTER 4. THE ANATOMY OF NARRATIVE

It is impossible to change a story without taking it apart. Narrative is not a stream of words, but an internal dramaturgy, where every element has a function, even if the person has never been aware of it.

For a narrative to be changeable, one must understand how it is constructed. Every narrative has six elements.

1. The Hero

The hero is the ‘I’. But not an objective ‘I’, a chosen one. It can be a strong ‘I’, a fragile one, a guilty one, a stubborn one, an unnoticed one, a survivor, a shameful one, a devalued one, etc. The hero is not a fact, but a position that the acting subject occupies within the story.

This can be a person, a living being, an object, an idea, a concept – anything at all. The hero must have a goal and must have an obstacle in their path to it in order to fulfil their role. If there is no obstacle, the very process of the hero achieving their goal becomes a mere act of contemplation, devoid of interest.

2. The Hero’s Role

The hero’s role is their style of existence. A person can be a victim, a saviour, a controller, an observer, a rebel, a sufferer, a follower, a leader, a pioneer, an executor. A role is not innate, but chosen. It can be changed, but most people never do so. A role is a way of behaving. It determines the style of reaction. For example: the role of ‘saviour’ – saves everyone except themselves; the role of ‘soldier’ – bears responsibility for everyone; the role of ‘strength’ – never shows weakness; the role of ‘victim’ – seeks confirmation of their insignificance; the role of ‘pioneer’ – does what no one has done before.

Historical figures perfectly demonstrate the hero’s role. For example: Joan of Arc – the role of ‘the envoy’ (mission above fear). Robespierre – the role of ‘the judge’ (truth above human cost). De Gaulle – the role of ‘father of the nation’ (he is the bearer of France’s dignity). Simone de Beauvoir – the role of ‘observer-philosopher’ and simultaneously ‘rebel’.

3. Conflict

A narrative rests on conflict. Without conflict, a story falls apart. Without conflict, there is no story. These can be typical conflicts: I want, but I’m afraid; I can, but I have no right; I deserve, but it’s shameful to take; I am talented, but I fear recognition; I strive for intimacy, but I avoid it. Humans have a millennia-old algorithm for perceiving and understanding conflict. Knowing the laws of dramatic development, one can predict and pre-establish how it will be constructed in a person’s perception. And if we also consider that people love scenes, not dialogues, and that the audience is always more ready to feel than to think, and add a few more elementary narrative techniques to this, then the success of the story being constructed is guaranteed. In life, there is only one set of rules – and these are the rules of drama.

Conflict is the source of a narrative’s development, its emotional fullness, its dynamics, and its ending. Conflict is a problem that must be solved. Conflict is an environment that opposes, and circumstances that are inconvenient. Conflict is a disturbance of peace and balance; it is the necessity to explain something, to go through something, and to achieve something. The spectacle of conflict should not obscure the main thing – meaning. Conflict is the central tension that shapes the plot of behaviour.

4. The Antagonist

The antagonist is always internal. But often a person projects it outward: ‘my mother is to blame,’ ‘society blocked my path,’ ‘they won’t let me rise.’ But the real antagonists are fear, shame, trauma, prohibition, false belief, the inner judge.

Understanding the antagonist means understanding what holds the story in the past. The antagonist is what the internal struggle is waged against. History provides vivid examples.

Joan of Arc’s antagonist was the fear of betrayal. Voltaire’s antagonist was the dogmatism and stupidity of society. Balzac’s antagonist was poverty and his own perfectionism. Camus’s antagonist was the absurdity and emptiness of the world. Piaf’s antagonist was loneliness.

5. The Logic of Causality

A narrative always explains: ‘Why am I like this?’ These explanations are the core of the plot. Typical formulas: ‘It’s always like this with me’; ‘That’s how it’s done in our family’; ‘I don’t fit into this world’; ‘I have to be strong’; ‘I must not make mistakes’; ‘I will only be noticed if I am perfect,’ ‘Why is my life exactly like this?’ This is a set of beliefs. Causality is logic, not truth. But a person perceives it as reality.

6. The Goal of the Narrative

The goal of a narrative is to impel movement from reflection to action, and onwards to new meanings and new actions. Otherwise, even after recounting the most captivating plot, all that remains is an empty void scattered with words and gestures. Every narrative is not about truth. It is about protection. Its goal is to protect the person from humiliation, from pain, from uncertainty, from trauma, from repeating the past.

For example, the narrative ‘I’m better off alone’ protects a person from the fear of intimacy. The narrative ‘success is dangerous’ protects from the risk of disappointment. The narrative ‘I must do more’ protects from the fear of being unwanted.

