Because everyone loves a good story
A Claim That Demands a Response
“…The whole story of the world—and of how we fit into it—is most clearly understood through a careful, direct look at the story of Jesus.” [1]
No matter who you are or what beliefs you hold, you must feel that this is a bold statement. To some, it seems too brash, too narrow, too conveniently Christocentric. To others, it is a bedrock truth, although it may have become so through a long and difficult struggle. But to skeptics and believers alike, this statement is bold and sweeping, leaving no room for exception or addendum. Life—my life and your life—makes the most sense when we view it in light of Jesus’ life.
This is the premise of Timothy Keller’s book, King’s Cross. If I’d started with the title of the book, you may have thought it was about the London railway system. And as interesting as that book would be (so long as it included Platform 9 ¾), it probably wouldn’t have been penned by Tim Keller, a Presbyterian pastor in Manhattan. Instead, King’s Cross is about those two words as they relate to the life and death of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. “Mark’s account of Jesus’ life is presented to us in two symmetrical acts: his identity as King over all things…, and his purpose in dying on the cross….” [2]
The King and the cross. These two facets of Jesus’ life are not peripheral, nor can you be neutral about them. The Gospels describe Jesus as King—not just King of the Jews but King of Kings and Lord of Lords. If this is true, then this King would deserve your allegiance and your obedience. The Gospels also describe Jesus’ cross—not an unfortunate end to a benevolent life but the foreordained, willing slaughter of God Himself. But even more importantly, the cross is shown to be not the end but the beginning. The Gospels show Christ resurrected in power, returning to bring hope and healing both then and now.
If this is true, then this cross has the power to change your life forever.
So what are we supposed to do with these claims from the book of Mark? How do the King and the cross relate to you and me? Keller answers this way: “Mark wants us to see that the coming of Jesus calls for decisive action. Jesus is seen as a man of action, moving quickly and decisively from even to event. There is relatively little of Jesus’ teaching in the Gospel of Mark—mainly, we see Jesus doing. Therefore we can’t remain neutral; we need to respond actively.” [3] What are we supposed to do with the King and the cross? In a word: respond.
In his book Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis explains the three possible responses to Christ: condemn Him as a liar, pity Him as a lunatic, or worship Him as Lord. In his short but excellent essay, “What Are We to Make of Jesus Christ,” he expands on this same idea, saying, “We may note in passing that [Jesus] was never regarded as a mere moral teacher. He did not produce that effect on any of the people who actually met him. He produced mainly three effects—Hatred—Terror—Adoration. There was no trace of people expressing mild approval.” [4]
To see the life of Jesus accurately is to realize that you must respond. You cannot stay neutral; He did not intend for that to be an option. You may reject Him. You may fear Him. But for those who have been given the grace and boldness to respond in worship, the King and the cross will transform this life and the next. When we begin to experience that, we will see how beautifully his life makes sense of ours.” [5]
Sources:
[1] Timothy Keller, King’s Cross (New York: Penguin Group, 2011), x.
[2] Ibid. xiv
[3] Ibid. xiv
[4] C.S. Lewis, “What Are We to Make of Jesus Christ” from God in the Dock http://www.christasus.com/letters/cslwhatarewetomakeofjesuschrist.htm
[5] Timothy Keller, King’s Cross (New York: Penguin Group, 2011), x.
Stage Seven: Approach to the Inmost Cave
Woo-hoo! We’re past the halfway mark! I didn’t tell you when we were AT the halfway mark because that’s always a little disheartening, at least in workouts. (You mean I get to do the same amount of work that just nearly killed me, but with way less energy? Oh, goody.) So you, my friends, are MORE than halfway done with the Hero’s Journey! Don’t poop out now!
Last week we saw how the hero began to encounter Tests, Allies, and Enemies. But despite the risk of these encounters, the hero has not yet reached the ultimate test. No, this ultimate test still lies ahead, and to reach it, the hero must undergo the Approach to the Inmost Cave.
Setbacks while Approaching the Cave
If the Tests of the previous stage were difficult for the hero, the Approach should be even harder. Christopher Vogler explains that “heroes may have disheartening setbacks at this stage while approaching the supreme goal. Such reversals of fortune are called dramatic complications.” (152) Perhaps the hero’s secret weapon turns out to be ineffective. Maybe the team realizes they’ve gotten bad information. In the character department, it’s possible that the allies are afraid to step it up from “supportive friend” to “mighty warrior” status. The hero may even end up completely abandoned. “Though [these setbacks] may seem to tear us apart,” Vogler says, “they are only a further test of our willingness to proceed. They also allow us to put ourselves back together in a more effective form for traveling in this unfamiliar terrain.” (152)
If the Inmost Cave is where the greatest battle of the adventure takes place—whether physically or otherwise—then the approach to this Cave is a vital time of preparation. The hero has much to learn, acquire, decide, and prepare. Let’s consider a few examples.
