Echoes of the Papacy: From Vatican Walls to the Edges of the Earth #part1

The Pope Effect

The fact that Pope Francis, elected in 2013, is a member of the Jesuit order, and now, with the election of Pope Leo XIV (formerly Cardinal Prevost), who led the Augustinian Order from 2001 to 2013, raises a compelling question: Is it just a coincidence that these two popes emerged from different but ideologically aligned traditions rooted in intellectual discipline and service-centred spirituality? Or is this a deliberate and strategic shift, the Church's conscious response to a changing world? Perhaps it's no coincidence at all; perhaps it's providence, a reflection of the Church's evolving identity—one that seeks not only to exist through rituals and dogma but to thrive through thought, simplicity, solidarity with the poor, bold steps on issues like homosexuality, clear opposition to war, and empathy for migrants.

One of Pope Francis's first acts as Pope was his visit to Lampedusa, the Italian island heavily burdened with incoming refugees, to draw attention to their suffering. But here, we must ask:

What changed?

What compelled the Church to move in this direction?

https://www.vaticannews.va/es/papa/news/2025-05/la-ultima-entrevista-del-cardenal-prevost-sobre-francisco.html

At this point, we should remember the resignation of Pope Benedict XVI (Joseph Ratzinger) in 2013. This move, almost unheard of in modern times, was more than just a matter of old age. It was a quiet admission of a crisis within the Church.

Benedict’s time as pope was marked by a series of major scandals:

The sexual abuse cases, money laundering allegations linked to the Vatican Bank, and the Vatileaks documents that exposed internal secrets and power struggles. These dark revelations, taking place in what should have been the Church’s most sacred spaces, left wounds, both in public opinion and in the hearts of the faithful.

Though Benedict XVI was seen as one of the greatest intellectuals in the Catholic world, he lacked strong public speaking skills and struggled to connect with people. That gap was filled by Cardinal Tarcisio Bertone. He was the one speaking to the media in the Pope’s place, deflecting tough questions, managing the public image, and navigating the hidden corridors of Vatican power. A clever and calculating diplomat, Bertone knew how to manage the narrative when scandals erupted.

Bertone was not just a “secretary” in the Vatican—he was an architect. Behind the scenes, he built a network: a structure, a circle of loyalty, and influence. Everyone could see the complex games of power unfolding around the Pope, but no one seemed able to stop them. And perhaps Benedict saw this too. He realized that he no longer had the strength or the allies to carry out reform. As long as Bertone’s inner circle remained intact, the Church could not truly breathe again.

So there was only one move left:

To step down.

https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news/2022-11/pope-francis-general-audience-wednesday-catechesis-16-november.html

“The duty of the Conclave was to give Rome a bishop. It seems that my brother Cardinals have gone to the ends of the earth to get one.”

— Jorge Mario Bergoglio (Pope Francis), 13 March 2013

That day, under the domes of the Sistine Chapel, the cardinals gathered to do what they had always done: elect an archbishop for Rome. But this time, the one they chose did not come from Rome. He came from the margins.

As he himself put it : “from the end of the world.”

When Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected pope in 2013, he chose a name no pope before him had ever taken: Francis. This was not a random decision; it carried a deep symbolic meaning, a message in itself. Bergoglio chose the name of Saint Francis of Assisi, the man who renounced wealth and privilege, who preached peace, and lived among the poor. But the true meaning behind this name lies in a story from Francis's own life.

According to tradition, one day while praying in the ruins of the San Damiano chapel, Saint Francis heard the voice of God say: "Francis, go and rebuild my Church, which, as you see, is falling into ruin."

At first, Francis took these words literally. He began to repair the crumbling chapel with stones and mortar. But over time, he came to understand: God was not speaking of walls and buildings. What truly needed rebuilding was the Church’s spiritual and moral foundation. What had collapsed was not the structure, but faith, conscience, and essence. Pope Francis understood this, too. By choosing the name "Francis," he was not merely honouring a saint; he was embracing the mission the saint had left behind. In taking on this name, he accepted the bold and heavy responsibility of helping to restore a Church wounded by scandal, distanced from the people, and disconnected from the poor. But he sought to do this not with bricks, but with compassion; not from the grandeur of palaces, but by living in a modest guesthouse; not by speaking from the heights of hierarchy, but by standing beside the people themselves.

