Reason and Love in “The Knight of the Cart”

Posted on May 17, 2013 by mythgirl under Grad School, Psychology, Writing

This is the final essay I wrote for my graduate program in Mythological Studies. I had finished all my course work and the comprehensive exams but had one last class I had missed taking during my first year. So I took The Arthurian Romances of the Holy Grail course as an independent study. It was strange not having lectures to attend, but I had a great prof to work with. However, honestly, I wasn’t particularly looking forward to the course. I didn’t really know anything about the Arthur and his knights outside of Disney’s Sword and the Stone. Wow was I in for a surprise! What rich, wonderful, exciting literature I encountered! So, below is my essay about my now beloved Lancelot and his tale by Chrétien de Troyes. Enjoy!

Reason and Love in “The Knight of the Cart”

The love, romance, and adventure depicted in the Arthurian romances have captivated readers for centuries and remain a powerful force in the literary world. Chrétien de Troyes, noted as a “remarkably influential author” (Lacy and Grimbert xi), is one of the most celebrated writers from the twelfth century, renowned for being the first author to pen the affair of Lancelot and Guinevere. Though he is a key figure of Arthurian studies, relatively little is known about him, and there is much speculation about why he did not personally complete one of his most popular stories, “The Knight of the Cart” (hereafter referred to as Lancelot, the title most commonly used in the related scholarship). As varied as the speculation about Chrétien himself is the diverse interpretations of his tale of courtly love and romance. These details in conjunction with the mythological and psychological elements in Lancelot – including but not limited to love, death, the underworld, and the union of opposites – place it as an incredibly rich text worthy of analysis. In one of the finest collections on Chrétien, A Companion to Chrétien de Troyes, the editors note that “[e]ven Chrétien specialists surely find the volume of critical studies on Chrétien daunting, and students, however diligent, will find it virtually impossible to select the most useful scholarship and to read and master even a small volume” (Lacy and Gimbert xi). This task, like Lancelot’s adventures, has been both challenging and rewarding, and while there can be no definitive analysis of Lancelot, the exploration herein will address the romance as a reflection of its times, an examination of courtly love, and a truly mythic adventure into the depths of the underworld, where both love and death await.

One unchallenged fact about Lancelot is that Chrétien wrote it under the service of Marie de Champagne. Known for her appreciation and encouragement of literature, Marie was also an influential figure in Andreas Capellanus’s The Art of Courtly Love. It is unknown exactly when each piece was written, but best estimations place Chrétien’s writing of Lancelot anytime between the 1160s and the 1180s (Lacy and Grimbert xii), and while The Art of Courtly Love was probably written later, it “was almost certainly intended to portray conditions at Queen Eleanor’s court at Poitiers between 1170 and 1174” (21). Regardless of exact dates, each text demonstrates the notion of courtly love prevalent at the end of the twelfth century, a time when “a new art of love, fin ‘amor (true love) . . . which glorified amorous passion” was emerging (Harf-Lancer 29). The unique and defining characteristic of courtly love, however, is that it is “extramarital,” as defined by Ovid, whom Parry attributes as the originator of courtly love (Capellanus 5). So how is it that Chrétien, “viewed as the poet of love in marriage” (Bruckner 141), was the first to bring the affair of Lancelot and Guinevere to life?

Debate in Chrétien scholarship explores why he discontinued his work on Lancelot, though it is a curious fact that Marie even selected Chrétien as the writer of this tale. It is accepted in scholarship that the affair between Lancelot and Guinevere is “against [Chrétien’s] own moral convictions” (McCash 22). Was his patron Marie aware of his personal beliefs when she told him the legend? Did she simply disregard his views, or did he hide them? Or, perhaps, was he not even as opposed to courtly love as scholars now believe? Of course, answers to these questions will never be known, but the speculation creates a stimulating setting for the creation of a story that embodies courtly love – which itself encourages debate in its own right about love and honor. As Bruckner asserts, Chrétien himself “offers not answers but questions” in Lancelot (155).

That Chrétien himself did not pen the ending of Lancelot is clear although the reasons remain unknown. Parry states Chrétien left the work unfinished because of his dislike of the subject (Capellanus 13), but Lacy and Gimbert review other speculations about why Chrétien stopped writing the tale (22). Since the order in which he wrote his romances is unknown, it is possible that his own illness simply prevented him from writing anymore (22). Others speculate that Lancelot was nearly completed when Marie’s own husband died and that Chrétien discontinued writing it because she feared if the work were to be printed in her widowhood that many would suspect she had been unfaithful to her husband (22). Despite speculation about Marie, Chrétien, and his intentions or feelings in writing about this theme, the value of courtly love in the character of Lancelot himself never wavers.

