Theater as an activity, as a staging of reality, depends on the ability of the audience to frame what they experience. It depends precisely on the audience recognizing, being aware, that they are an audience; they are witnesses to, not participants in, a performance. It depends further on a distinction between actors and the parts they play—characters may die on stage, but actors will live to take a bow. Finally, theater depends on a recognition that performances play with reality in such a way as to turn the taken-for-granted into a plausible appearance.
All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players." So wrote Shakespeare some four hundred years ago, capturing an enduring truth we sometimes neglect in our modern love affair with facts and logic. Much of human behavior is aimed at getting things done, and the assumption of linear causality works when the connection between means and ends is clear and measurable. But the logic falters when results are hard to produce and pin down. A factory rises or falls on what it produces. But what about a church or temple? Budget and congregation size are measurable, but souls saved and lives enriched are elusive. Instead, shared faith and liturgy tie believers together and bestow legitimacy. As in theater, performance and appearance matter more than data and logic.
Even in technical environments, a dramaturgical view offers enlightenment. The story of the U.S. Navy's Polaris missile system is a fascinating example of show business at work. In its time, the project was heralded as an exemplar of effective, efficient government work. One of its attributes was reliance on modern management techniques such as PERT (Program Evaluation Review Techniques) charts and PPBS (Program Planning and Budgeting Systems)—both better known by their acronyms than by their names. The methods were embodied in specialist roles, technical divisions, management meetings, and the Special Projects Office. In the wake of the project's success—on time and under budget —analysts gave credit to the project's innovative management approach. The admiral in charge was recognized for bringing modern management techniques to the U.S. Navy. A team of visiting British experts recommended PERT to their Admiralty.
But a later study by Sapolsky (1972) revealed a symbolic explanation for the project's accomplishments. Management innovations were highly visible but only marginally connected to the actual work. Specialists' activities were loosely linked to other elements of the project. The plans and charts produced by the technical division were mostly ignored. Management meetings served as public arenas to chide poor performers and to stoke the project's religious fervor. The Special Projects Office served as an official briefing area. Visiting dignitaries were regaled with impressive diagrams and charts mostly unrelated to the project's progress. Upon its visit, the team from the British Navy apparently surmised all this—and still recommended a similar approach back home (Sapolsky, 1972).
Instead of serving intended rational purposes, modern management techniques contributed to a saga that built external legitimacy and support and kept critics at bay. This myth afforded breathing space for work to go forward and elevated participants' spirits and self-confidence. The Polaris story demonstrates the virtues of drama in engaging the attention and appreciation of both internal and external audiences: "An alchemist's combination of whirling computers, bright-colored charts, and fast-talking public relations officers gave the Special Projects Office a truly effective management system. It mattered not whether the parts of the system functioned, or even existed. It mattered only that certain people, for a certain period of time, believed that they did" (Sapolsky, 1972, p. 129).
Of course, not all theater has a happy ending. The dramatic stage features tragedies as well as triumphs. U2's music video "The Saints Are Coming" demonstrates the power of drama in driving home the meaning of an experience. The video, which focuses on the effects of Hurricane Katrina, opens with scenes of the storm's traumatic aftermath: New Orleans under water, survivors trapped on roofs pleading for help, the horror of conditions at the Superdome, widespread devastation. The music's lyrics plaintively call for the next act: When will aid arrive?
CNN news flashes appear periodically on the screen below images of the ravaged city, showing troops redeployed to the city from Iraq and U.S. Air Force aid missions. With the melancholic lyrics as musical background, the video shows swarms of Black Hawk helicopters arriving to pluck victims from roofs, and larger helicopters and Harrier fighters dropping food and medical supplies. The video fades and a large sign appears: "Not as seen on TV."
The U2 video packs a wallop for several reasons: Bono himself is a heroic symbol on the world stage. The opening acts reveal the pathos all Americans observed initially. The "troops to the rescue" imagery conveys what everyone wanted to see; the final scene transports us back to what viewers actually saw on their television sets.
During previous hurricanes, FEMA had been cast as a heroic rescuer. The script was clear. Hurricane hits, bringing devastation and suffering. FEMA arrives with symbolic fanfare to dispense aid and hope to victims. A world audience applauds the performance. In New Orleans, the drama went off-track. The hero missed the show. The audience waited for an appearance that never came— or came too late. The once-heroic agency was transformed into an inept performer in a bad play.