https://www.vaticannews.va/en/pope/news/2025-05/biography-of-robert-francis-prevost-pope-leo-xiv.html

The newly elected Pope Leo XIV now faces an important choice: will he continue in the footsteps of Pope Francis, or will he draw his own path forward? One thing is certain: today’s Christianity, with some exceptions, faces the danger of reducing faith to a set of repeated rituals, while overlooking metaphysics: the deep, invisible, and meaning-filled layers of existence. In churches, incense continues to rise, prayers are whispered softly, and hands are joined in reverence, but often, the mind is empty, and the spirit is elsewhere.

Pope Francis adopted a language that touched the wounds of the world. Pope Leo XIV, in turn, may become a leader who brings back Saint Augustine’s philosophy of “communal spirit” to the global conversation. And this leads us to an essential question:

Is the Church now searching for God not only in the heavens, but also in the eyes of a poor child and in the quiet hope of a refugee?

See you in Part II

Modernization in the Ottoman Empire: A New Beginning with Mahmud II

Sultan Mahmud II not only reformed the military; he transformed almost every aspect of Ottoman society, from politics to social life, from healthcare to education, from the arts to the bureaucracy. While dismantling traditional institutions one by one, he built modern structures influenced by European developments. The abolition of the Janissary marked the start of this massive transformation, which was not just military but also political and cultural. Mahmud did not simply try to catch up with the times; he redefined the central power of the state.

Sultan Mahmud II

Sultan Mahmud II wanted to weaken the local leaders and families who had strong control over parts of the Ottoman Empire. In 1821, the Greek Rebellion started, and Mehmed Ali Pasha, the governor of Egypt, helped the Sultan stop it. But Mehmed Ali Pasha then asked for more land and tax income as a reward. This put the Sultan in a difficult position. He had two choices: either make deals with local leaders and European powers or use the crisis to create a strong, centralized government with emergency powers.

But the Sultan’s problem was not only local leaders and rebellions. After the French Revolution in 1789, many European countries started building large armies made up of ordinary people. France began drafting many young men as soldiers, and other European countries copied this system. The Ottoman Empire also needed a strong infantry army like this.

Before, Sultan Selim III and Alemdar Mustafa Pasha tried to make army reforms but failed. Now Sultan Mahmud II faced the same challenge. He could either reform the existing Janissary corps or create a completely new army. After the Greek Rebellion was suppressed, new units called “Eşkinci” were formed inside the Janissaries. The Janissaries protested this and rebelled.

Sultan Mahmud II saw this rebellion as an opportunity. He used force to destroy the Janissary corps completely. This was not just a military change but also removed the biggest obstacle to central government power. With this, the Sultan took a big step toward building a stronger, more centralized empire.

Portrait of Sultan Mahmud II, given by Mustafa Reşid Pasha to King Louis-Philippe of France, now at the Musée de Versailles

Asakir-i Mansure-i Muhammediye

After the Janissary Corps was officially abolished in 1826, Sultan Mahmud II created a new army called Asakir-i Mansure-i Muhammediye. He chose Ağa Hüseyin Pasha, a loyal man from the old corps, as the commander of this new army. Other important officials were also assigned to help organize the new structure. The plan was to form an army of about 12,000 soldiers, divided into eight units. These soldiers were supposed to be trained using modern European military methods. However, the Ottoman Empire didn’t have many officers who knew these methods. So, the Sultan asked the governor of Egypt, Mehmed Ali Pasha, to send officers to help train the new army. But Mehmed Ali refused, because he thought this new army might become a rival to his own forces.

Since no help came from Egypt, the Sultan appointed Osman Ağa, a former officer from the Nizam-ı Cedid army. Although he was a cavalry officer and not very experienced in infantry training, he was the only available option.

The Sultan also chose Emin Ağa, who had served in the Nizam-ı Cedid and studied at the Enderun Palace School, to help train the soldiers. So, some experienced men from earlier military reforms joined the new army’s training efforts. Meanwhile in Istanbul, a former navy commander named Hüsrev Pasha started training a group of sailors in the French military style. He had earlier set up similar units while he was in Egypt. Later, Hüsrev Pasha came to Istanbul and told the Sultan that he was using the newest training methods from France. Sultan Mahmud II watched these training exercises at the Gülhane Pavilion and liked Hüsrev’s faster and more active style. He ordered this method to be used for the army.

