Some chapters don’t just inform—they rewire you.

I just finished Storythinking by Angus Fletcher, a book that teases apart two titanic forces shaping how we make sense of the world: logic and story. And while most of the book offers a rich, even scholarly, excavation of these modes of thought, it wasn’t until Chapter 10 that I felt the ground shift beneath my feet. That chapter wasn’t just interesting—it felt true. Viscerally, mythically, and biologically true.

So here’s a reflection on that final chapter—where logic finally bows and story takes the stage.

Epicurus in the Garden (and the Trouble with Happiness)

Fletcher starts the chapter by bringing us into the Garden—not Eden, but Epicurus’s humble hangout, where the philosopher of simple joys served water instead of wine and prized friendship over fame.

Epicurus asked a simple question: How can I make my life better?
His answer was elegant: strip away illusions. Satisfy your real needs—hunger, curiosity, loneliness—with simplicity, facts, and good company.

But here’s the twist Fletcher points out: even Epicurus found happiness to be a fickle god. Why?

1. Our brains evolved happiness as a temporary reward, not a permanent state.
   
2. The more we chase happiness or measure it, the more we kill it.

It turns out that happiness isn’t the endgame. It’s a lure. A brief spark to keep us moving. What our narrative brain actually craves isn’t satisfaction. It’s story.

The Narrative Brain Doesn’t Want Heaven. It Wants Plot.

Here’s the part that really lit the fuse: humans aren’t wired for static utopias. Heaven, as Fletcher shows, would eventually bore us. Even if perfection were achieved—perfect justice, perfect light, infinite bliss—we’d start looking for the door.

We’d hunger to descend, not ascend. To return to challenge, to test, to grow. Even the gods, in ancient myth, get bored and create worlds just to stir the pot.

This is the flaw in logic’s vision of the good life: it imagines a world without contradiction, without tension, without the very friction that gives story its shape. But our brains—our narrative minds—need that friction. We need a why, not just a how.

The Myth of Er and the Rise of the Logic Trap

Around 375 BCE, Plato gave us the Myth of Er—a story posing as philosophy, designed to justify justice with metaphysical punishments and rewards. Do good, go to heaven. Do evil, get flayed in hell.

That myth grafted logic onto story and began the long reign of moral accounting. Ethics became scorekeeping. And story? It became a tool of control.

But Fletcher says we can interrupt that spell. We can reclaim story—not as a tool for metaphysics, but as a force for growth.

So What Is the Meaning of Life, Then?

Here’s Fletcher’s mic-drop, the moment I’ve been turning over in my mind:

“The ultimate Why of human existence is not because it’s true, just, or logical. But because it works biologically for our brain.”

And what is that Why?

To grow other storythinking minds.

That’s it. That’s the fire at the centre.

Not to pursue happiness.
Not to win.
Not to escape death.
But to extend the narrative—our narrative—into others. To pass on the torch. To help others imagine more, do more, be more.

That’s why parenting, teaching, coaching, writing, and designing learning experiences all feel so meaningful. They’re all acts of story propagation.

What Do We Do With This?

Fletcher leaves us not with a dogma but a design invitation:

• Write books that inspire others to write better books.
• Build schools that teach students to invent new ways of learning.
• Create technologies that expand—not constrain—our narrative possibilities.
• Tell stories that make space for other stories.

The point isn’t to arrive at perfection. The point is to keep the story going.

Links in the Chain

Reading this chapter helped me see my work as a rogue learner, guerrilla blogger, and digital campfire host through a new lens. It’s not just about cultivating ideas. It’s about creating conditions for storythinking to flourish—in you, in me, and in the next soul who stumbles onto this blog.

So if you’re still chasing happiness like it’s the boss level of existence, maybe step off that treadmill. Instead, ask yourself:

• Whose story can I help grow today?
• What friction can I lean into, not avoid?
• Where can I plant seeds that will outlive me?

Because that, according to Fletcher—and my gut—is the meaning of life.

🧠 What’s Your Narrative Brain Type?

Answer a few quick questions to discover how your mind makes meaning—through logic, story, or something in between.

If this sparked something in you, go deeper. Read the chapter. Reread your life through the lens of narrative. And if you're curious about what it means to live a mythic life in a logical world, stick around—we’ve got more fires to build.

See you at the next plot twist,
Clay aka Soulcruzer