In Lancelot, the leading knight is defined as one of “great goodness” (Chrétien 234) who is “brave” (243) and completes the “boldest deed” (when crossing the Sword bridge) (247). During his adventures to rescue Guinevere, Lancelot stays at one household wherein all of its members agree upon this description of him: “if all the world’s knights were assembled in a single place, you’d not see a fairer or nobler one” (240). As Chrétien’s narration continues in this section, he describes Lancelot as “fair” and “good,” and directly speaks to the readers: “I trust you will believe my description of all this” (240). Chrétien’s limited use of the first person voice throughout the text is clearly his own voice and not that of a fictional narrator. This is set up in the very introduction when he attributes details of the story to Marie de Champagne (207). When Chretien describes Lancelot in passages like this with such praise, it is difficult to believe that Chrétien himself was so strongly opposed to courtly love.

Regardless of the virtues Lancelot is ascribed throughout Chrétien’s text and by many scholars, the fact remains that he is an adulterer – a term which Bruckner points out is never used in the text itself (154). Bruckner concludes that “Lancelot does not [recommend or disapprove] of courtly love, rather it aims at a wider ethical problem, the contradictions of human experience explored within a secular and courtly ideal” (154-155). This is a further reflection of the period Chrétien was writing in – a time when there was a disconnect between “individual consent and parental choice in contracting marriage” (Kelly 59). Because marriage was typically arranged and amor was just developing, courtly love explored “a doctrine of paradoxes, a love at once illicit and morally elevating, passionate and disciplined, humiliating and exalting, human and transcendent” (F.X. Newman qtd. in Lupack 84). This description immediately reflects a paradoxical theme present throughout Chretien’s work.

Pairs of opposites are prevalent throughout Lancelot, which is first depicted in the very title “The Knight and the Cart,” for one would not typically find a knight willing to ride in a cart! The cart encompasses the opposite of everything Lancelot represents as a strong and noble knight. Chrétien clearly describes the shame of the cart throughout the text, and indeed Lancelot himself even briefly hesitates to ride in the cart (which is the catalyst for later heartache and confusion with Guinevere), but the power of the shame of riding in a cart is perhaps most poignantly demonstrated in the following instance: Lancelot defeats an opponent and when the man begs for his mercy, Lancelot tells him he may live if he is willing to ride in a cart (Chrétien 241). The opponent refuses to do so, choosing death over the shame. This scene emphasizes at once the great disgrace of the cart and the power of Lancelot’s love. Despite his initial hesitation, Lancelot unabashedly accepts the stigma that the ride in the cart assigns him, driven deeply by love for his Queen.

Furthermore, not only is Lancelot’s story titled “The Knight of the Cart,” but that is how Chrétien identifies him until the moment Queen Guinevere reveals his name nearly half way through the text (252). Up to this point, Lancelot has refused to give his name to those he has met during his adventure, even those who offer him assistance. This evokes the mythological motif of true names having power over the individual. In some myths, one’s true name is a guarded secret. The concealment of Lancelot’s name is akin to the secretiveness of his love for Guinevere, and for her to be the first to name him to the readers is further representation of her role as the one who truly knows and loves him.

Chrétien’s use of the humiliating cart as a symbol of his brave knight functions like the “oxymoron” as it was used in “Oriental religious texts . . . to point past those pairs of opposites by which all logical thought is limited . . . beyond ‘names and forms’” (Campbell, Masks 188). As Campbell further indicates in The Power of Myth, “every act in life yields pairs of opposites in its results.” Therefore it is fitting that courtly love (the primary force behind Lancelot’s quest) embraces opposites (as identified above by Newman). These opposites are not something to be resolved but something that is symptomatic of the threads of life and our perception. Courtly love is all at once a deep sign of devotion and “hersey . . . punishable by death” (Campbell, Power). This punishment of courtly love further connects love to its “twin,” identified by Smith as death (176). The cart itself also has “mythic overtones . . . linked to death” (Bruckner 140). In this romance, threats of death abound.