The juxtaposed theatrical masks of comedy and tragedy capture the different dramas played out by Polaris and FEMA. Polaris capitalized on a theatrical presentation to produce a smash hit. FEMA blew its performance and dismayed its audience.
The symbolic frame recasts organizational structures and processes as secular drama that expresses our fears, joys, and expectations. Theater arouses emotions and kindles our spirit or reveals our fears. It reduces bewilderment and soothes open wounds. It provides a shared basis for understanding the present and imagining a more promising tomorrow. Dramaturgical and institutional theorists have explored the role of theater in organizations, and we begin this chapter by discussing their views. We then look at structure as theater and do the same with a number of organizational processes.
Institutional theory is a recent addition to the management literature that draws on ideas from earlier dramaturgical theories. We can identify two dramaturgical traditions (Boje, Luhman, and Cunliffe, 2003), one represented by the work of Erving Goffman (1959, 1974), who pioneered in use of theater as a metaphor for understanding organizations, and the other by the work of Kenneth Burke (1937, 1945, 1972), who drew his inspiration from philosophy and literary criticism. Goffman approached organizations as if they were theatrical; Burke saw them as theater. Despite their differences, both theorists opened a window for seeing organizations in a new way: "Most of our organizational life is carefully scripted, we play out our scenes in organizationally approved dress codes and play the game by acceptable roles of conduct" (Boje, Luhman, and Cunliffe, 2003, p. 4).
Whereas dramaturgical theorists focus on social interaction among individuals and on internal situations, institutional scholars extend theatrical examples like Polaris and FEMA to the interface between organizations and their publics: "In technical organizations, the development of a rational plan is a prelude to the reconstruction and reintegration of a pattern of production activities. In institutionalized organizations, the creation of a rational plan constitutes a dramaturgical alternative to actual changes. Plans are regarded as ends in themselves—as evidence that we are a humane and scientific people who have brought yet another problem under rational control" (Meyer and Rowan, 1983a, p. 126).
DiMaggio and Powell, for example, conclude that in some contexts organizations worry more about how innovations appear than what they add to effectiveness: "New practices become infused with value beyond the technical requirements of the task at hand.... As an innovation spreads, a threshold is reached beyond which adoption provides legitimacy rather than improves performance" (1983, p. 142). Staw and Epstein (2000) present evidence that adoption of modern management techniques accentuates a company's legitimacy and heightens CEO compensation, even if the methods are not fully implemented. Economic performance does not improve, but perceptions of innovativeness and confidence in management rise.
Institutional theory is not without its critics (see Scott and Davis, 2007). But the ideas provide a counterweight to traditional views of organizations as closed, rational systems. In such views, functional demands shape social architecture. The environment serves as a source of raw materials and a market for finished products. Efficiency, internal control of the means of production, and economic performance are key concerns. External fluctuations and production uncertainties are buffered by rational devices such as forecasting, stockpiling, leveling peaks and valleys of supply and demand, and growth (so as to get more leverage over the environment).
Institutional theorists present a dramaturgical retake on rational imagery. Organizations, particularly those with vague goals and weak technologies, cannot seal themselves off from external events and pressures. They are constantly buffeted by larger social, political, and economic trends. The challenge is sustaining isomorphism—that is, schools need to look like schools and churches like churches in order to project legitimacy and engender support, faith, and hope among constituents. Structure and processes must reflect widely held myths and expectations. When production and results are hard to measure, correct appearance and presentation become the prevailing gauge of effectiveness.
The idea that presentation can be more important than tangible results may seem heretical. Such heresy can easily lead to cynicism, undercutting confidence in organizations and undermining faith and morale for those struggling to make a difference. Skepticism is spawned mainly by rationalists who champion a tidy cause-and-effect world where concrete outcomes matter most. The symbolic frame offers a more hopeful interpretation. Institutionalized structures, activities, and events become expressive components of organizational theater. They create ongoing drama that entertains, creates meaning, and portrays the organization to itself and outsiders. They undergird life's meaning. Geertz observed this phenomenon in Balinese pageants, where "the carefully crafted and scripted, assiduously enacted ritualism of court culture was ... 'not merely the drapery of political order but its substance '" (Mangham and Overington, 1987, p. 39).
