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Telling Stories
Seymour J. Mandelbaum
Journal of Planning Education and Research 1991; 10; 209
DOI: 10.1177/0739456X9101000308

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 Telling Stories
Seymour J. Mandelbaum

N Introduction Abstract
In the earliest versions of this essay I personalized the Planning arguments are characteristi-
abstract presentation of its central argument by asking cally expressed as stories. As they
readers to put themselves in the shoes of a hypothetical both tell and manage these stories,
Chief Executive Officer (CEO) confronted with the ap- planners maintain and redesign com-
pearance of diverse and competing stories within the munities. The essay describes five
executive suite of a firm. In this version, I have recast management (and hence design)
the CEO as the &dquo;chief planner of a large public agency.&dquo; modes for dealing with narrative
I am concerned, however, that something may be lost in conflicts. It focuses particularly on
the revision. We commonly expect that the leaders of the fifth (postmodernist) strategy
business firms -

particularly those large enough to have that sustains the differences inherent
CEOs rather than mere &dquo;presidents&dquo; -
will act deci- in a field of open moral communi-
sively to resolve conflict in order to mobilize and sustain ties.
a hierarchical organization. The ways of designing insti-
tutions and of talking within them that are clustered
Seymour J. Mandelbaum is Professor of Urban
under the capacious umbrella of &dquo;post-modernism&dquo; have
History at the University of Pennsylvania. This
a cutting force when they are juxtaposed against this essay is adapted from a work still In progress on
the poetics of policy and planning arguments. It
stereotyped and probably both mistaken and inappro-
priate (Brunsson 1985) expectation of organizational and follows an extended treatment of the intractable
discursive clarity and convergence: one correct organiza- plurality of planning theories and of representa-
tions of both time and social entities.
tional form and one correct story.
We do not, I believe, make the same stereotyped as-
sumption about public planning executives. We assume
that their authority is limited and that they are bound to
be more concerned with the maintenance and manage-
ment rather than the resolution of conflicting accounts
of political struggles and public options. Planning execu-
tives (and those who write about them) may, quite rea-
sonably, be underwhelmed to discover that their sensi-
bilities are &dquo;postmodern&dquo; and that they are eclectic
pluralists in their bones.
I hope that despite the shift in venue, this account of
telling stories is not wholly unsurprising and that I will
not be damned by a comparison with Moliere’s prose-
speaking gentleman. The incentives to represent the
world with one compelling story are very powerful even
in public planning agencies: if one way of acting is
&dquo;better&dquo; than another then there must surely be a

209

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© 1991 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning. All rights reserved. Not for commercial use or unauthorized distribution.
&dquo;best&dquo; way;
partial accounts of what &dquo;really&dquo; happened rests upon the construction of stories that describe the
must surely give way to the &dquo;truth.&dquo; This attempt to pattern of a desired world, who &dquo;we&dquo; are and the char-

articulate the modes of dealing with alternative stories acter of virtuous men and women, what we know as
(in alternative worlds) may help defend us against the narrators, and how we may move towards the end of
sweet reasonability of this convergence (Brown 1987; the tale (MacIntyre 1984; Code 1987; Oakeshott 1975;
Connolly 1987; Goodman 1978; Argyris 1980; and Lin- Elsbree 1982). Developmental scenarios too rich to be
-

