Because everyone loves a good story
Stage 11: Resurrection, Part 2
I sat in the big, squishy chair, my shoulders tense and my eyes dilated. My brain was racing like an out-of-control semi truck on a mountain road. I had thought I was at least marginally intelligent, but now that assumption was dangling by a spider’s thread. In the partial darkness, my husband leaned over and said, “Well, what did you think?” I couldn’t even formulate an answer as I sat staring at the screen, watching the credits roll by for the movie Interstellar.
Now, I’d love to write a whole post on that movie and my love/hate relationship with its premise and plot. I’d enjoy telling you how it drove me to scour countless articles and scientific videos for any explanations of relativity. But instead, I’ll save that for another day and choose to focus on the motif of death and resurrection in Interstellar.
Are You Making This Up?
I do believe this death-and-resurrection motif was intentional, as the beginning of the movie makes clear in a conversation between Cooper and Dr. Brand. The Professor mentions to Cooper that a previous mission had already been sent out to look for other habitable planets: the Lazarus Mission. Cooper replies, “That sounds cheerful.” The professor reminds him that Lazarus came back from the dead, to which Cooper quips, “Sure, but he had to die in the first place.” So with this foreshadowing in mind, let’s look at the death and resurrection of Cooper as an example for Stage Eleven: the Hero’s Resurrection.
By the way, if you haven’t watched the movie yet, you might want to take a sec and go do that. Otherwise the examples won’t be as enjoyable for you. But I will tell you that, at this stage of the movie, Cooper’s death seems imminent since he has detached himself from the main spacecraft, ejected himself from his small shuttle, and ended up trapped in a black hole. Eventually, the black hole itself seems to unravel, and he is left stranded and unconscious in space, floating around near Saturn. For all intents and purposes, he is dead.
Tying Up Loose Ends
Now, I acknowledged in Part One that we often see the hero undergo a version of death (or at least near-death) and resurrection during the Ordeal. But this final stage of Resurrection—of climax and resolution—can take on many forms, Vogler points out. It can range from a complex series of resolutions for several plot points to a simple but critical choice for the hero to apply what he or she has learned.
The ending of Interstellar does both; it ties up many loose ends of the plot such as Cooper’s black hole predicament, his estrangement from his daughter Murphy, the impending suffocation of earth’s inhabitants unless Murphy solves a complicated equation, and even the solitary heartbreak of fellow-astronaut Amelia Brand. But the movie also gives Cooper a chance to apply some of the lessons he’s learned throughout his adventure. One of the best examples is his choice to sacrifice his chance to see his family again in order to save Amelia Brand and thereby, he hopes, humanity itself.
Catharsis
The thing about this stage of an adventure is that it’s often emotional. If it’s a comedy, the situation has reached its highest point of absurdity, and the audience is probably busting a gut with laughter. If it’s a drama, then someone we’ve come to love is either dying, watching a loved one die, or is at least coming to terms with an important lesson. Either way, the audience may be crying at this point.
While I, personally, struggle to feel comfortable expressing emotions like this, I’m told that it’s cathartic. Christopher Vogler explains the term catharsis in this way: “This Greek word actually means ‘vomiting up’ or ‘purging,’ but in English has come to mean a purifying emotional release, or an emotional breakthrough.” [210] I’m also deathly afraid of vomiting, so maybe there is a connection here.… But before we get carried away psychoanalyzing me, let’s re-focus on the point: a good story, whether comedy or drama, should reach its climax at this point, allowing the audience to experience a catharsis for the tension that the previous struggles introduced.
Now, after enduring a move as tense as Interstellar, you would be justified in demanding some pretty serious catharsis at the end. For example, you want peace and resolution for the broken relationship between Cooper and his daughter, Murphy. Although you don’t get the full satisfaction of a long-lasting relationship, you do get to release the fear that one or both of them would die without seeing each other again and make things right. You also want the assurance that the human race isn’t going to suffocate in the dust of a dying Earth, and the movie provides that for you as well.
Souvenirs from the Special World
When a hero returns home from an adventure, his family and friends may have a hard time believing what happened to him unless he’s managed to bring back some sort of proof.