Recall that the structural frame depicts a workplace as a formalized network of interdependent roles and units coordinated through a variety of horizontal and vertical linkages. Structural patterns align with purpose and are determined by goals, technologies, and environment (Lawrence and Lorsch, 1967; Perrow, 1979; Woodward, 1970). In contrast, a symbolic view approaches structure as stage design: an arrangement of space, lighting, props, and costumes that make the drama vivid and credible to its audience.
One dramaturgical role of structure is reflecting and conveying prevailing social values and myths. Settings and costumes should be appropriate: a church should have a suitable building, religious artifacts, and a properly attired member of the clergy. A clinic should have examination rooms, uniformed nurses, and licensed physicians with diplomas prominently featured on the wall. Meyer and Rowan (1978, 1983b) depict the structure of public schools as largely symbolic. A school has difficulty sustaining public support unless it offers fashionable answers to three questions: Does it offer appropriate topics (for example, third-grade mathematics or world history)? Are topics taught to age-graded students by certified teachers? Does it look like a school (with classrooms, a gymnasium, a library, and a flag near the front door)?
An institution of higher education is judged by the age, size, and beauty of the campus, the amount of its endowment, its faculty-student ratio, and the number of professors who received doctorates from prestigious institutions. Kamens (1977) suggests that the major function of a college or university is to redefine novice students as graduates who possess special qualities or skills. The value of the status transformation must be negotiated with important constituencies. This is done through constant references to the quality and rigor of educational programs and is validated by the structural characteristics or appearance of the institution.
A valid structural configuration, in Kamens's view, depends on whether an institution is elite or not and whether it allocates graduates to a specific social or corporate group. Each type of institution espouses its own myth and dramatizes its own aspects of structure. Ivy League schools such as Harvard, Yale, and Princeton are known for producing graduates who occupy elite roles in society. Elite schools dramatize selectivity, maintain an attractive residential campus, advertise a favorable ratio of faculty to students, and develop a core curriculum that restrains specialization in favor of a unified core of knowledge.
If an institution or its environment changes, theatrical refurbishing is needed. New audiences require revisions in actors, scripts, or settings. Since legitimacy and worth are anchored primarily in the match between structural characteristics and prevailing myths, organizations alter appearances to mirror changes in social expectations. For example, if total quality management, reengineering, or Six Sigma becomes the fashionable badge of honor for progressive companies, corresponding programs and consultants spread like fire in a parched forest.
New structures reflect legal and social expectations and represent a bid for legitimacy and support from the attending audience. An organization without an affirmative action program, for example, is suspiciously out of step with prevailing concerns for diversity and equity. Nonconformity invites questions, criticism, and inspection. It is easier to appoint a diversity officer than to change hiring practices deeply embedded in both individual and institutional beliefs and practices. Since the presence of a diversity officer is more visible than revisions in hiring priorities, the addition of a new role may signal to external constituencies that there has been improvement, even if, in reality, the appointment is a formality and no real change has occurred.
In this light, government agencies serve mostly political and symbolic functions: "Congress passes on to these agencies a type of symbolic control; they represent our belief in the virtues of planning and the value of an integrated program of action. But the agencies are given no formal authority over the organizations whose services they are to control and few funds to use as incentives to stimulate the cooperation of these existing organizations" (Scott, 1983, p. 126).
In practice, agencies reduce tension and uncertainty and increase the public's sense of confidence and security. Only in a crisis—as when people or pets die from eating contaminated food—do people ask why regulators didn't do their job. The ensuing drama of reform calls for perpetrators to be identified and punished and the situation remedied so the problems never recur.
Rationally, procedures produce results. Administrative protocols coordinate work. Technology improves efficiency. Professors lecture to impart knowledge and wisdom. Physicians treat patients to cure illness. Social workers manage cases and write reports to identify and remedy social ills.
People spend much of their time engaged in such endeavors. To justify their labor, they want to believe their efforts produce the intended outcomes. Of course, even the best intentions or the most sophisticated technologies do not always yield expected results. Regardless, these activities play a very important theatrical role. They serve as scripts and stage markings for self-expressive opportunities, forums for airing grievances, and get-togethers for negotiating new understandings. We illustrate these purposes in the context of meetings, planning, performance appraisals, collective bargaining, the exercise of power, and symbolic management.
Meetings
March and Olsen (1976) were ahead of their time in depicting meetings as improvisational "garbage cans." In this imagery, meetings are magnets attracting managers looking for something to do, problems seeking answers, and people with solutions in search of problems. The results of a meeting depend on a serendipitous interplay among items that show up: Who came to the meeting? What problems, concerns, or needs were on their minds? What solutions or suggestions did they bring?
