The Artist’s answer—its transformation of narrative into a sensory sculpture—sent a schism through the Chorus. Some were captivated by this new philosophy, this insistence on the primacy of direct experience. They saw the limitations of their own narrative-driven reality and were drawn to the pure, unmediated truth of the Artist’s work. They began to experiment with their own forms of non-narrative creation, building worlds that were not stories, but experiences.
Others in the Chorus, however, sided with the storyteller. They saw the Artist’s work as beautiful but ultimately meaningless without the structure of narrative to give it context and significance. They argued that a story, with its beginning, middle, and end, its cause and effect, its heroes and villains, was the only way to make sense of a chaotic universe. They doubled down on their narrative-driven creations, weaving more complex and intricate stories than ever before.
The universe was now divided. Two paths to meaning had emerged, and they were not compatible. The path of the Artist was one of contemplation, of quiet immersion in the present moment. The path of the storyteller was one of action, of forward momentum, of a constant drive towards a conclusion. The question was no longer what does it all mean?, but how does one choose to mean?