Hüsrev Pasha, who had lost his position because of Mehmed Ali Pasha’s influence, later became the governor of Anatolia and then the commander of the army. Under his guidance, infantry training changed. For cavalry, an Italian officer named Calosso was hired. He tried to train the cavalry in the Hungarian hussar style, with new saddles and riding techniques.

But the Ottoman cavalry found it hard to adapt. They were used to sitting on horses with their legs crossed or pulled up, almost like sitting on the floor. The new style required them to sit with their legs down, which felt strange and uncomfortable. An English officer, George Keppel, said that the skilled old riders were gone, and the new ones were clumsy. Another English naval officer, Adolphus Slade, wrote that Calosso himself thought the changes were a mistake because they replaced effective traditional fighters with a small number of modern-style but less capable soldiers.

The Ertugrul Cavalry Regiment crossing the Galata Bridge painted by Fausto Zonaro in 1901.

Abraham and Isaac

The Image of Sacrifice: A Look at the Story of Abraham and Isaac Through Four Works of Art

Sacrifice is one of the oldest rituals in human history. It is often seen as a sign of deep faith, but it also brings difficult questions:

Where is the line between obedience and free will? How can a father be ready to sacrifice his own son?

Does God really want this — or is it just a test?

All these questions appear in one powerful story: Abraham’s test with his son Isaac. This story is important in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. It is not just a religious event, but a symbol of human struggle, belief, and emotion. That’s why it has been shown in many artworks across history. Each artist tells the same story in a different way, using their own style, beliefs, and feelings. It is like painting the same moment again and again — but always with a new meaning.

In this blog, we will look at four artworks that show this story in different styles:

·        Caravaggio’s dark and dramatic painting,

·        A 14th-century Jewish manuscript illustration,

·        Rembrandt’s emotional and thoughtful version,

·        Domenichino’s calm but powerful composition.

They all show the same story, but each one tells a different truth. Because to really understand a scene, we must not only look at it but also feel what it says across time.

 “What does sacrifice truly mean? And is it always about giving up someone—or sometimes, is it about giving up a part of ourselves?”

The Sacrifice of Isaac by Caravaggio (1603)

The painting was created around 1603 and is now in the Uffizi Gallery. It shows a famous story from the Old Testament where God tests Abraham’s faith by asking him to sacrifice his only son, Isaac. Caravaggio captures the dramatic moment when Abraham is about to sacrifice Isaac but is stopped by an angel sent by God. The angel tells Abraham not to harm the boy because he has proven his faith by being willing to give up his son. Instead, a ram is offered as a sacrifice.

Caravaggio makes the angel very human-like by placing it close to Abraham and showing the angel firmly holding Abraham’s wrist to stop him. In the background, there is a wide landscape with hills, small houses, and a village. This scene reflects Caravaggio’s early training in northern Italy, in regions like Lombardy and Veneto.

Some critics believe that the building on the hill represents a church with a baptistery, symbolizing the future Catholic Church. The light shining over the landscape is seen as a symbol of divine grace. In this interpretation, Isaac’s sacrifice points forward to the sacrifice of Christ. The painting was likely commissioned by Maffeo Barberini, an important Vatican official at the time who later became Pope Urban VIII. His payments to Caravaggio confirm the artist’s authorship.

The artwork was donated to the Uffizi in 1917 by John Fairfax Murray. Murray bought it as a painting by Gherardo delle Notti from a company that had acquired part of the Colonna Sciarra family’s property in Rome during the late 19th century.

• Date: Around 1603
• Museum: The Uffizi Gallery
• Collection: Painting
• Location: Room D29, Caravaggio and Artemisia section
• Technique: Oil on canvas
• Size: 104 x 135 cm
• Inventory Number: 1890 no. 4659

Sacrifice of Isaac, The Hammelburg Mahzor, 1347–48, Hammelburg, Germany. University and State Library Darmstadt.