coln 1989). tested as theories map chains of contingent decisions,

-

The articulation of these modes - there will be five of the play of supportive and hostile responses, and the
them - may also help us appreciate the ways in which meaning and implications of success and failure. In ef-
we maintain or weaken moral communities as we tell fect, we try to control potential events by telling stories
stories and manage the process of storytelling. I am par- about them, emplotting the future just as we do the past
ticularly concerned with the ongoing design of what I (Hirschhorn 1980; Mandelbaum 1985). Storytelling car-
have called &dquo;open moral communities,&dquo; in which mem- ries the principal burden of learning about the experi-
bers are simultaneously engaged within networks of ence of others as we project ourselves into their imag-
ined worlds. Lawrence Susskind and Michael Elliott
overlapping and often inconsistent communal obligations
(Mandelbaum 1988). If we will not (or cannot) maintain describe these dynamics explicitly in a way that simulta-
multiple stories then we weaken the competing commu- neously reveals the importance of stories and the ten-
nities of our hearts or (less judgmentally) alter the bal- sion between narration and analysis (1983, p. x): &dquo;Our
ance between them. If, for example, the history of one aim,&dquo; they write of their collection of cases on citizen
of the elements in a federalist polity disappears from participation in Western Europe, &dquo;is to provide stories
that are rich enough in detail to allow readers to weigh
memory and from current conversations, then it is im-
the full range of costs and benefits themselves :’
possible to enscript its experience and to assess its rights,
needs, or deserts. Our interest in theory and our commitment to both
the abstractions of policy analysis and the language of
critical discourse (Gouldner 1979) testify to the awful
0 Stories and the Construction of
Conflicting power of narratives to create a world that is so complete
Communities that it appears beyond our control: what was, must have
been; what must be, will be (Cohen 1986). Theorizing
The ordinary academic
language for representing plan- and abstraction provide a relief from this fully scripted
ning arguments specifies differences in competing theo- history, helping us believe in the feasibility of alternative
ries, interests, preferences, needs, wants, and values (Barry
pasts and futures (Tilly 1981 and 1984). This relief (or
1965). These familiar verbal constructs (and others like discipline) cannot, however, replace the pervasive pro-
them) allow us to decompose complex social statements cess of imposing a narrative structure upon experience
into elements that can be calibrated and mapped. Con- and expectation. Indeed, the relief often seems only
flict appears formal game or as a set of indifference
as a
multidimensional graph; argu-
temporary as stories close in on us, binding us to our
curves sweeping across a
roles and the dynamics of a script that seems unavoid-
ments as a sequence of claims, warrants, and rebuttals. able.
These modes of representation characteristically ignore Communities are characteristically indifferent to the
the narrative form within which most political argu-
proliferation of formal theories. The multiplication of
ments are couched, treating stories as only the raw ma- stories, however, puts them seriously at risk. Competi-
terials from which arguments must be abstracted (Stokey tive and irreconcilable accounts of the same putative
and Zeckhauser 1978; Dunn 1981). As Hayden White event may damage vital relations beyond repair. Mem-
remarks, however, there is a very substantial content to bers of a community may accommodate to rival theories
the form (White 1987). Contestants describe the world and even relish them as a sign of intellectual vitality.
they know in crafted narratives with beginnings and Alternative histories that challenge the boundaries of the
endings, characters, plots, stages, and narrators (Chat- group and its capacity for moral discipline and instru-
man 1978; Kaplan 1986; Phelan 1989; Mitchell 1981; mental effectiveness threaten the identity of individuals
Ricoeur 1984). As tell and manage stories we con-
we and the meaning of membership.
structsymbolic entities, imagining action within a world Believable stories engender trust in the narrator;
in which we say that they existed (Taylor 1989; Perin trusted narrators endow the stories they tell with credi-
1988). &dquo;Let me recount the history of the Jews;’ I reason bility. Both belief and trust are shaped over time. Stories
with my children, &dquo;so that you cannot act without at- gain in credibility as they are retold and as they are
tending to them.&dquo; &dquo;Let me tell you of my life, so that assimilated into our actions and beliefs: as we live
you will believe in the continuity of the Self and its within their frames, invest in the sense and sensibilities
accountability.&dquo; of their plots and accept the identification of actors. In
In the World Bank, architectural offices, planning this way, stories of a specific time and place become
agencies, corporate boardrooms, and churches, guidance parables, archetypes, and exemplars (Burt 1984; Walzer