Death is an essential theme in Lancelot because his adventure includes a journey into the underworld. As Smith clearly identifies, “the unconscious [is] represented in this tale by the underworld into which Guinevere is abducted, and into which Lancelot descends in order to retrieve her” (Smith 49). Indeed, Lancelot’s descent from Arthur’s court and his return in the end encompass the Nekyia, the underworld motif that is also representative of the unconscious. Since any descent to the underworld and/or the unconscious is representative of death, it is necessary for Lancelot to face death. Two particular events on his journey highlight that he has entered the realm of the underworld.

Early in Lancelot’s adventure, when he is on his path to find Guinevere, there is a moment where he takes his horse to drink from the water and is so distracted by his thoughts of love that he does not hear the guardian that forbids his entrance into the ford. Breaking this barrier signifies not only the adventure of the hero and the crossing of a threshold a la Joseph Campbell’s hero journey motif, but it also illuminates Lancelot’s psychological state. To begin with, he is so consumed by love that he is completely unaware of his surroundings. Such obsession and preoccupation are very characteristic of courtly love, and these moments are essential for a text dealing with this theme. As Capellanus outlines in the rules of love, “A true lover is constantly and without intermission possessed by the thoughts of his beloved” (186). When Lancelot finally hears the guard, he jumps “to his feet like a dreamer from sleep” (Chrétien 217), a description that further conjures images of the unconscious realm of the underworld.

It is also significant that Lancelot does not hear the guard until he shouts for a third time, a number that repeats throughout the text and bears mythological significance as it represents both the “intellectual and spiritual order” and is related to the three stages of being – birth, life, and death (“Three”). I briefly want to identify other important times when Chretien specifically writes the number three, bringing this specific grouping to his readers’ attention: when the dwarf, Gawain and Lancelot arrive in the cart (212); when the three girls cry at the funeral procession Lancelot and Gawain see out the window (214); in a meadow when three knights point out Lancelot as the knight of the cart (228); when Lancelot is accompanied by two riders (235); the “ointment of the three mary’s” (249); and when Gawain orders three men to bring him his armor when he plans to battle Malegnant in Lancelot’s place (290). The significance of each cannot be discussed in the scope of this paper but is worthy of future study.

Water is another important element introduced in the scene with the guard of the ford. Here, Lancelot is crossing a threshold of water, which “[u]sually we interpret . . . as the unconscious” (von Franz 101). The symbol of water is also utilized in one of the key trials of his journey – crossing the sword bridge – which exemplifies both his presence in the underworld and his dedication to Guinevere (“I would rather die than turn back” [Chrétien 245]). Water itself holds the tension of opposites as it can be “either the great healing factor, or poisonous and destructive . . . according to the context” (von Franz 101). In its destructive state, water can drown people “in the unconscious” (101). At hen Chrétien identifies that Lancelot “would rather maim himself than fall from the bridge into the water from which there was no escape” (Chrétien 245), we know the stakes are high and that this water is clearly destructive. Lancelot is risking death at every level.

This epic moment with the sword bridge is so popular and important in literature that Chevalier and Gheerbrant specifically cite the incident in the symbolic definition of “bridge,” declaring that it “symbolizes the passing from one state of being to a higher state” (“Bridge”). This transformation (yet another element of the underworld journey) is the ultimate test of his devotion of courtly love and, despite its associated shame, solidifies his position as the most honorable knight. Bridges, which are commonly recognized as a representation of a “trial,” can also “symbolize the transition between . . . two conflicting sets of desires” (“Bridge”). We constantly see Lancelot’s battle between Honor and Love, as is first exemplified in his hesitation to step into the cart. He is both knight and lover. While Kelly argues that Lancelot is “lover before he is knight” (59), Lupack asserts that “Lancelot as lover is inseparable from Lancelot as knight in service to king and country” (90). It is certainly a fine line to distinguish in this noble knight: surely he would complete this task for the love of his king (as Gawain himself encounters a similar trial at the underwater bridge in his attempt to retrieve Guinevere for the King), but we know he completes it because love compels him to do so. As Ovid’s description of courtly love indicates, the lover will “perform all sorts of absurd actions” (Capellanus 6).