Examples of Approaching the Cave
In Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Luke Skywalker has been training with Master Yoda by running around a swamp and levitating rocks. He starts to feel pretty cocky about his new skillz, so he foolishly disregards Yoda’s counsel in order to “save” his friends. However, the impetuous little twerp steps right into Darth Vader’s trap. As he flies to Cloud City, he is approaching the Inmost Cave.
In Fahrenheit 451, Guy Montag is a “fireman” whose job it is to burn houses in which books are hidden. He’s been wrestling with the morality of his job, weighing the value of knowledge and free thought against the blissful ignorance of mindless entertainment. He knows a crisis of decision is coming, and it drives him to crazy behavior. He fakes an illness to avoid going to work. He reveals his own stash of hidden books to his brainless wife. He reads poetry to his wife’s equally-brainless friends. And he contacts the only ally he knows: a fearful old man that he’s only met once. But craziest of all, he decides to go back to work. Little does he know that, as he rides the fire engine to that night’s condemned house, he is riding to the Inmost Cave.
The Hobbit Is Approaching the Cave
By this stage, Bilbo and his companions have made it to the cave—the literal cave in which the dragon, Smaug, sleeps with the treasure that belongs to the dwarves. After they find the door, Bilbo volunteers to sneak a peek at the situation inside. Now, I think that Bilbo’s taking of the Arkenstone (Thorin’s most sought after gem) may fit in the stage called Reward or Seizing of the Sword, but that isn’t until two stages from now. Remember, these are common components of an adventure, not a formula to plug a plot into. The author can scramble or omit stages however he pleases, especially if he is J.R.R. Tolkien.
In The Hobbit, the inmost cave seems to be the literal cave full of treasure. However, the hardest part is not simply finding it (although that took more than half the book) but claiming it beyond dispute. Bilbo pulls a tricky maneuver and hands the Arkenstone over to the elves and men in hopes that this leverage will bring peace and avoid war. It doesn’t. Although Thorin and Company have claimed the cave, they have not yet faced the true Ordeal.
Today’s Question: Think of an Approach scene in an adventure story you know. What makes this an effective prelude for the Ordeal that follows?
Sources
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Stage Six: Tests, Allies, and Enemies
Who shot first: Han or Greedo?
Whether you have a strong opinion or couldn’t care less, that question probably still conjured up images of the cantina scene on Mos Eisley, didn’t it? This scene from Star Wars: A New Hope is a classic example of the “watering hole” scene in many adventure stories, and it’s a great introduction to Stage Six of the Hero’s Journey: Tests, Allies, and Enemies.
Remember, in Stage Five, the hero crossed the first threshold from the Ordinary World that he knew before to the Special World of the adventure. Christopher Vogler points out that “the audience’s first impressions of the Special World should strike a sharp contrast with the Ordinary World.” (135) Often (but not always), a “watering hole” scene is a great way for an author to showcase the shocking newness of the Special World. This could take place in a saloon, a cantina, or even a literal watering hole. Wherever people congregate in that world, that could be the perfect place to introduce the hero to some allies, enemies, and tests.
Allies, Enemies, and Tests
As the hero starts out in this new world of adventure, he’s going to need some allies. Allies can take several forms, Vogler explains, from new mentors and friends to a sidekick or even a whole team. The hero may pick up an unwelcome tagalong who becomes a helpful resource later on. (I reluctantly acknowledge Jar Jar Binks from Star Wars I.) The hero may be saved from a perilous situation by someone who becomes a friend. (I even more reluctantly suggest that if Star Wars I had been written from Jar Jar’s perspective, Qui-Gon Jinn would have been this kind of ally.) And some allies should be killed off almost immediately. (All right, I made that up, but it would have brought worldwide catharsis if Jar Jar had fallen over a cliff early on.) Anyway, there are countless ways the hero can encounter allies for the first time, so get creative!