210

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© 1991 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning. All rights reserved. Not for commercial use or unauthorized distribution.
1985; Needham 1985). Robust, integrated tales can in-
corporate contradictory evidence without collapsing.
Trusted narratives close the past and confirm our com-
petence as interpreters. A community that believes its
own stories and trusts those who tell them affirms its
identity and the obligations of membership.
Communities sustain a great many personal and pri-
vate stories without threatening the integrity of the col-
lective narratives. Indeed, it is very difficult to stabilize
extensive public orders if there are no legitimate secrets,
no place for deviants, no
spaces in which to hide or in
which the commonweal is not at stake (Holzner and
Marx 1979; Hunt 1984; Evans and Boyte 1986; Mizruchi
1983). These stories may conflict with one another, as
they do characteristically in civil and contested criminal
disputes. Formal processes of dispute resolution disci-
pline these conflicts, however, so that the conflictual sto-
ries are stamped in a socially manageable format. What-
ever their initial phrasing, the rules of law impress upon
them a style and a substance that affirms the forms of
collective narration, specifying the identity and responsi-
bilities of actors, the sensible connection between events,
and the beginning and end of chains of accountability
(Danet 1980). The stamp of legal storytelling is strongly
impressed upon planning practice in any society in
which the participants are endowed with rights through
membership in a community (Scheingold 1974; Horo-
witz 1977; Ackerman 1984; Haar and Kayden 1989).
Communities are threatened when conflicting stories
are incommensurable and can neither be forced into a
disciplining mold nor synthesized without coercion or a
serious loss of meaning. If you are trying to construct a
nation then your stories should focus on individuals as
citizens and on the salience and integrity of the national
space and its public orders. Time should be divided so
as to focus attention on the central dramas of revolu-
tion, independence, and the affirmation of a collective
identity. Precursors of nationhood should dominate the
account of the pre-national past. Such stories the
stuff of nationalism -
threaten the narratives of fami-
lies, clans, ethnic groups, villages or regions that speak
of their own times, spaces, beginnings, identities, orders,
and sensibilities. Those diverse stories, in their turn,
threaten both each other and the overarching claims of
the national account (McGrath and Kelly 1986; Mandel-
baum 1984). In a common forum, the threat may be
explicit and charged with emotion. It may, however, be
no less challenging if we simply ignore the offending
other: telling the history of the nation without discussing
religion, ignoring aboriginal peoples until they are in-
vented by the imperial powers, speaking of the world as
if women were invisible.
Whenever we argue about planning choices, we are
bound to struggle with competing stories, seeking to re-
solve differences so as to mobilize resources and con-
sent. The resolution of narrative conflicts within &dquo;open
moral communities&dquo; presents both very special difficul-
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© 1991 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning. All rights reserved. Not for commercial use or unauthorized distribution.
ties and very special dangers. As members of overlap-
ping communities within a pluralistic field, how do we
preserve incommensurable meanings and accounts of the
world when resolute action seems so often to demand
that we settle on a single Truth? How do we control
morally compelling but conflicting demands that
threaten to enmesh us in double binds (Bateson et al.
1956)?
N Four Strategies of Convergence
The tension between resolution and maintenance is ap-
parent in five responses to conflicting tales. I describe
the first four in order to establish the case for a fifth
strategy as peculiarly appropriate to the design and
maintenance of fields of open moral communities.
The first response seeks agreement by suspending the
explicitly interpretive and often passionate language of
contesting accounts. Emotionally charged stories are de-
volved into lists of &dquo;facts&dquo; arrayed chronologically and
described in a plain style. The meanings of the overtly
neutral chronicle are argued fact-by-fact as if each item
could be assessed independently without forcing agree-
ment on the whole. The devolution of narratives into
chronicles (White 1987; Mandelbaum 1990) is the rhe-
torical strategy of mediators and managers attempting to
shape a negotiated public order.
This strategy is simultaneously congenial and decep-
tive. Tired of passion and interpretation, we often wel-
come the reversion to &dquo;facts&dquo; as a way of both avoiding
and transcending conflict. We know, however, that the
plain style is not a distortion-free mirror of nature, that
chronicles are also interpretations and that vital mean-
ings reside in patterns and intentions. Invested in the
regime of fact, we may suppress alternative interpreta-
tions and meanings ruling them literally and meta-
-
phorically out of court but they periodically crack
-
through the order we have created to control them
-
(Mandelbaum 1988).
The devolution of narratives into chronicles and the
construction of a regime of fact is closely tied to a strat-
egy that insists that since there is only one historical
reality, all disputes about the past are ultimately resolv-
able. No matter how deep the initial differences, rival
stories (like competing hypotheses in the natural sci-