Vogler says that “providing proof is a major function of the Resurrection stage….A common fairy-tale motif is that proof brought back from the magic world tends to evaporate…. The real treasure from traveling is not the souvenirs, but lasting inner change and learning.” [215-216]
Cooper himself is the greatest proof of the adventure he went through. Physically, he has aged an inconsequential amount compared with the people back on earth (thanks to relativity, a mind-bending property of time). Internally, however, he carries more proof in the form of an expanded mind and a softened heart. He has experienced unfathomable situations with gravity and time and has learned the secret inner workings of a black hole. But he has also learned that logic may not always be the best decisive factor. He comes to see the importance of love after all.
Show or Tell
I studied creative writing in college. While I don’t remember most of the information that I took notes on and wrote essays about, I do remember a crucial piece of advice from one of my professors: he said, “Don’t tell us what the character is thinking. Show us.” And this, as it turns out, is much easier said than done.
Vogler echoes the same advice, saying, “The trick for writers is to show the change in their characters, by behavior or appearance rather than by just talking about it.” [203] If a hero has resurrected from the Special World back into the Ordinary World, he may find himself feeling out of place, a changed man in an unchanged world. It’s the author’s job to display this in reactions and interactions. The resurrected hero won’t be the same as when he left.
When Cooper wakes up after having been rescued from space, he is actually a changed man in a changed world. He finds himself living on a space station simulated to look like Earth; however, he isn’t comfortable in his replica farm house or his seemingly-pointless life. The script doesn’t philosophize about his inability to re-assimilate; instead, Cooper simply states, “I don’t care much for this pretending we’re back where we started. I want to know where we are, where we’re going.” After making peace with his daughter, he decides to strap into a spaceship once again and head out in search of Amelia Brand and a new planet to colonize.
Example from The Hobbit
After all that talk about Interstellar, will it come as a shock to your system to talk about Bilbo’s Resurrection in The Hobbit? Probably, but it’s tradition by now, so let me simply say that Bilbo’s reappearance at home actually does seem like a resurrection to the folk of Hobbiton. They had presumed him dead and had begun auctioning off all of his belongings! After all he’s been through on his adventure, Bilbo finds that there is one last hurdle before he can get back to normal: he must reclaim his property.
In fact, he has to convince them he truly is alive, and some hobbits considered that fact doubtful for quite some time afterward. And it’s no surprise that they didn’t recognize him; he is a changed hobbit. Gandalf remarks on this just outside of Hobbiton when he says, “My dear Bilbo! …Something is the matter with you! You are not the hobbit that you were.”
So whether a hero is simply resurrected in the minds of his fellow hobbits or even brought back from near-death in the vacuum of space, Stage Eleven is a vital part of the hero’s journey. But what has the hero gained from this journey? Find out next week in our final installment of the Hero’s Journey: the Return with the Elixir!
Today’s Question: I’d love to hear your thoughts on the movie Interstellar! It doesn’t even have to be about resurrection, but it certainly can be.
Sources:
Nolan, C., Nolan, J., Thomas, E., Obst, L. R., McConaughey, M., Hathaway, A., Chastain, J., … Warner Home Video (Firm),. (2015). Interstellar.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Just a Heads Up
I re-watched the movie Interstellar a few nights ago. It hurt my brain again. But if you’ve been keeping up with the Hero’s Journey posts, you might want to watch the movie by Friday so you can fully enjoy my upcoming post about Resurrection. If you’ve never watched it, be forewarned: it’s a little intense, but I think it’s worth it. See you Friday, friends!
Awesome Children’s Books: Winnie-the-Pooh
We interrupt your regularly-scheduled series about the Hero’s Journey to bring you this vital, time-sensitive article about one of my favorite children’s books. Also, I needed another week to research the next Hero’s Journey post. It’s gonna be a good one.
As you may remember from my previous post about children’s books, I am a firm believer that a well-written children’s book is a delight not only to kids but to adults as well. An adult who turns up his nose at a good children’s book probably has lost a piece of himself that he would be better off having retained: a sense of fun, of wonder, of enjoyment in the small things, perhaps. More’s the pity.