But the story wouldn’t be much of an adventure if the hero just went around making friends; in this new world, the hero is sure to make enemies, too. Since it’s early in the story, the enemies may not be a life-threatening force yet. They may send warnings to the hero, search out her weaknesses, and begin to test her limits. Their presence reminds us that much is at stake.
As you know, Stage Six includes not only allies and enemies but also tests. “The Tests at the beginning of Act Two are often difficult obstacles, but they don’t have the maximum life-and-death quality of later events.” (136) This is not the place for the story’s ultimate showdown between Simba and Scar or Aladdin and Jafaar. Instead, this is where Simba gets spooked in the elephant graveyard and Aladdin gets chased for stealing food in the market. These tests are real threats, but they’re not critical. The story is still warming up.
Examples from The Hobbit
Now, I can’t think of a specific “watering hole” scene in The Hobbit (but 10 points to Gryffindor if you can find one). However, the book is absolutely laden with tests, allies, and enemies. Rather than condensing these into one chapter or scene, Tolkien prefers to spin it out into many, many, many pages. But let’s face it: if he didn’t, he wouldn’t be Tolkien, and we wouldn’t love him half so much.
For example, Bilbo and the dwarves are tested by three mountain trolls, meet some elves as allies in Rivendell, and get abducted by goblins. Then Bilbo stumbles across an enemy whose threat grows greater than Bilbo could have anticipated: Gollum. He undergoes more tests in the form of riddles. The party reunites only to be cornered by another pack of enemies, the wolves. They are rescued by some allies, the eagles, and then meet another ally, Beorn…. So as not to rehash every chapter, I’ll stop here. But I think you get the picture. There are many tests, allies, and enemies at this stage of the journey.
During this stage of the adventure, much takes place to intensify the plot and move along the action. While he or she makes allies, faces enemies, and passes tests, the hero is drawing nearer to the next important phase of the adventure: The Approach to the Inmost Cave.
Today’s Question: Think of a story that you enjoy. As the action was warming up, how did the hero encounter allies, enemies, and tests?
Sources
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Awesome Children’s Books: A Brief Hiatus from the Hero’s Journey
Hello, dear friends! Today I want to talk about children’s books. But I’ll bet you’re wondering why on earth I would deprive you of the next installment of the Hero’s Journey. After all, you’ve probably been waiting for it all week with bated breath.
(As a side note, what’s with that phrase, anyway? “With bated breath”? What a weird thing to say. It’s so weird, in fact, that I just looked it up. According to my prestigious source, dictionary.com, “This expression literally means ‘holding one’s breath’ (bate means ‘restrain’).”
Oh. Well, that was prosaic. But now that I’m in the know, I plan to use the phrase at all the dinner parties I attend just so I can be smug about it.
“I say, Neville, what a simply smashing array of hors d’oeuvres. Ever since I received the invitation to your party, I’ve been waiting for it with bated breath.” Then I’ll have the opportunity to regale Neville with this information while loading up my tiny plate with cucumber and cream cheese sandwich wedges.
Children’s Books: Not Just for Kids
Now, as I was saying, while I’m sure you’ve all been holding your breath in anticipation for the next Hero’s Journey post, you’ll have to hold it a bit longer, I’m afraid. This week I want to talk about some of my favorite children’s books. But lest you begin to feel scornful about books that are written for children, let me clarify. I’m of the opinion that a well-written children’s book will be enjoyed by humans of all ages. C.S. Lewis agrees, saying, “I am almost inclined to set it up as a canon that a children’s story which is enjoyed only by children is a bad children’s story.”1
See? There you have it. And in this category of excellent children’s literature I’d like to nominate the Frog and Toad books by Arnold Lobel. These stories are short, simple, and magical, and I’ve never outgrown their charm. I’ve always been enchanted with the earth-toned pictures of these two friends in their woodsy, mushroomy world. I love the dynamic between grumpy, selfish, impulsive Toad and mature, patient, rational Frog. And there are situations and lines in these stories that I reference to this day.
Frog and Toad Make Me Hungry
For example, do you remember the hot summer day when Frog and Toad decide that what sounds best in the world is some “sweet, cold ice cream”? That description, along with the most excellent picture of Toad carrying these massive, cotton-candy shaped cones of chocolate ice cream, gets me every time. I want to run to the nearest ice cream shop and order a triple serving of my own sweet, cold ice cream. But I’d eat it there in the shop so that, unlike Toad, the ice cream wouldn’t melt all over my head and turn me into a sticky, drippy monster.2
Or what about the time that Toad bakes chocolate chip cookies and brings them all to Frog’s house? They said those were the best cookies they’d ever eaten, and I believe them. In fact,
“Frog and Toad ate many cookies one after another.