ences) will ultimately be reconciled. In the long run,
they will bend to the norms and dynamics of a commu-
nity of disinterested or at least peculiarly public inquir-
ers. Faced with conflict -
as when we argue about the
ways to imagine community a emplot its past we and -
often cling to the hope that research and expertise will
turn many into one. More commonly, we insist that au-
thoritative processes notably courts of law - will re-
-
solve disputes and provide a consensual ending for all
stories. Until the Law has spoken, ascribing responsibil-
ity and either absolving parties or punishing them, cases
are open and stories unfinished.
211
 A third argumentative strategy seeks to resolve con-
flicting stories by synthesizing them. Neither research
nor courts will choose between Story A and B. We will,
instead, provide some C that makes sense of the paro-
chial differences in accounts and perspectives. A syn-
thetic narrative enables a superordinate institution to act
as a dominant strategist. It may also, however, focus
attention on a superordinate object though there is no
competent strategist who commands it. Through this
synthetic device, narrators have tried to reconcile con-
flicts among industrial workers by holding up for their
approval the history of the &dquo;working class&dquo;; among
&dquo;narrow&dquo; interests by conjuring the development of the
Metropolis, the Judeo-Christian tradition, Society, the
Ecosystem, or the World. Without a commanding strate-
gist, these stories imply a narrator who both knows the
story and is a trustee for the values it embodies.
Faced with conflicting stories, the members of commu-
nities often insist that their communion is embedded in
who they are and how they relate to one another now
and in their intentions for the future. The past, the
stories told about it, and the attempts to set them right,
do not matter. If you act appropriately as a Muslim, a
family member, or a citizen, yourknowledge of the past
or your attitudes towards it are irrelevant.
This fourth strategy may seem trivial or pernicious;
not an argument within communal myths but against
them. It is, however, worth taking seriously both be-
cause it is ubiquitous and because it has a moral con-
tent. Life is full of disputes and we would be mad if we
did not walk away from some, leaving others to fight
their battles. Surely struggles over the past are sensible
candidates for avoidance. Both psychotherapists and
management consultants frequently encourage their
clients to &dquo;let go&dquo; so that they are not dominated by the
fantasy of resolving incommensurable stories.
In some settings, however, urging others to disengage
from contending stories is a way of disabling them. If
they follow the advice, they are bound to the practical
implications of living in one uniquely appropriate story.
They are told, in effect, to abandon control of their
memories to others. In other settings, disengagement has
a quite different impact. Individuals are enabled by
walking away from the contentious past and it is the
trustees of the community who are disarmed. If I deny
the moral authority of stories, I free myself to shape the
community as I choose. As long as I am a member, my
actions define public norms. Citizenship means nothing
more than the behavior of citizens. The moral guardians
of the community cannot sustain their authority by dis-
ciplining errant members. They may not even be able to
expel deviants if membership is protected or is based in
self-announced affiliation. If all that matters is practice
and intention, the guardians cannot even effectively in-
sist that they command a unique knowledge that entitles
them to prescribe right action. There is no moral differ-
ence between the claims of the historic preservationists
212
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© 1991 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning. All rights reserved. Not for commercial use or unauthorized distribution.
and the preferences of the proponents of modernist re-
construction.
N The Fifth Strategy
The final argumentative strategy embraces controversy
rather than seeking either to resolve or to ignore it.
Again, as with disengagement, it is tempting to dismiss
the acceptance of incommensurable stories as a strategy
against myths of community rather than within them,
denying the possibility of communion based upon a
common story and trusted narrators. Or worse! It may
not appear to be a strategy at all but merely the frus-
trating result of a badly argued case. When desperately
fatigued parties to a debate &dquo;agree to disagree&dquo; before
they collapse, it is difficult to credit their rhetorical
concession with any virtue other than sheer survival. A
judicial system we can trust does not boast of its record
of repeatedly hung juries.
Neither of these dismissive complaints is compelling.
The pluralistic strategy redefines the bases of communal
identity but it does not deny them. While it may initially
be based in a fatigued appreciation that some disputes
cannot be resolved, it sets a strenuous program for inte-
grating that sensibility into a communion (Cochrane
1982).
Stories may be faulted because the purposes or the
discursive norms that guide their initial telling or their
interpretation are trivial, incoherent or self-destructive;
they may be flawed because they do not serve their
purposes or violate communal norms. The norm of
&dquo;truthfulness&dquo; is important in virtually all communities
though it is not always specified in the same terms.
Quite different stories about the same set of events or
same phenomena may, however, satisfy this norm. Many
competing accounts of Philadelphia are equally true and
variously useful for particular purposes and for different