This illustration comes from a Jewish manuscript made in 14th-century Germany, known as the Hammelburg Mahzor. It shows the well-known story from the Hebrew Bible: God commands Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice. Just as Abraham is about to kill his son, a messenger from God stops him and says, "Now I know that you fear God." Then Abraham sees a ram caught nearby and offers it instead. The Bible says this happened on "the mount of the LORD," in the land of Moriah. Abraham named the place Jehovah-jireh — meaning "The Lord will provide."

Later texts connect this mountain to Solomon’s Temple in Jerusalem, also called the Temple Mount. It became a key holy site in Jewish tradition. However, in the Samaritan version of the Bible, the mountain is not Moriah but Mount Gerizim, believed to be the holiest place by Samaritans.

This medieval illustration does more than just retell the story. It teaches a message about faith, obedience, and divine mercy. As a manuscript for Jewish worship, the image served to remind worshippers of God's tests and His grace, all through strong, symbolic imagery, not dramatic realism. Unlike Caravaggio’s intense emotional realism, here we see a more didactic and structured style. It’s not about emotional shock — it’s about moral clarity.

Abraham and Isaac, Rembrandt, 1634

This powerful painting by Dutch master Rembrandt van Rijn tells the dramatic story of Abraham, who was commanded by God to sacrifice his son Isaac. Created in 1634, this artwork is known for its emotional depth and striking use of light and shadow. Rembrandt focuses on the moment when Abraham is just about to kill Isaac, but an angel suddenly appears and stops him. The expressions on their faces, especially Isaac’s fear and Abraham’s shock, are painted with incredible detail. The background is dark, helping the figures stand out even more. This dramatic lighting effect is called chiaroscuro, a technique Rembrandt mastered.

Rembrandt was interested in this biblical story. He painted several versions, including a later one in 1635, now in the Hermitage Museum. He also made an etching in 1645, which shows the painful moment before the sacrifice, highlighting the psychological tension rather than the action itself.

In all his works on this theme, Rembrandt doesn’t just tell a story — he explores big ideas: faith, fear, obedience, and divine intervention. His ability to show human emotion with honesty and power makes him one of the greatest artists in history.

·         Title: Abraham and Isaac

·         Artist: Rembrandt van Rijn

·         Date: 1634

·         Medium: Oil on Canvas

·         Dimensions: 193 x 132 cm

·         Location: Hermitage Museum, Saint Petersburg, Russia

God commands Abraham to offer his son Isaac as a sacrifice, Domenichino.

This moving painting by Domenichino shows the biblical story where God tests Abraham’s faith by asking him to sacrifice his son Isaac. Just as Abraham prepares to strike, an angel appears and stops him — a dramatic moment from Genesis 22:1–19. Domenichino was trained at the Carracci Academy in Bologna and moved to Rome in 1602. He was part of a generation of artists who combined naturalism with classical order. This painting was made for the Royal Alcázar in Madrid as part of a commission that brought works by major Italian painters to Spain.

The scene is full of quiet tension. Abraham leads his innocent son toward the altar, unaware of the angel’s coming intervention. Domenichino places the figures in a broad, calm landscape, inspired by Annibale Carracci’s natural settings and Flemish painters like Paul Bril. These wide, atmospheric views would later influence artists such as Claude Lorrain and Nicolas Poussin.

More than a dramatic story, this image also carries symbolic meaning. Christian viewers often saw Isaac’s near-sacrifice as a foreshadowing of God sacrificing Jesus, adding a layer of spiritual reflection.

·         Title: The Sacrifice of Abraham

·         Artist: Domenichino

·         Date: 1627–1628

·         Medium: Oil on Canvas

·         Dimensions: 147 x 140 cm

·         Current Location: Not on display

·         Provenance: Royal Collection

Posthumanist Criticism: Challenging What It Means to Be Human

Posthumanist Criticism: Challenging What It Means to Be Human

We have always put humans at the centre. We produce knowledge, we understand the world, we control nature—or at least, that’s what we thought. But things aren’t that simple anymore. Technology has advanced, artificial intelligence has stepped into the spotlight, and our relationship with nature is being questioned all over again. So in light of all these changes, is our idea of “being human” still the same?

That’s exactly the kind of question that posthumanism asks.

Posthumanism does not stop at seeing humans as just “intelligent beings.” On the contrary, it focuses on the complex relationships we form—with animals, machines, nature, and even data. We’re no longer just “individuals”; we’re living beings entangled in digital networks, environmental systems, and technological tools.