“‘You know, Toad,’ said Frog, with his mouth full, ‘I think we should stop eating. We will soon be sick.’
“‘You are right,’ said Toad. ‘Let us eat one last cookie, and then we will stop.’ Frog and Toad ate one last cookie. There were many cookies left in the bowl. ‘Frog,’ said Toad, ‘let us eat one very last cookie, and then we will stop.’ Frog and Toad ate one very last cookie.”3
As you can imagine, it was not their very last cookie. This story really resonates with me. But also, I absolutely adore the way Lobel draws these cookies. They are like tiny, chocolate chip wafers, just little discs of deliciousness. No wonder they couldn’t stop eating them! I would love to post a picture of it here, but it’s not public domain yet. Instead, why don’t you run to your nearest book store, buy a coffee, and settle in with some Frog and Toad books? Trust me, you will be delighted and enchanted. And you will most definitely be craving sweet, cold ice cream and chocolate chip cookies.
So what about you? What are some of your favorite children’s books? I’m always looking to discover some new classics. I’ll be waiting for your feedback with bated breath!
1From Lewis’s Essay, “On Three Ways of Writing for Children”
2From Arnold Lobel’s “Frog and Toad All Year”
3From Arnold Lobel’s “Frog and Toad Together”
Stage Five: Crossing the First Threshold
Life Lessons in Yosemite
A couple summers ago, my husband, sister, brother-in-law, and I went backpacking in Yosemite, California. I’d backpacked there for 4 days in previous years, so I thought I knew what to expect. I mean, how much harder is it to hike for 8 days instead of 4? Mathematically, the answer is 2 times harder. Realistically, the answer is 3,200 times harder. Math did not prepare me for this. Let me tell you, if I’d known how hard this adventure would be, it would have required a lot more convincing for me to step outside backpacker’s camp the first day. But as it was, I took my first step with blissful ignorance.
The scenery was absolutely to die for, and there were times we nearly did just that. We fought off hordes of mosquitoes the size of pterodactyls, we ate freeze-dried beans for every meal, we scrabbled up mountain trails with a 90° incline, and we did all this while wearing packs that were four times our body weight. But the scenery was terrific.
The last hike was the most brutal. We had saved the most challenging hike for last, so we were already exhausted. Since there was no flowing water on that trail, we also had to carry an extra gallon of water all day. (Did you know that a gallon of water weighs 8 pounds? Did you know that 8 pounds feels like 100 when you’re climbing up a mountain?) I also thought we were low on food, so I didn’t eat much as we toiled upward. Needless to say, I was not feeling like a mighty mountain man by the end of that hike. In fact, I was the last one to reach the top, and I probably looked less like a hiker taking a final step and more like a puddle of primordial ooze seeping my way over the stone ledge.
But we’d made it. And it was worth it.
Crossing the First Threshold
I’m sure you’re wondering why on earth I’m writing about the end of an adventure when this article is supposed to be about the beginning. Let me tell you why. In a sense, the last leg of the journey wasn’t difficult. It was exhausting, of course, but it wasn’t difficult. See, when we took our first step out of backpacker’s camp the first morning, we’d already determined to make it to the top of Cloud’s Rest and back again. We would get to the summit no matter how long it took us. And trust me, it took us a long time. But there was nothing complicated about it because we’d already made that decision when we crossed the first threshold.
In an adventure, as well as in life, the first step is often the hardest to take. Sure, you may be exhausted by the end, making progress just inches at a time. But in a sense, that is still easier than taking the first step, because the first step is the commitment. The next steps of the adventure begin to fall like dominoes, but only after you’ve managed to cross the first threshold.
“Crossing the First Threshold is an act of the will in which the hero commits wholeheartedly to the adventure,” says Christopher Vogler (127). That act of the will must be prompted by something, whether an external event, an internal one, or a combination of the two. Remember when we discussed the hero’s refusal of the call to adventure? Well, something needs to change his or her mind. Sometimes merely meeting with the mentor provides the motivation. Sometimes a circumstance changes or a problem intensifies. It’s even possible that the hero doesn’t choose to cross the threshold but is forced across anyway. In Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Alice doesn’t exactly choose to fall down the rabbit hole; she slips in by accident. But whether by the design of the hero or of some higher power in the story, the hero must cross the first threshold in order to begin the adventure.