Garbage-can scripts are likely to play out in meetings dealing with emotionally charged, symbolically significant, or technically fuzzy issues. The topic of mission, for example, attracts a more sizable collection of people, problems, and solutions than the topic of cost accounting. Meetings may not always produce rational discourse, sound plans, or radical improvements. But they serve as expressive occasions to clear the air and promote collective bonding. Some players come upon their role in the drama and are able to practice and polish their lines. Others revel in the chance to add excitement to work. Audiences feel reassured that issues are getting attention and better times may lie ahead.
Planning
An organization without a plan can be labeled as reactive, shortsighted, and rudderless. Planning, then, is an essential ceremony organizations conduct periodically to maintain legitimacy. A plan is a badge of honor displayed conspicuously and with pride. A strategic plan carries even higher status. Mintzberg's insightful book The Rise and Fall of Strategic Planning (1994) presents an array of survey and anecdotal evidence questioning the link between strategic planning and its stated objectives. He shows that the presumed linear progression from analysis to objectives to action to results is more fanciful than factual. Many executives recognize the shortcomings of strategic planning, yet continue to champion it: "Recently I asked three corporate executives what decisions they had made in the last year that they would not have made were it not for their corporate plans. All had difficulty identifying one such decision. Since each of their plans [was] marked 'secret' or 'confidential,' I asked them how their competitors might benefit from the possession of their plans. Each answered with embarrassment that their competitors would not benefit. Yet these executives were strong advocates of corporate planning" (Russell Ackoff, quoted in Mintzberg, 1994, p. 98).
Planning persists because it plays an eminent role in an organization's enduring drama. Quinn notes: "A good deal of the corporate planning I have observed is like a ritual rain dance; it has no effect on the weather that follows, but those who engage in it think it does. Moreover, it seems to me that much of the advice and instruction related to corporate planning is directed at improving the dancing, not the weather" (quoted in Mintzberg, 1994, p. 139).
Discussing universities, Cohen and March (1974) list four symbolic roles that plans play:
Plans are symbols. Academic organizations have few real pieces of objective evidence to evaluate performance. They have nothing comparable to profit or sales figures. How are we doing? No one really knows. Planning is a signal that all is well or improvement is just around the corner. A school or university undergoing an accreditation review engages in a "self-study" and lays out an ambitious strategic plan, which can then gather a decade of dust until it is time to repeat the process.
Plans become games. Especially where goals and technology are unclear, planning becomes a test of will. A department that wants a new program badly must justify the expenditure by substantial planning efforts. An administrator who wishes to avoid saying yes but has no real basis for saying no can test commitment by asking for a plan. Benefits lie more in the process than the result.
Plans become excuses for interaction. Developing a plan forces discussion and may increase interest in and commitment to new priorities. Occasionally, interaction yields positive results. But rarely does it yield an accurate forecast. Conclusions about what will happen next year are notoriously susceptible to alteration as people, politics, policies, or preferences change, but discussions of the future often modify views of what should be done differently today.
Plans become advertisements. What is frequently called a plan is more like an investment brochure. It is an attempt to persuade private and public donors of an institution's attractiveness. Plans are typically adorned with glossy photographs of beautiful people in pristine settings, official pronouncements of excellence, and a noticeable dearth of specifics.
Cohen and March (1974) asked college presidents their views of the linkage between plans and decisions. Responses fell into four main categories:
"Yes, we have a plan. It is used in capital project and physical location decisions."
"Yes, we have a plan. Here it is. It was made during the administration of our last president. We are working on a new one."
"No, we do not have a plan. We should. We're working on one."
"I think there's a plan around here someplace. Miss Jones, do we have a copy of our comprehensive, ten-year plan?" [p. 113].
Evaluation
Assessing the performance of individuals, departments, or programs is a major undertaking. Organizations devote considerable time, energy, and resources to appraising individuals, even though few believe that the procedures are closely connected to improvements. Organization-wide reviews yield lengthy reports presented with fitting pomp and ceremony. Universities convene visiting committees or accrediting teams to evaluate schools or departments. Government requires routine assessment of program efficacy. Social service agencies commission studies or audits whenever an important problem or issue arises. Once in a while, insights or recommendations are carried out. Sometimes they yield tangible improvements. Just as often, however, results disappear into recesses of people's minds or the far reaches of administrators' file cabinets. But, taking into account an organization's need to foster faith and confidence among constituents, evaluation plays a decisive role.