Another threat looming over Lancelot as he crosses the sword bridge are the two lions that await him on the other side. Though they are ultimately mere illusions, Lancelot chooses to cross the bridge while believing they are material foes. The threat of death could not be more prevalent here as an unarmed Lancelot crosses the sword bridge, hovering over waters of a deep abyss, anticipating to be greeted by two ferocious beasts. That Chrétien chose this animal and not any other is significant as well. To begin with, the lions are a reflection of Lancelot himself because “the lion is burdened with . . . virtues and defects [that] are inherent in its status[:] he may be as admirable as he is insupportable, and facets of his symbolism waver between these two extremes” (“Lion”). Like Lancelot, the fearless knight of the cart, the symbol of the lion encompasses opposites. Furthermore, both Christ and the Buddha have been identified with the symbol of the lion (“Lion”). Themes from both Christianity (as detailed by Smith in Sacred Mysteries) and Buddhism (as detailed by Zimmer in The King and the Corpse) are prevalent in Lancelot. This can most readily be identified in Chrétien’s recurring use of the number three, which has significance in both Christianity and Buddhism. The lion itself also has a relationship with the number three in Buddhism: “The arms of Ashoka [a Buddhist king] comprised three lions seated back to back on a pedestal [and may represent] the teachings of the Buddha [Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha] (“Lion”). (Smith also expands on the relationship between Lancelot and “the three temptations of the Buddha” [49]).That Lancelot sees two lions is indicative of the theme of duality that is thread throughout the text. Furthermore, in Ancient Egypt, “lions were often depicted in pairs” and represent the opposites “birth and death . . . yesterday and tomorrow . . . exertion and rest” (“Lion”). Lancelot’s trial over the sword bridge clearly symbolizes his trial in the underworld while touching on the other key themes in the book: courtly love, death, and their duality.

After succeeding in this great feat at the sword bridge, Lancelot faces the man who is holding Guinevere, Meleagant, “son of the king of Gorre” (Chrétien 215). As Kibler’s footnote indicates, Gorre may be a reference to the Celtic underworld (512). On every level, Chrétien has made Lancelot’s position in the underworld clear. The immediate description of Meleagant then shows us that Lancelot has met his shadow figure. The prince is described as “treasonous and disloyal” with a “wooden heart . . . utterly void of kindness and compassion” (Chrétien 246). The shadow figure is also indicative of the unconscious realm of the underworld, and we see in Meleagant everything that Lancelot is not. Meleagant ultimately becomes the one that holds Lancelot captive in the underworld, and he is the figure that Lancelot defeats at Arthur’s court after his escape, touching on another important element the hero motif: “the hero . . . discovers and assimilates his opposite” (Campbell, Hero 108).

An even more important element of the hero motif that Lancelot attains is the meeting with the goddess, also identified as the sacred marriage. Though sex is not Lancelot’s goal in his love for Guinevere, the consummation of their relationship is the purest celebration of it. As highlighted in the great lyrics of the troubadours, who sang of courtly love in the twelfth century, the “aim [of courtly love] was neither marriage nor the dissolution of the world. Nor was it even carnal intercourse . . . The aim, rather, was life directly in the experience of love” (Campbell, Masks 178). This experience of love is most prevalent when Lancelot and Guinevere make love after he breaks through the barriers on the window to enter her chamber. This union, which calls to mind the alchemical coniunctio, also serves as further representation of “the bringing together of the opposites” (von Franz 164). Though their act is adulterous, it could not be more pure. Chrétien describes Guinevere’s anticipation of her tryst with Lancelot: “The queen was most eager for the arrival of her joy, her lover” (Chrétien 261). According to Baumgartner, “Chrétien’s entire work was organized . . . around the quest for ‘joy.’ To affirm and construct oneself as a hero in this universe, ideal yet full of risk” (226). He is a hero in his quest to save her, and he is complete in his union with her. Once the lovers unite, Chrétien explains that their “joy” was unlike that ever known before, but says he will keep the details a secret (265). Indeed, as Smith identifies, “the ineffable joy of the ‘Liebstod,’ of love in the domain of death . . . transcends the categories of reason, and . . . we must remain silent [about this] genuinely sacred mystery” (52).

Throughout the romance, Chretien has emphasized the tension of opposites that culminate in the love affair of Lancelot and Guinevere. He emphasizes the most important terms with capitalization, not uncommon in the period, and gives true characterization to the terms Reason and Love (212), Generosity and Compassion (242), Nobility and Cowardice and Sloth (246), Love and Hatred (253), Life and Death (260), Cowardice and Courage (278), and Fortune (286). His final emphasis lies on Reason, which prohibits Guinevere from demonstrating public affection for Lancelot (291). As encapsulated by these terms of opposites, whose presence and function could yield yet another project, Chretien’s Lancelot reflects the concerns of twelfth century love while also touching on the timeless mythological motifs of love and death as explored in every hero’s journey.

Works Cited

Baumgartner, Emmanuele. “Chretien’s Medieval Influence: From the Grail Quest to the Joy of the Court.” A Companion to Chrétien De Troyes. Trans. Veronique Zara. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2005. 214-27.