narrators and interpreters. There need be no superordi-
nate definition that reconciles the differences and no
synthetic history of the city.
The communion created by the rhetorical strategy of
embracing diversity implies that some symbolic orders
are so salient that they are worth contesting. Communi-
ties are denigrated or weakened only when speakers
ignore these orders. They are bound to one another,
however, as long as they continue to argue over the
meaning of the contentious symbols.
This appreciation of conflict may seem compelling in
the abstract but very difficult in practice. Suppose you
are the chief planner of a large public agency who faces
within your own staff the array of competing stories of
the sort I have just described. While overtly the stories
deal with the same &dquo;events,&dquo; they begin and end at
different moments and are framed in ways that set them
in inconsistent worlds; the dramatis personae differ both
in members and in character. How do you mount vigor-
ous action while simultaneously maintaining narrative
diversity?
You would, I think, face two organizational and dis-
cursive options. The first would be to fire the dissidents
while maintaining close touch with them at a distance
and creating an internal record of the conflict rather
expunging it. Alternatively, you might preserve the con-
flict inside the community of the agency.
Each option would present a special set of difficulties,
not only for you as leader but for all the members of
the community. The second option particularly requires
that the group distinguish two domains: in one they
would act and speak within the public order of the
agency; in the free space of the other, they would artic-
ulate their dissent. As leader of the agency you would
have simultaneously to defend the first domain against
charges that it was vapid and engendered hypocrisy
while protecting the second against tests of loyalty to
agency decisions. In your soul, you would have to learn
to accept the notion that many members of the commu-
nity only felt fully honest, whole, and passionately en-
gaged in the second domain. If you want those qualities
in the first, you would have to abandon the internal
preservationist strategy.
These two options are prototypes of the ways the fifth
strategy is implemented in many moral communities and
illuminate the difficulties strategists encounter. Members
of families, neighborhoods, cities, professions, churches,
and nations often face the choice of organizational rede-
sign or discursive accommodation. They struggle with
the maintenance of significant but permeable bounda-
ries, with the construction of histories that protect
against the worship of current choices, and with the
articulation of two domains and the tensions generated
by the bifurcation of speech.
Open moral communities engender diverse and often
incommensurable narratives emplotting both the past
and the future. It would be remarkable if everyone en-
gaged in the tangle of plural memberships agreed on the
ways of responding to multiple stories or insisted on the
same response in every
setting. In most open communi-
ties you can hear and read each of the five discursive
strategies. In virtually any field of communities, some
institutions focus on facts; others authoritatively resolve
disputes, synthesize in the face of conflict, disengage
from the past, or preserve diversity.
Each strategy engenders a game against it so that pure
strategies are rare. A planner committed to the fifth
strategy, for example, would, I suspect, quickly discover
that she is vulnerable to manipulation.
Every tale and every narrator claims a share of the
protective mantle; every practice is represented as a
&dquo;culture&dquo; commanding respect; every lexical difference, a
signal from an endangered stakeholder. Responding, she
would have to deploy analysts who assumed (in their
roles) that most differences would give way to the disci-
pline of fact and authoritative rule; that passion and
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© 1991 Association of Collegiate Schools of Planning. All rights reserved. Not for commercial use or unauthorized distribution.
deep belief would respond to analysis. These technicians
might complain that her &dquo;political&dquo; sensibilities inter-
fered with their work but they would genuinely need
one another. Without them, she would be overwhelmed;
without her, intractable conflicts would be forced into
the uncongenial mold of &dquo;truth&dquo; vs. &dquo;error.&dquo;
The variations and gaps in the resulting mix of strate-
gies, the location of strategies within the community,
and the way the strategies affect particular groups differ
significantly from one setting to another. In some com-
munities created by these discursive choices, &dquo;opera-
tives&dquo; at the bottom of the social hierarchy are allowed
to enjoy free critical space as long as they do their jobs
while the executive suite is held to a standard of com-
plete loyalty. In others, the operatives are manipulated
and controlled at every step. Free space is a resource
only for the leaders and a few dedicated servants or
incorrigible sports. In many communities, the sometimes
war between politics and analysis is fought on a battle-
field in which the heights are held by the political pro-
ponents of the fifth strategy; in others, diversity is em-
braced only in the plains and must be protected against
the volleys of critical analysis.
Within this complex geography, telling stories create
and destroy moral communities. As community design-
ers, it behooves planners to attend to the telling. 0
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Press.

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