The Magic of Pooh
Contrast this attitude with the feeling I hope you get when you read Winnie-the-Pooh, by British author A.A. Milne. Now, if your only experience with Pooh was watching the old cartoon or the recent movie, then you probably don’t have an adequate perspective on the charm of the books. See, the magic is in the telling.
The small, hardcover book that I am looking at right now was first published in England in 1926. I already love it for that fact alone. British writers from that era have a certain style and sense of humor that gets me every time. For example, Chapter One, “In Which We Are Introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh and Some Bees, and the Stories Begin,” is already off to a great start just because of the title itself. The chapter begins,
Here is Edward Bear, coming downstairs now, bump, bump, bump, on the back of his head, behind Christopher Robin. It is, as far as he knows, the only way of coming downstairs, but sometimes he feels that there really is another way, if only he could stop bumping for a moment and think of it. (1)
Christopher Robin requests that Milne tell a story—you know, because Winnie-the-Pooh wants to hear one—and so begins the first tale of Pooh’s quest for honey from a hive way up high in a tree. And, guys, I actually giggled out loud just now when I re-read how a tippy-top tree branch snapped out from under Pooh. You probably think I’m a cruel person now, but this is actually a great example of how the magic is in the telling.
[Pooh] was nearly there now, and if he just stood on that branch…Crack!
“Oh, help!” said Pooh, as he dropped ten feet on the branch below him.
“If only I hadn’t—” he said, as he bounced twenty feet on to the next branch.
“You see, what I meant to do,” he explained, as he turned head-over-heels, and crashed onto another branch thirty feet below, “what I meant to do—”
“Of course, it was rather—” he admitted, as he slithered very quickly through the next six branches.
“It all comes, I suppose,” he decided, as he said good-bye to the last branch, spun round three times, and flew gracefully into a gorse-bush, “it all comes of liking honey so much. Oh, help!” (2)
The Sweetness of Pooh
Now, maybe it is a little morbid of me to have enjoyed Pooh’s misadventure so much, but isn’t that delightful writing? It’s so understated, so wry and wonderful. But while he is charmingly funny, Milne also excels in sweet, simple observations such as children might say without realizing they’re profound. On one occasion, Pooh remarks,
“‘Well,…what I like best—’ and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.” (3)
I could go on and on, quoting sweet or quirky lines from Winnie-the-Pooh, but I think you’d be better served by picking up one of the books yourself. Read it to children, simply enjoy it yourself, or do both! But if you start to giggle out loud, don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Sources:
Milne, A.A. Winnie-the-Pooh. New York: E.P. Dutton, 1926. Chapter 1, p 3.
[Ibid] Chapter 1, p 9.
Milne, A.A. The House at Pooh Corner. New York: Dutton Children’s Books, 1994. Chapter 10, p 336.
Stage Eleven: Resurrection, Part 1
I know what you’re thinking. “Wait a second; hold up. Resurrection? This is a repeat! A mistake! Resurrection is so three stages ago.”
Now, I can’t contest the fact that we witnessed our hero die (literally or figuratively) and come back to life in Stage Eight: The Ordeal. All I can say is: just keep reading. You’ll see that both stages are good and necessary. And to prove that I have your best interest in mind, I’ve broken this into a two-part post so as not to overwhelm you.
Ready to dive in? Wonderful!
The Purpose of Final Resurrection
Now, down to business. We know that the hero already faced death and resurrection in the Supreme Ordeal, so what’s with this second resurrection? There are several answers, but Christopher Vogler emphasizes one of the most important ones with the fact that “heroes must be tested one last time to see if they retained the learning from the Supreme Ordeal of Act Two.” [205]
Remember, somewhere just after the midpoint of the story, the hero was faced with what he thought was his biggest fear or foe. He probably had to give up something very important here, whether a friend, a treasure, his safety, or even his own life. But after this, the hero was miraculously “reborn” in the sense that he returned and was able to gain the prize he set out for in the first place. He grasped his reward and began his journey home.