Narrative is not evil; it is an attempt to survive. Every narrative protects someone: from shame, from pain, from failure, from insecurity, from uncertainty. The key insight here is this: narrative is not truth, but protection. The brain constructs a story so that the person survives. And it constructs it according to its own logic.

A narrative seems personal and unique until we see its anatomy. But as soon as the hero, conflict, antagonist, causality, and goal become discernible, it becomes clear: the story is not only lived – it is reproduced. This means it can be not only destroyed, but reconfigured.

The next step is to understand exactly how narrative becomes an algorithm of behaviour.

CHAPTER 5. NARRATIVE AS AN ALGORITHM OF BEHAVIOUR

A person rarely chooses – more often, they perform. Their decisions look conscious, but in reality they are triggered by a story that has already determined what is possible and what is not.

If the anatomy of narrative explains what internal elements a story consists of, this part answers another fundamental question: how does a story turn into action?

Why does a person make certain decisions and avoid others? Why do they repeat familiar strategies even when they no longer work? Why does the situation change, but the reaction does not?

To understand this, it is important to view narrative not as a description of life, but as an algorithm of behaviour that is triggered automatically. This algorithm determines what is considered possible, reasonable, dangerous, or permissible. It works faster than logic, deeper than beliefs, and is more stable than motivation.

This chapter is about how narrative becomes an internal program that governs choice, interaction with people, attitude towards the future, and the capacity for change.

A person does not act in reality. They act in the story about reality. This principle explains everything: recurring mistakes, inexplicable fears, strange decisions, unexpected successes, burnout, inspiration, love, loneliness. If you tell yourself, ‘I am unworthy,’ ‘I am weak,’ ‘No one needs me,’ ‘I’ll be abandoned anyway,’ you create a scenario that inevitably comes to life. If the story sounds like ‘I must not make mistakes’ – the person checks everything ten times over, avoids new tasks, works themselves to exhaustion. If it’s ‘I’m not interesting’ – they don’t go on dates, don’t join conversations, don’t offer ideas. If it’s ‘I’m always abandoned’ – they keep their distance, test their partner, prepare in advance for failure. A story is an algorithm.

Narrative is stronger than logic. A person can understand intellectually: ‘I am worthy.’ But act as if they are unworthy. Logic is weaker than emotion. Emotion is weaker than story. Story is stronger than everything.

Narrative shapes self-esteem. Narrative is not a conclusion drawn from experience. It is the cause of self-esteem. The narrative ‘I can’ stimulates success. The narrative ‘I am unworthy’ leads to avoiding emerging opportunities.

Narrative determines the type of relationships. For example: the narrative ‘I must be convenient’ leads a person to choose partners who take advantage of this; the narrative ‘I’ll be abandoned’ leads to either merging or coldness; the narrative ‘saviour’ leads to codependency.

Narrative determines the kind of love. For example: ‘I must save’ → life with dependent partners. ‘I’ll be abandoned’ → constant tension and jealousy. ‘No one needs me’ → relationships where cold partners are chosen.

Narrative determines the style of success. For example: ‘Success is dangerous’ → the person avoids opportunities. ‘I need to prove myself’ → works to exhaustion. ‘I can’ → grows faster than others.

Narrative determines the limits of life. A person’s story constrains them more than money, status, country, or circumstances. No one will try to live a story they do not believe in.

If you repeatedly explain something to yourself in the same way, this story turns into a behavioural strategy. They act not because it is ‘right’, but because their personal story suggests precisely this path.

Examples. Story: ‘To be respected, I have to be useful.’ Behaviour: constant overload, refusal to rest. Story: ‘If I show emotion, I’ll be rejected.’ Behaviour: distance, rationalisation, withdrawal from intimacy. Story: ‘Success is always unreliable.’ Behaviour: fear of growth, self-sabotage of advancement.

The story begins to live its own life. It dictates what a person considers possible and what forbidden. It determines what surprises them and what seems natural. It governs what they see in themselves and in others. Therefore, narrative is not an ‘explanation’, but an internal algorithm. And that is precisely why working with narrative has such a powerful effect on changing behaviour.

Narrative is not just an explanation. It is an internal code

Many think that narrative is the story told out loud. But the real story is what is never spoken. It is the internal code that connects events, emotions, and conclusions into a single logic. This code determines:

– what to expect from others and what to expect from oneself;

– what can be tolerated, what can be asked for;

– when to show strength, when to step back;

– what success means, what failure means;

– what a ‘correct’ action looks like.