So here’s the real question:

Are humans really the measure of all things?

Or are we just one part of a much bigger system—one that includes both nature and technology?

Posthumanism is one of those terms that sounds complicated at first. Like postmodernism, it carries a “post” that signals a shift — a move into something new. But what exactly is this “new” thing? Posthumanism is a way of thinking that challenges traditional human-centred views of the world. It questions the idea that humans are the most important beings, separate from nature, animals, or machines. Instead, it suggests we are deeply connected with everything around us — from the environment to technology.

The “post” in posthumanism doesn’t mean the end of humanity, but rather a new way of understanding what it means to be human. It pushes us to think beyond humanism — the belief system that places humans at the centre of everything. Posthumanism builds on some of humanism’s ideas, but also critiques and rethinks them.

In philosophy and critical theory, posthumanism responds to the ongoing presence of anthropocentrism — the belief that human beings are the central or most significant species on the planet. Posthumanism asks: What happens if we stop seeing ourselves as separate or superior? It also talks about posthumanization — the process through which society begins to include non-human members (like AI, robots, animals, or even ecosystems) as active participants that shape the world alongside us.

Humanism vs. Posthumanism

Humanism has long placed the human being at the centre of everything. It emphasizes human agency, creativity, and consciousness as the main tools for understanding the world. In this view, humans are often seen in contrast to everything nonhuman—nature, animals, or machines.

But posthumanism challenges this idea. Instead of seeing the human as a separate and superior entity, posthumanist thinkers widen the lens. They question the idea of a single, ideal human subject and blur the lines between human and nonhuman.

Posthumanist geographers, for example, go in two directions at once:

·  They explore the differences within the category of the human (recognizing diversity, disability, hybridity, etc.),

·   And they examine what happens at the edges—where humans meet animals, machines, data, and the environment.

The "post" in posthumanism marks a break from the old humanist idea of humans as isolated and exceptional. Instead of putting humans on a pedestal, posthumanism looks at the interconnected systems we’re part of—biological, technological, and social.

Thinkers like Haraway and Wolfe show that humans aren’t standing outside of nature or technology—we are becoming with them. Our minds, bodies, behaviors, and even emotions are shaped by constant interaction with other species, machines, and the world around us.

In short, humanism says: “We are the center.”

Posthumanism asks: “What if we’re just one thread in a much bigger web?”

What Makes Us Human?

Humanism vs. Posthumanism

Humanism has shaped how the Western world defines what it means to be human. According to this view, a "human" is:

·         (a) Separate from nature—because our minds rule over our bodies.

·         (b) Unique—thanks to our ability to speak and reason.

·         (c) Superior—seen as the top of the animal kingdom.

Humanism draws a firm line between culture (human) and nature (everything else), and it has influenced philosophy, politics, education—you name it.

But posthumanism flips this script.

Instead of imagining humans as apart from nature, posthumanist thinkers see us as deeply connected to everything around us—our environment, animals, machines, even data systems. Posthumanist scholars don’t limit themselves to philosophy; they pull from fields like art, cybernetics, ecology, geology, music, and even quantum physics to rethink the human experience.

Here’s how posthumanism redefines the human:

·      (a) We're biologically, chemically, and physically tangled up with the world around us.

·   (b) We’re driven not just by logic or speech, but by emotions, habits, and interactions.

·   (c) There’s no “essence” that makes us purely human—we’re part of a larger, constantly evolving ecosystem.

Now, here’s the twist: Posthumanism doesn’t always agree on how much control or influence a human actually has. Are we changing the world, or is the world changing us—or both at once?

A perfect example comes from pop culture: the Mockingjay in The Hunger Games. It’s a hybrid creature, part natural, part engineered. And its meaning shifts over time—from a symbol of love and resistance to one of power and destruction. That’s posthumanism in action: showing how symbols, beings, and meanings are always in flux.

In the posthuman world, even things we once saw as nonhuman—rocks, animals, toys, machines—can become meaningful players. They’re not background; they’re part of the story.

So, maybe it’s time to stop asking, “What makes us human?” and start asking, “How are we human with everything else?”

Posthumanism vs. Transhumanism: Same or Different?