Blocked at the Threshold
This journey leads him once again to a threshold. When he faced the First Threshold, if you remember, the hero paused to weigh, consider, or even reject the offer of the adventure. He seemed scared or non-committal; he was his own barrier. Eventually, he was motivated to embark, but now we see him halted in his journey back to the Ordinary World.
This time, however, he is probably paused by an outer rather than an inner force. The purpose? A final transformation.
Christopher Vogler explains it this way: “Heroes have to undergo a final purging and purification before reentering the Ordinary World…. Just as heroes had to shed their old selves to enter the Special World, they now must shed the personality of the journey and build a new one that is suitable for return to the Ordinary World. It should reflect the best parts of the old selves and the lessons learned along the way.” [203-204] The catalyst for this shedding of the warrior-self may be a choice, a confrontation, or even a battle, but the hero’s response will determine his fitness to reenter civilian society.
A great example is Neo’s transformation at the end of the first Matrix movie. He is blocked from returning to the real world by Smith, the antagonist. He is soon killed by Smith’s bullets, but he is resurrected by Trinity’s love for him. When he resurrects as his new, enlightened self, he has left behind his weakness and instead has tapped into all of his previous teachings. He has been purified.
The Stakes of the Last Brush with Death
Often, the purging takes the form of one last battle. In earlier battles, the hero may have been foiled by a character flaw. Maybe she forgot the advice of her Mentor or was distracted by an obsession. Maybe she fought valiantly, but the enemy managed to escape. No matter the outcome of her earlier Ordeal, she has a chance to settle things once and for all here on the Threshold.
Often the final faceoff has higher stakes than the previous fights. Earlier, the hero may have been fighting for her own life or for the right to continue her quest. This final ordeal, however, is the climax of the adventure, and the stakes are as high as they can get. It’s not just about the hero; it’s about her family, her friends, her community, or even her world. For example, all the battles and trials of The Lord of the Rings culminate with the final battle inside Frodo himself. He is no longer fighting to survive against orcs and spiders; he is now battling for the fate of Middle Earth, and he is his own worst enemy. Thankfully, when the stakes are highest, the obsessive desires of Gollum save the world. Nice work, Sméagol, you pathetic little creature.
Happily Ever After, or Otherwise
Now, it would be lovely if good causes were always rewarded with a happy ending. Often, this is the case, and it’s very satisfying indeed. In these stories, the hero will fight to the ultimate edge of death, and just when we despair of his survival, he will surprise us all with one last blow that finishes the enemy. Maybe he calls on the advice of his Mentor or consciously releases what held him back before. Harry Potter chooses to let go of his fears and die in order to save his school and the world as he knows it. However, once the shard of Voldemort has been obliterated from his soul, he is given the chance to return; he is resurrected.
Sometimes, however, a good cause costs the ultimate price. In these stories, the hero comes face to face with death and, instead of triumphing, is overcome. This can still be in harmony with the lessons of his Mentor and the rejection of his previous flaws; often, it’s a conscious decision on the part of the hero to sacrifice himself for the cause. Although it’s tragic, it is fitting. In the movie “Batman vs Superman,” Kal-El chooses to end the monster Doomsday, even though he knows it will be the end of himself as well. He does it to save the one he loves and the world he has come to love. When the dust settles, we see him stretched out in the shape of a cross, a clear reference to a sacrificial savior’s death.
But if this is about resurrection, then how does the hero live on? Vogler believes that “doomed or tragic heroes are Resurrected in the sense that they usually live on in the memory of the survivors, those for whom they gave their lives.” [207] The tragic hero also lives on in the memory of the audience. That may seem like small consolation unless you like depressing stories. Or, in the case of Superman, unless you go on to watch the next movie.
And speaking of cliff hangers, I’ll leave you here for this week. Don’t forget to tune in next week as we wrap up this all-important stage of Resurrection!
Today’s Question: Think of a story in which the hero must fight one last battle before going home. Was he or she spared, resurrected, or sacrificed?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Exciting News about a Kindred Site
Hi there, friends! Are you hankerin’ for a new blog post by yours truly but don’t want to wait until Friday to get one? Well, have I ever got good news for you: you can read one of my brand new articles on a wonderful website called Transpositions!