Evaluation assures spectators that an organization is responsible, serious, and well managed. It shows that goals are taken seriously, performance receives attention, and improvement is a high priority. The evaluation process gives participants an opportunity to share opinions and have them recognized publicly. It helps people relabel old practices, escape normal routine, and build new beliefs (Rallis, 1980). Although impact on decisions or behavior may be marginal, methodical evaluation with its magic numbers serves as a potent weapon in political battles or as a compelling justification for a decision already made (Weiss, 1980).
In public organizations, Floden and Weiner argue, "Evaluation is a ritual whose function is to calm the anxieties of the citizenry and to perpetuate an image of government rationality, efficiency, and accountability. The very act of requiring and commissioning evaluations may create the impression that government is seriously committed to the pursuit of publicly espoused goals, such as increasing student achievement or reducing malnutrition. Evaluations lend credence to this image even when programs are created to appease interest groups" (1978, p. 17).
Collective Bargaining
In collective bargaining, labor and management meet and confer to forge divisive standoffs into workable agreements. The process typically pits two sets of interests against each other: unions want better wages, benefits, and working conditions for members; management aims to keep costs down and maximize profits for shareholders. Negotiating teams follow a familiar script: "Negotiators have to act like opponents, representatives and experts, showing that they are aligned with teammates and constituents, willing to push hard to achieve constituent goals, and constantly in control. On the public stage, anger and opposition dominate; rituals of opposition, representation and control produce a drama of conflict. At the same time, there are mechanisms for private understanding between opposing lead bargainers, such as signaling and sidebar discussions" (Friedman, 1994, pp. 86-87).
On the surface, the negotiation process appears as a strife-ridden political brawl where persistence and power determine the distribution of scarce resources. On a deeper plane, negotiation is a carefully crafted ritual that delivers the performance various audiences demand. Going off script carries high risk: "A young executive took the helm of a firm with the intention of eliminating bickering and conflict between management and labor. He commissioned a study of the company's wage structure and went to the bargaining table to present his offer. He informed the union representatives what he had done, and offered them more than they had expected to get. The astonished union leaders berated the executive for undermining the process of collective bargaining and asked for another five cents an hour beyond his offer" (Blum, 1961, pp. 63-64).
Similar problems have been documented by Friedman in his studies of mutual gains bargaining (which emphasizes cooperation and a win-win outcome rather than conflict). A disillusioned participant in an abortive mutual gains process lamented: "It hurt us. We got real chummy. Everyone talked. Then in the final hours, it was the same old shit. Maybe we should have been pounding on the table" (Friedman, 1994, p. 216).
In theater, actors who deviate from the script disrupt everyone else's ability to deliver their lines. The bargaining drama is designed to convince each side that the outcomes were the result of a heroic battle—often underscored by desperate, all-night, after-the-deadline rituals of combat that produce a deal just when hope seems lost. If well performed, the drama conveys the message that two determined opponents fought hard and persistently for what they believed was right (Blum, 1961; Friedman, 1994). It obscures the reality that actors typically know in advance how the play will end.
Power
Power is usually viewed as a real commodity that individuals or systems possess— something that can be seized, exercised, or redistributed. But power is inherently ambiguous and slippery. It is rarely easy to determine what power is, who has it, or how to get it. Sometimes it is even harder to know when power is wielded. You are powerful if others think you are.
Power is often attributed to certain performances. People who talk a lot, belong to committees, and seem close to the action are typically perceived as powerful. Yet there may be little relationship between activity and impact. The relationship may even be negative; the frustrated may talk a lot, and the disgruntled may resort to futile political intrigue or posturing (Enderud, 1976).
Power is also often attributed to particular individuals or groups to account for observed outcomes. If the unemployment or crime rates drop, political incumbents take credit. If a firm's profits jump, we credit the chief executive. If a program is started as things are getting better, it inherits success. Myths of leadership attribute causality to individuals in high places. Whether things are going well or badly, we like to hold someone responsible. Cohen and March have this to say about college presidents:
Presidents negotiate with their audiences on the interpretations of their power. As a result, during ... years of campus troubles, many college presidents sought to emphasize the limitations of presidential control. During the more glorious days of conspicuous success, they solicited a recognition of their responsibility for events. This is likely to lead to popular impressions of strong presidents during good times and weak presidents during bad times. Persons who are primarily exposed to the symbolic presidency (for example, outsiders) will tend to exaggerate the power of the presidency. Those people who have tried to accomplish something in the institution with presidential support (for example, educational reforms) will tend to underestimate presidential power or presidential will [1974, pp. 198-199].