A person acts according to this code, even if they think they are making rational decisions. Therefore, when we say ‘narrative limits’ or ‘narrative supports,’ we are talking about an operating system, not a ‘bad thinking habit’.

How an Algorithm of Behaviour is Formed

An algorithm of behaviour is formed gradually, through the repetition of the same cycle:

– Event. Something happens – external or internal.

– Interpretation. The brain explains what happened through an already existing story.

– Emotion. The interpretation evokes an emotional reaction that reinforces the meaning.

– Action. The person reacts according to the interpretation and emotion.

– Consequences. The action leads to a result that confirms or strengthens the story.

After several such cycles, the narrative becomes automatic. The person no longer chooses – they live out the embedded program.

For example:

– Event: a project is criticised.

– Interpretation: ‘I am being judged as a specialist.’

– Emotion: shame.

– Action: I shut down.

– Consequences: I don’t defend the project, it gets rejected → the story is confirmed.

Or:

– Event: a new opportunity is offered.

– Interpretation: ‘I can handle this.’

– Emotion: inspiration.

– Action: I accept the challenge.

– Consequences: I grow → the story is confirmed.

– The algorithm is the same, but the story is different.

Limiting Narratives: How They Create a Narrow Space of the Possible

Why does narrative both limit and support simultaneously? Every story performs two functions:

– It orders chaos. Even a limiting story creates a sense of control: the world may be dangerous, but at least it’s understandable.

– It restricts movement. The story holds a person within familiar boundaries: if the world is dangerous, it’s better not to take risks; if I’m ‘not like that’, then I shouldn’t aspire.

Hence the main paradox of narrative: it simultaneously provides a feeling of stability and prevents one from becoming free. This is not an error or a defect of thinking. It is a natural tool of the psyche.

Limiting narratives are stories that shrink the space of choice. They are formed as a result of early experience, social norms, or traumatic episodes.

Their structure typically includes:

– the idea of danger (‘if I show myself, I’ll be rejected’);

– the idea of inadequacy (‘I need to prove myself to have the right’);

– the idea of powerlessness (‘I have no influence on the outcome anyway’);

– the idea of duty (‘others first, then me’);

– the idea of predetermination (‘no one in our family has ever been successful’).

A limiting narrative determines what is not even considered as an option. It doesn’t just forbid an action – it excludes it from the field of possibilities. The person does not think: ‘I could try, but I don’t want to.’ They think, ‘That’s not my reality.’ This is precisely why limiting stories are so powerful.

Supporting Narratives: How They Shape Resilience and Growth

Supporting stories are also formed in early experience, but their structure is different. They contain:

– a sense of influence (‘I can change the situation’);

– a sense of worth (‘I have a right to what is mine’);

– a sense of resilience (‘I have coped before’);

– a sense of meaning (‘what I do is important’).

Such narratives expand the field of choice. They allow one to see alternatives, to withstand failures without destroying self-esteem, and to move forward in uncertainty.

A supporting narrative creates flexibility. A person does not get stuck in one scenario – they are able to adapt, rethink, and change strategies.

The Hidden Logic of Choice: How Narrative Determines Reaction Before Decision

Decisions are rarely made rationally. Much more often, explanations are chosen to fit the reaction already triggered by the story.

For example, a person says they ‘don’t want to take risks,’ but the hidden logic lies in the story ‘mistakes are dangerous’; ‘I value stability,’ but underneath is the story ‘I have no right to more’; ‘relationships don’t work out,’ but the hidden logic is ‘feelings are unsafe’; ‘it’s better to work alone,’ because the story ‘I’m not needed if I’m not useful’ makes cooperation anxiety-inducing.

These explanations sound plausible because everyone believes their own story. But narrative analysis allows us to see: the decision was born before the explanation.

How Narrative Shapes Attitude Towards the Future

One of the key elements of an internal story is the image of the future that a person allows themselves. A narrative not only explains the past – it determines what future seems possible.

People with a limiting narrative form a compressed future: short-term, one-dimensional, predictable, without sharp turns. People with a supporting narrative create an open future: multidimensional, multi-variant, allowing for growth and unexpected opportunities. The image of the future is an indicator of how free a person is within their own story. And it is one of the first things to undergo transformation.

Why It Is Impossible to Change Behaviour Without Changing the Narrative

Attempts to change behaviour without working with the story often lead to disappointment. Because behaviour is a consequence of interpretation; interpretation is part of the story; the story is part of a complex, emotionally anchored structure.