You may not have heard of this UK website before, so let me assure you that they are like-minded, brilliant, and oh-so-helpful when it comes to combining Christianity and creativity. In fact, the website is affiliated with the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts, which already sounds divine. Their website explains that “the Institute is part of St Mary’s College, the School of Divinity at the University of St Andrews. Founded in 2000, the Institute is a flourishing and convivial academic community that fosters innovative interdisciplinary research.” As you can see even from this tiny snippet, they are all much more educated than I am, which is why I’m honored that they chose to publish my article this week.
If you have some time, I think you would enjoy perusing articles from the perspective of all sorts of creative humans: architects, authors, painters, sculptors, and more. These articles emphasize the connection between art and theology, which I find engaging and refreshing. They even have articles on Lewis, Tolkien, and Wonder Woman!
Before I get too carried away with my promotion of this excellent site, let me simply invite you to start by heading over there to read my article called “Bird by Bird: Anne Lamott’s Advice in the Fiction of Lewis and Tolkien.” I hope you enjoy it!
Stage Ten: The Road Back
Vacations, sunsets, great books, delicious meals: we’re told that all good things must come to an end. How disappointing, right? For the hero, even the Special World of the adventure must come to a close eventually. But how does the hero return home? Via the Road Back.
As we’ve looked together at the Hero’s Journey, he or she has made a long and arduous voyage from the Ordinary World, into the Special World of the adventure, and then into the Inmost Cave where the ultimate Ordeal was faced. Phew! That was a lot of work. But now that the hero has enjoyed a few moments to savor the Reward of the battle, it’s time to make a choice: will he or she stay in this Special World or return home?
Why Return?
There are stories in which the hero stays in the world of the adventure, like Ariel in Disney’s “The Little Mermaid” (although her heroism is very doubtful). At the end of the story, she chooses to remain in the human world with Eric, the prince she’s been stalking since the opening credits. However, endings like this aren’t as common; usually, the hero heads back to the starting point. Why is this? I think it’s because we like to feel a sense of completion, of coming “full circle” in a story. If the hero stays in the world of the adventure, we’re left wondering what happened to the folks at home and the problems that were introduced at that stage of the story. Also, a true hero doesn’t usually undergo an adventure for himself alone. Often, he has gone through all this in order to gain something that will rescue the ones he left behind.
Example from C.S. Lewis
In C.S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian, the adventure comes to a close as Aslan offers a way home for the Pevensie children and the foreign Telmarines. The Pevensies are more or less obligated to go, but many of the Telmarines also choose to be returned to the land of their heritage from long ago. Aslan has created a magical door that will transport any who walk through it back to where they belong. Despite the difficult goodbyes (who would ever want to leave Aslan?), this is a quick and simple Road Back.
Another example is in Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew. Digory and Polly have been tricked into being transported to another world—a newly-created world. While there are definitely dangers in this world, the situation that Digory left behind is actually much worse. He lives with a selfish, conniving uncle and a mother who is dying of an illness. The new world, however, is full of interesting creatures ruled by a kind-hearted cabbie. It could have been tempting for Digory to stay there and savor the safety. However, his greatest wish was to return home and offer some life-giving fruit to his dying mother, which is just what he did. For him, the choice was clear: he took the Road Back even though it would be difficult.
When Return Isn’t Optional
Sometimes the hero doesn’t even have a choice about whether or not to embark on the Road Back. Instead, as Christopher Vogler points out, she may find that the evil which she battled has regrouped and returned. She may be chased out of the Special World by a pursuing band of henchmen or an angry villain. Maybe the world itself starts to fall apart, forcing the hero to flee for her life. No matter the motivation, this scene is vital in propelling the adventure from a momentary lull back up to the energy that brings it home. If, like me, you often find yourself snoozing about two-thirds of the way through a movie, this is the part that should wake you up—should. Or it’s just time to admit that we’re old and can’t start a movie after 7:00 P.M. anymore. Dismal.