When we talk about the future of humanity, two big ideas pop up: Posthumanism and Transhumanism. They both deal with what’s next for us, but their views couldn’t be more different.

First off, transhumanism keeps humans front and centre. It basically says, “We’re not post-human yet, but with technology, we’re evolving.” Think of it as humanism 2.0—boosting our brains, bodies, and abilities with tech to become something beyond human. Humans are still the main players, but now tech is the ultimate sidekick.

Posthumanism? It flips that whole idea on its head. Critical posthumanism rejects the idea that humans are special or in control of nature. It says, “We’re not separate or superior; we’re tangled up with animals, machines, environments—everything.” It blurs the line between human and nonhuman, shaking up that old ‘us vs. them’ mentality.

 

What Do Posthumanist Critics Actually Do?

Posthumanist critics zoom in on the immediate, physical reality of things—how humans and nonhumans are connected through real, material relationships. They don’t just focus on people; they pay serious attention to the non-human actors in our world—animals, machines, environments, even objects—that often get ignored.

Their goal? To open up new ways of thinking about what it really means to be human. They question the usual, dominant ideas about humanity by digging into the history and lived experiences that shape our understanding of being human.

Posthumanism looks at how technology—and other forces beyond technology—are reshaping society, breaking down the old idea that humans are the centre of everything. Instead, humans become part of a bigger mix, alongside other beings and entities.

A major focus for posthumanists is to blur or challenge simple oppositions we take for granted: like human vs. nonhuman, natural vs. artificial, alive vs. non-alive, and biological vs. mechanical. The boundaries aren’t clear-cut anymore, and posthumanism wants us to realize that.

Narratology: Propp, Genette, and Aristotle on Storytelling

Narratology: Propp, Genette, and Aristotle on Storytelling

We all hear, watch, or read stories. Movies, books, fairy tales… They don’t just tell us what happens, but also how it is told. Narratology is the study of this how part. Just as Trauma Theory asks how the unspeakable finds voice in literature, narratology turns our attention to the how of storytelling itself. What structures hold a story together? Who speaks, when, and why? From Homeric epics to postmodern fiction, narratology examines the bones of narrative: its time, voice, perspective, and order.

Main Questions in Narratology:

• Who is telling the story? Is it a character or an outside narrator?
• When is the story told? After the events, or while they happen?
• What order is it in? From beginning to end, or does it jump in time?
• Whose eyes do we see through? Which character’s thoughts or feelings do we follow?

I want to give a simple example:

Imagine watching a movie. First, a child is talking. Then we go back in time to see what happened when they were younger.

That’s called a flashback.

Or in a book, a character tells the story but forgets things or tells them in a strange way. That’s an unreliable narrator.

What is Narratology? Understanding Stories and Plots

Narratology is the study of how stories are built and structured. It started as a part of structuralism, a theory that looks at the basic structures in culture and language, but it has grown into its own field. Narratology borrows some ideas and terms from language studies, which helps it explain stories better. At its core, narratology is all about stories. But it does not focus on understanding just one story or book. Instead, it looks at what a “story” really is, as an idea and a cultural practice.

One important idea in narratology is the difference between “story” and “plot.” The “story” means the actual events that happen, in the order they really happened. It starts at the beginning and moves forward without skipping anything.

The “plot” is different — it’s how those events are arranged and told in a narrative. Sometimes the plot doesn’t start at the beginning; it might start in the middle, then jump back to earlier events in a flashback. It can also include flash-forwards, which give hints about what will happen later. So, the plot is a way of presenting the story, not the story itself. Understanding this difference helps us see how stories are created and why they are told in certain ways. Narratology teaches us that stories are not just about what happens, but also about how those events are shared with us.

Different Terms for Story and Plot in Narratology

In narratology, the difference between 'story' and 'plot' is crucial. But the story of narratology itself is a bit messy because different groups like to use their own special terms for these ideas. For instance, David Lodge, a well-known scholar, prefers to use the Russian Formalist terms: fabula instead of 'story' and sjuzhet (pronounced "soojay") instead of 'plot'. This shows how the same concepts can have different names.

