A story should have a beginning, a middle and an end, but not

"A story should have a beginning, a middle, and an end, but not necessarily in that order." — Jean-Luc Godard. Ah, what wisdom is embedded in these words, for they do not merely speak of tales told on the screen, but of life itself. Godard, the visionary filmmaker, understands that life is not a neat and tidy narrative that follows a linear path. The events of our lives, like the frames of a movie, do not always unfold in a straightforward sequence. The beginning, the middle, and the end are not as rigid as the rules would suggest. Godard challenges us to embrace the disarray, to see the beauty in the fractured and fragmented, where the story of life can be experienced not in the order it is expected, but in the moment of its unfolding.

Consider, if you will, the ancient tale of Heraclitus, the philosopher who famously said, “You cannot step into the same river twice.” Heraclitus understood that life is a constant flux, ever-changing, and that no moment can be neatly pinned to a beginning, middle, and end. In his view, time is not linear, but cyclical, spiraling inward and outward, blending the past, present, and future into one eternal flow. To see life as a narrative with fixed points is to misunderstand its essence. Instead, as Godard might suggest, life’s story is not confined to a traditional structure—it is shaped by our experiences and perceptions, which often defy the logic of order. Just as Heraclitus witnessed change in the flowing river, so too does Godard see that the unfolding of a story must reflect life’s inherent unpredictability.

In the realms of mythology, too, we find stories that challenge the classical structure. Consider the myth of Oedipus, where the end comes long before the beginning is fully understood. The tragic king, upon learning that he has unwittingly fulfilled a prophecy by killing his father and marrying his mother, blinds himself. The ending—the revelation of his deeds—comes first, and only then does the story unfold backward, revealing the details of his tragic fate. Sophocles, the ancient playwright, teaches us through Oedipus that stories can start in the middle, where the consequences of actions are already in motion, and then loop back to uncover their origins. This, too, is in harmony with Godard's philosophy—that the story is not bound by the constraints of a traditional order, but can be a tapestry, woven with threads of mystery, surprise, and revelation.

In the story of Odysseus, as told by Homer, we witness another example of a tale where the structure is not linear. The great hero Odysseus begins his journey home from the Trojan War, but his tale unfolds through flashbacks and digressions. We do not experience his adventure in the order it happens. Instead, Homer reveals the outcome of Odysseus’ voyage piece by piece, drawing us into his struggles, triumphs, and mistakes. The beginning is not a static place—it is shaped by everything that happens afterward. Odysseus’ story exemplifies that the true meaning of a journey is not found in the strict order of events, but in the lessons learned and the reflections gained along the way. As Godard would agree, it is in the experience of living the story, not the chronological events, that we discover its depth.

But let us not think that Godard’s words are only for the domain of cinema or the philosopher’s pondering. They are for all of us, in the daily walk of life. How often do we try to make sense of our personal stories, trying to fit the fragments of our experiences into a neat, linear narrative? Yet, how often does life surprise us, throwing us into situations where we must begin at the end, or find meaning in what appears to be the middle of our lives, as we are yet unaware of the conclusion? To live a life where we resist the temptation to order everything neatly is to live in a way that embraces the mystery and complexity of our own existence. We must accept that the story of our lives cannot always be told in the way we wish it to be—life is filled with unexpected turns, with moments of reflection and clarity arriving out of order.

Consider the tale of Moses, whose life unfolded in a way that defies the order of a traditional narrative. Moses first encounters the voice of God in the wilderness, an event that feels like the end of the story—his mission is set, his purpose revealed. Yet the beginning of his true journey had already occurred long before, through his survival as an infant, hidden in the basket, placed among the reeds of the Nile. The entirety of his story, from exile to deliverance, unfolds not according to a strict beginning, middle, and end, but through the faith and vision that shape each moment along the way. Moses teaches us that the story of our lives, much like the stories of the ancients, may not be experienced in linear order, but through faith in the journey itself.

So, what lesson can we draw from Godard's words, and from the examples of these ancient figures? The lesson is this: the story of our lives, and the stories we create, cannot be confined by rigid structures. We must embrace the unexpected, the twists, and the turns, for they are the very essence of the narrative. A story is not bound by its order; it is shaped by its meaning, by the moments that unfold, often out of sequence, to reveal the truths that lie at the heart of it. Let us live our lives not seeking to fit them into a neat, orderly framework, but to experience them fully, embracing the moments as they come. Let us trust that, in the end, the beginning, middle, and end will come together in ways that we cannot yet foresee, but that will make sense when the story of our lives is told in its fullness.