Anyway, in order to escape, the hero may need to utilize different allies and tactics. He may try to run faster and fight harder, but he may also choose to hide in disguise or use magical gifts to throw the pursuer off his trail. Regardless of the method of flight, one thing is certain: he has outstayed his welcome in the Special World, and it’s time to head home.
Example from The Hobbit
Thankfully for poor old Bilbo Baggins, he is not pursued out of the Special World of his adventure. He’s been through enough already, the poor chap. Instead, he finally gets the chance to do what he’s been longing to do since the first moment he set out for the Lonely Mountain: he gets to head back to the Shire. “’Our back is to legends,’” he says, “’and we are coming home.’” [308]
His Road Back is not nearly as quick as Aslan’s magical door. Instead, he travels for a while with the elves, Beorn, and Gandalf. After leaving the elves at their home in Mirkwood, Bilbo and Gandalf accompany Beorn back to his house where the three of them pass a cozy Christmas season. When they’re all rested up, Gandalf escorts Bilbo all the way back to the Shire. The road was long, and Bilbo is ready for some rest. But is he prepared for the next stage of the Journey, that of Resurrection?
Today’s Question: Think of a story in which the hero takes the Road Back. Was the hero forced into it, or did he or she go by choice?
Sources:
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
The Acorn and the Oak
Today I wanted to post something out of the ordinary: an extensive quote from one of my favorite authors in one of my favorite books. If you’re expecting something about Aslan, think again; this quote is by Elisabeth Elliot in her phenomenal little book, Passion and Purity.
If you haven’t read it, you simply must. It’s a beautiful look at how Jim and Elisabeth let God set the course for their relationship, but it has so much to say about our daily pursuit of God as well. For example, the section below is based on one of the most difficult and beautiful promises in the Bible: “‘Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.'” [John 12:24] Read on to see life through the eyes of a precious grain of wheat who bore much fruit, indeed.
Passion and Purity Chapter 38
The growth of all living green things wonderfully represents the process of receiving and relinquishing, gaining and losing, living and dying. The seed falls into the ground and dies as the new shoot springs up. There must be a splitting and a breaking in order for a bud to form. The bud “lets go” when the flower forms. The calyx lets go of the flower. The petals must curl up and die in order for the fruit to form. The fruit falls, splits, relinquishes the seed. The seed falls into the ground. . . .
There is no ongoing spiritual life without this process of letting go. At the precise point where we refuse, growth stops. If we hold tightly to anything given to us, unwilling to let it go when the time comes to let it go or unwilling to allow it to be used as the Giver means it to be used, we stunt the growth of the soul.
It is easy to make a mistake here. “If God gave it to me,” we say, “it’s mine. I can do what I want with it.” No. The truth is that it is ours to thank Him for and ours to offer back to Him, ours to relinquish, ours to lose, ours to let go of–– if we want to find our true selves, if we want real Life, if our hearts are set on glory.
Think of the self that God has given as an acorn. It is a marvelous little thing, a perfect shape, perfectly designed for its purpose, perfectly functional. Think of the grand glory of an oak tree. God’s intention when He made the acorn was the oak tree. His intention for us is “…the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.” Many deaths must go into our reaching that measure, many letting-goes. When you look at the oak tree, you don’t feel that the “loss” of the acorn is a very great loss. The more you perceive God’s purpose for your life, the less terrible will the losses seem….
There must be relinquishment. There is no way around it. The seed does not “know” what will happen. It only knows what is happening– the falling, the darkness, the dying…. The acorn does what it was made to do, without pestering its Maker with questions about when and how and why. We who have been given an intelligence and a will and a whole range of wants that can be set against the divine Pattern for God are asked to believe Him. We are given the chance to trust Him when He says to us, “…If any man will let himself be lost for my sake, he will find his true self.”
When will we find it? we ask. The answer is, Trust Me.
How will we find it? The answer again is, Trust Me.
Why must I let myself be lost? we persist. The answer is, Look to the acorn and trust Me.
Source: Elisabeth Elliot, Passion & Purity (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House Company, 1984), cuttings from 163-166.
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