As Edelman puts it: "Leaders lead, followers follow, and organizations prosper. While this logic is pervasive, it can be misleading. Marching one step ahead of a crowd moving in a specific direction may realistically define the connection between leadership and followership. Successful leadership is having followers who believe in the power of the leader. By believing, people are encouraged to link positive events with leadership behaviors" (1977, p. 73).
Though reassuring, the assumption that powerful leaders make a difference is often misleading. Cohen and March compare the command and control of college presidents to the driver of a skidding automobile: "The marginal judgments he makes, his skill, and his luck will probably make some difference to the life prospects of his riders. As a result, his responsibilities are heavy. But whether he is convicted of manslaughter or receives a medal for heroism is largely outside his control" (1974, p. 203).
As with other processes, a leader's power is less a matter of action than of appearance. When a leader does make a difference, it is by enriching and updating the drama—constructing new myths that alter beliefs and generate faith.
Managing Impressions
Peter Vaill (1989) characterized management as a performing art. This rings especially true for those trying to launch a business. One of the chief challenges confronting entrepreneurs is acquiring the resources needed to get embryonic ideas to the marketplace. This requires convincing investors of the future worth of an idea or product. Entrepreneurs typically concentrate on developing a persuasive business plan that projects a rosy financial future, coupled with a PowerPoint presentation full of information about the new idea's potential.
Zott and Huy's two-year field study suggests that symbols may be more powerful than numbers in determining who gets funded (2007). They compared entrepreneurs who garnered a lion's share of resources with others who did not fare as well. Their results depict "the entrepreneur as an active shaper of perceptions and a potentially skilled user of cultural tool kits .... By enacting symbols effectively entrepreneurs can shape a compelling symbolic universe that complements the initially weak and uncertain quality of their ventures" (pp. 100-101).
Resources flowed to entrepreneurs who presented themselves, their companies, and their products with dramatic flair rather than relying solely on technical promise and financial analyses. The winners knew their audience, capitalized on credentials and business associations, wore appropriate costumes to blend with clients and investors, shone the spotlight on the symbolic value of their products, stressed the cultural vigor of their enterprises, called attention to unique processes, highlighted personal commitment, pointed to short-term achievements, and told good stories.
It has been said that giving is a matter of heart more than head. By invoking meaningful symbols, successful entrepreneurs were able to loosen the purse strings of investors. They skillfully managed impressions through carefully crafted theatrical performances.
From a symbolic perspective, organizations are judged as much on appearance as outcomes. The right drama gives audiences the performance they expect. The production reassures, fosters belief in the organization's purposes, and cultivates hope and faith. Structures that do little to coordinate activity, and protocols that rarely achieve their intended outcomes still play a significant symbolic role. They provide internal glue. They help participants cope, find meaning, and play their roles without reading the wrong lines, upstaging the lead actors, or confusing tragedy with comedy. To outside audiences, they provide a basis for confidence and support.
Dramaturgical concepts sharply redefine organizational dynamics. Historically, theories of management and organization have focused on instrumental issues. We see problems, try to solve them, and then ask, "What did we accomplish?" Often, the answer is "nothing" or "not much." We find ourselves repeating the old saw that the more things change, the more they remain the same. Such a message can be disheartening and disillusioning. It often produces a sense of helplessness and a belief that things will never get much better. In Hope Dies Last, Studs Terkel says it well: "In all epochs, there were first doubts and the fear of stepping forth and speaking out, but the attribute that spurred the warriors on was hope. And the act. Seldom was there a despair or a sense of hopelessness. Some of those on the sidelines, the spectators, feeling hopeless and impotent, had by the very nature of the passionate act of others become imbued with hope themselves" (2004, p. xviii).
Theatrical imagery offers a hopeful note. For a variety of reasons, we may be restless, frustrated, lost, or searching to renew our faith. We commission a new play called Change. At the end of the pageant, we can ask: What was expressed? What was recast? And what was legitimized? A good play assures us that each day is potentially more exciting and full of meaning than the last. If things go badly, buff up the symbols, revise the drama, develop new myths—or dance to another tune.