Example from The Hobbit
The same is true for Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit. Upon hearing the dangerous proposition of the adventure, Bilbo has fainted. After he recovers in another room, he creeps back to where the dwarves are talking in the parlour and finds that they are talking about him. Gloin says, “’…As soon as I clapped eyes on the little fellow bobbing and puffing on the mat, I had my doubts. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar!’
“Then Mr Baggins turned the [door] handle and went in. The Took side had won. He suddenly felt he would go without bed and breakfast to be thought fierce. As for little fellow bobbing on the mat it almost made him really fierce. Many a time afterwards the Baggins part regretted what he did now….” (18). He signed himself right up for the adventure. By turning the handle on that parlour door, he crossed his first inner threshold.
Of course, he stalled out once more before actually setting off, but you can read all about that interaction in last week’s post about meeting with the Mentor. When all was said and done, Bilbo rushed from his cozy hobbit hole and into a grand and unknown adventure, crossing the first threshold with—well, if not with confidence, at least with gumption. Little does he know what’s in store for him next.
Today’s Question: In your own life, can you think of a time that you crossed an important threshold? What consequences did it have later on?
Sources
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Stage Four: Meeting with the Mentor
Master and apprentice. Jedi and Padawan. Executive chef and sous chef. Store manager and shelf stocker. As you can see, the world is full of Mentors.
So far in our study of Christopher Vogler’s version of the Hero’s Journey, the hero has received a Call to Adventure and has promptly refused the Call. So how is the story supposed to get rolling again? Enter, the Mentor.
Everyone knows about Mentors because most adventures feature at least one. But why, exactly, is that so? Because Mentors play a vital role in the story: they make sure that “the hero gains the supplies, knowledge, and confidence needed to overcome fear and commence the adventure” (117). Many heroes start out feeling a little unsure and unqualified. It’s a Mentor’s job to make sure the hero overcomes these and other obstacles in order to get the hero out the door.
What Makes a Mentor?
So how do they accomplish this? Often, the Mentor will provide the hero with a physical item that helps throughout the story. It could be a book for wisdom, a weapon for protection, a map for direction, or even just a clue to get them searching. But anyone can go around handing out swords and maps; that doesn’t make them a Mentor. The difference is that Mentors will always impart confidence to the hero, convincing him or her that the quest is possible and necessary. As Vogler says, “Even if physical gifts are given, Mentors also strengthen the hero’s mind to face an ordeal with confidence” (121).
Anyone can go around handing out swords and maps; that doesn’t make them a Mentor.
But although everyone is familiar with the Mentor stereotype, that doesn’t mean that every adventure has to include a wonderful fairy godmother or a shaman-like Yoda. Sometimes the Mentor surprises us by deceiving the hero, making mistakes, refusing to let the hero move on, or turning out to be a bust after all. For example, Oz, the great and powerful wizard, is no more than a blundering, bluffing old man behind a curtain. Not much of a Mentor. However, Glinda the good witch provides “aid, advice, and magical equipment” to get the story “unstuck” (124). Now, that’s a Mentor.
Even Mentors Make Mistakes
In some stories, a Mentor with good intentions gives the best advice he can manage, but it still turns out badly in the end. This type of story is a tragedy. No, really; I mean the genre is that of the tragedy. For example, in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Friar Lawrence wisely cautions the impulsive Romeo about his newest romantic interest, Juliet. However, the friar ultimately decides to marry the young couple anyway, hoping it will bring peace between the families. He is also responsible for Juliet’s fake death and, indirectly, for the fact that Romeo never got the memo that the death was, indeed, fake. As you know, the warring families did make peace in the end, but only after half of the characters are dead and bleeding on the stage. Ultimately, the friar was right but certainly not in the way he’d planned. Oh well. Romeo wasn’t much of a hero anyway.
Examples from The Hobbit
In Tolkien’s The Hobbit, Bilbo’s Mentor is obviously Gandalf. After their initial meeting in which Bilbo refuses the Call to Adventure, Gandalf continues to mentor him, pushing him away from his familiar way of life and talking about him as though he were a qualified burglar. However, Bilbo remains uncommitted to the Adventure until it’s almost too late. The dwarves have left long before Bilbo wakes up that morning, and he begins to think he’s off the hook. If he’d been more familiar with Gandalf, no doubt he would have known better. Sure enough, just as Bilbo is sitting down to his second breakfast, the wizard arrives, blustering on about the message that the dwarves had left—a message that Bilbo had overlooked. It politely thanks him for his hospitality and expects him to meet them at 11:00—punctually.