In North America, many narratology writers use the word 'story' as usual, but instead of 'plot', they often say discourse. This is smart because the 'plot' is not just about the order of events; it also includes things like style, viewpoint, and pace — basically, how the story is told or “packaged.” Another important figure, Gerard Genette, uses yet another set of terms: histoire (similar to 'story' or 'fabula') and récit (which means 'plot' or 'sjuzhet'). Therefore, while the ideas are similar, narratologists don’t always agree on the words. This variety in terminology shows how rich and complex the study of stories really is.

Aristotle’s Ideas About Stories: Characters and Actions

Aristotle, in his book Poetics, says that the most important parts of a story are character and action. He thinks we understand a character by what they do — their actions show who they really are.

He also talks about three important things in a story’s plot:

1.    Hamartia: This refers to a mistake or fault. In tragic stories, it is often a big flaw in the main character that causes problems or disaster.

2.  Anagnorisis: This is the moment when the main character realizes something important. It is like a “recognition” or a “big discovery” about themselves or the situation.

3.  Peripeteia: This means a sudden change or reversal in the story. Things turn around quickly, and the character’s fate changes a lot.

 

Vladimir Propp and the Shapes of Stories

Vladimir Propp was a Russian critic who studied Russian folk tales. He wanted to find common patterns and parts that appear again and again in these stories. In 1928, he wrote a book called The Morphology of the Folktale. The word “morphology” means the study of shapes or forms, so his book was about the structure of stories, not their history or meaning in society.

Propp found seven main roles or “spheres of action” in many folk tales:

1.     The Villain: The bad character who causes trouble or harm.

2.     The Donor: The person who gives the hero a special object or help needed to beat the villain.

3.     The Helper: Someone who helps the hero with their strength or cleverness.

4.     The Princess and Her Father: The princess is someone the hero wants to save or marry. Sometimes she is a victim.

5.  The Dispatcher: The person who sends the hero on the quest after the villain causes a problem.

6.     The Hero: The main character who goes on the journey or solves the problem.

7.     The False Hero: A character who pretends to be the hero and tries to take credit for the hero’s success.

Even though Propp studied Russian stories, he believed these roles are common in stories from all cultures and times. 

 

Gerard Genette and How Stories Are Told

Gerard Genette is a famous thinker in the field of narratology, especially structural narratology. He focused on how stories are told, not just what happens in the story. He explained five important parts of narration:

1. Narrative Mode

This is about how the story is shown or told:

• Mimesis means the story is shown by acting it out or "showing" things slowly, like in a play or movie.
• Diegesis means the story is told by a narrator who "tells" quickly, summarizing events.

2. Narrative Focalisation (Viewpoint)

This means from whose eyes we see the story:

• External focalisation means we only see what characters say and do, from outside their minds.
• Internal focalisation means we see what characters think and feel inside.
• Sometimes, the narrator can know everything about all characters (called zero focalisation).

3. Voice (Who Tells the Story)

Who is the narrator and where do they stand?

• Intra-diegetic narrators are inside the story.
• Extra-diegetic narrators are outside the story.
• If the narrator is a character in the story, they are called homo-diegetic.
• If the narrator is not a character, they are called hetero-diegetic.

4. Order

Stories are not always told in the order they happen. Sometimes, they jump back in time (flashbacks or analepsis) or forward (flashforwards or prolepsis).

5. Narrative Speed

This is about how fast or slow the story is told:

·         Pause: The story stops, and the narrator describes something in detail.

·         Scene: The story time and narration time match, like in a dialogue.

·         Summary: The story is told faster than it happened, in a shorter form.

·         Ellipsis: Some parts of the story are skipped entirely.

Genette’s ideas help us understand how authors make choices about telling stories. Why do they slow down, speed up, or skip parts? What effect do these choices have on us as readers?

Aristotle talked mostly about themes, Propp focused on plot and characters, and Genette shows us the “how” of storytelling — the narration itself. Together with other thinkers, they help us understand stories fully.

 What Do Narratologists Do?

1.     They study individual stories to find the common patterns that appear in all stories.

2.     Instead of focusing only on what the story is about (the content), they focus on how the story is told — the narrator and the act of telling.

3.     They take simple categories found in short stories and develop them to explain more complex, longer stories like novels.

4.     They focus more on actions and structure in the story rather than just characters and their motives.

5.     They enjoy finding connections between different stories, rather than only admiring a few unique or famous works.