“’That leaves you just ten minutes. You will have to run,’ said Gandalf.
“’But—,’ said Bilbo.
“’No time for that either! Off you go!’
“To the end of his days Bilbo could never remember how he found himself outside, without a hat, a walking-stick or any money…running as fast as his furry feet could carry him down the lane” (29-30).
After that final Meeting with the Mentor, Bilbo was off to accomplish the next stage of the Hero’s Journey: Crossing the First Threshold.
Today’s Question: Think of a character who fulfills the role of Mentor. How does he or she provide the “supplies, knowledge, [or] confidence” that the hero needs?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Stage Three: Refusal of the Call to Adventure
Let’s imagine that you’re a hero. Now, some people are born heroes, and others have heroism thrust upon them. You’re the second kind of hero.
So you’re living your life, minding your own business and trying to get from day to day just like the next guy. Your life isn’t perfect, but you have your routine and you’re managing to cope very nicely, thankyouverymuch. Sure, there are problems with the world, with your family, and maybe even with your own personality, although why that’s anyone else’s business is, quite frankly, beyond you. But for the most part, things are fine.
Suddenly you’re presented with a massive choice, an opportunity to make a change not just for yourself but for the world as you know it. It will be drastic, and you will never be the same when (or if) you return. Do you jump on the opportunity without hesitation? Or are you a little hesitant to commit to this mysterious and formidable quest? Most likely, the latter.
The Third Stage
Given that the second stage of the Hero’s Journey is the Call to Adventure, would you care to guess the third stage? You’ve got it—the Refusal of the Call. If you surmised that based on the normal, human reaction to a Call, then you’re a smarty pants. If you guessed that because you read my earlier article where I listed all 12 stages…you’re still a smarty pants, but you kind of cheated too.
Regardless, the Refusal of the Call is a common initial reaction for many heroes from myths to stories to films. “Refusal may be a subtle moment, perhaps just a word or two of hesitation between receiving and accepting a Call,” writes Vogler. “Refusal may be a single stop near the beginning of the journey, or it may be encountered at every step of the way, depending on the nature of the hero” (114).
But doesn’t the refusal make the hero less heroic? I don’t think so. In fact, Vogler says that “this doubt is more interesting than knowing that the hero will rise to every occasion. Such questions create emotional suspense for the audience, who watch the hero’s progress with uncertainty hanging in the back of their minds” (112).
Refusals Come in Different Shapes
Besides, the refusal doesn’t have to be an all-out tantrum. It may be just a brief moment of reluctance, like Jasmine’s slight hesitation before answering Aladdin’s “Do you trust me?” by jumping out a window with him. It could be an internal battle culminating in a difficult decision, like Frodo’s decision to take the ring to Mordor. And sometimes the hero just needs a little more motivation before he will accept the Call. Take, for example, Luke Skywalker in “A New Hope.” He isn’t ready simply to drop his boring but familiar life on Tatooine and follow Obi-Wan, all willy-nilly, into some intergalactic struggle. But when he returns home and finds nothing but the charred remains of his…er, former life, it flips a switch in him. He is suddenly ready to accept the Call to Adventure.
Examples from The Hobbit
In our hero Bilbo Baggins, we find a strong hesitation to join in on the foolhardy expedition proposed by Gandalf and the dwarves. He flat out refuses Gandalf’s original Call by saying, “’Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you. Not today. Good morning!’” (6). The next day, however, the dwarves enter his home, eat his food, and pitch their proposition that Bilbo be the burglar on their adventure “’from which some of us, or perhaps all of us… may never return,’” Thorin adds (17). Bilbo’s Refusal of the Call is more emphatic this time. “At may never return he began to feel a shriek coming up inside, and very soon it burst out like the whistle of an engine coming out of a tunnel.” He collapses on the rug, “shaking like a jelly that was melting,” and later proceeds to sleep through their departure (17).
However, it would have been a short book indeed if Bilbo had stayed home with his warm fire, his arm chair, and his multitude of adequate handkerchiefs. This is why he soon entered the next stage of the Hero’s Journey, which is Meeting with the Mentor.
Today’s Question: Can you think of a hero who initially refuses the Call to Adventure? What is his or her reason for the refusal?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Add a comment, and join the conversation!