“Bridge.” The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols. 1996.

Bruckner, Matilda Tomaryn. “Le Chevalier De La Charrette: That Obscure Object of Desire, Lancelot.” A Companion to Chrétien De Troyes. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2005. 137-55.

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1972. Print.

—. The Masks of God. New York: Viking, 1968.

—. The Power of Myth Will Bill Moyers. Prod. Catherine Tatge. Apostrophe S Productions, 2001. DVD.

Capellanus, Andreas. The Art of Courtly Love. Trans. John Jay Parry. New York: Columbia UP, 1990.

Chrétien De Troyes. Arthurian Romances. Ed. William W. Kibler. London, England: Penguin, 1991.

Harf-Lancer, Laurence. “Chreiten’s Literary Background.” A Companion to Chrétien De Troyes. Trans. Amy L. Ingram. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2005. 26-42.

Kelly, Douglas. “Narrative Poetic: Rhetoric, Orality and Performance.” A Companion to Chrétien De Troyes. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2005. 52-63.

Lacy, Norris J., and Joan T. Grimbert. “Introduction.” A Companion to Chrétien De Troyes. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2005. xi-xiv.

“Lion.” The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols. 1996.

Lupack, Alan. The Oxford Guide to Arthurian Literature and Legend. Oxford: Oxford UP, 2007.

Smith, Evans Lansing. Sacred Mysteries: Myths About Couples in Quest. Nevada City: Blue Dolphin, 2003.

“Three.” The Penguin Dictionary of Symbols. 1996.

Von Franz, Marie-Louise. Alchemy: an Introduction to the Symbolism and the Psychology. Toronto: Inner City, 1980. Print.

Zimmer, Heinrich Robert. The King and the Corpse: Tales of the Soul’s Conquest of Evil. Ed. Joseph Campbell. New York: Pantheon, 1975.

Works Consulted

Campbell, Joseph. The Arthurian Tradition, Lecture I.6.3. Joseph Campbell Foundation Publications, 2012. MP3.

—. The Grail Legend, Lecture I.6.4. Joseph Campbell Foundation Publications, 2012. MP3.

Ford, Boris, ed. Medieval Literature: The European Inheritance. London: Penguin, 1990.

Jacobi, Jolande. Complex/archetype/symbol in the Psychology of C.G. Jung. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1959.

“The Knights of Camelot.” History’s Mysteries. Weyand, Daiman, dir. The History Channel. 2006. Netflix. Web.

Lacy, Norris J., ed. The Lancelot-Grail Reader: Selections from the Medieval French ArthurianCycle. New York: Garland Pub., 2000. Print.

McCash, June Hall. “Chretien’s Patrons.” A Companion to Chrétien De Troyes. Cambridge: D.S. Brewer, 2005. 15-25.

Weston, Jessie Laidlay. From Ritual to Romance. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1957.

Happy Birthday, Joseph Campbell

Posted on March 26, 2013 by mythgirl under Books, Grad School, Life, Mythology, Psychology, Teaching

There is no other writer/thinker/scholar/mythologist who has had as big of an impact on me as Joseph Campbell. His notion of following bliss was introduced to me during a turning point in my life when I was an undergrad. Following my bliss led me to into two master’s programs that transformed me. The first master’s program led me into my career; the second led me into my very being. Beginning with the works of Campbell, I have discovered exciting realms of mythology, scholarship, psychology, psyche, and bliss. For more than a decade, his words have inspired me to make leaps of faith and follow unpaved paths.

Happy 109th bday, Joe!

Inception & the Underworld

Posted on March 4, 2013 by mythgirl under Grad School, Pop Culture

Here’s a piece I realized I never posted! I wrote this paper for the Myths of the Underworld course I took last year. It was the last of the incompletes I finished in the fall. As I post this, I am currently working on my very last grad paper! More content to appear on my website soon. Thanks for sticking around!

The underworld is a timeless element present in mythology and human thought. As seen in ancient mythologies beginning with the Descent of Inanna in 2000 B.C.E., “descent stories [reveal] the human quest for the kind of knowledge that adds to spiritual power” (Davis et. al 26). After undergoing a quest in the underworld, the hero returns to the daily world empowered. These underworld stories have recurred throughout the ages, continuing into modern day. James Hillman identifies that “myths are not simply part of the past . . . Myth lives vividly in our symptoms and fantasies and in our conceptual systems” (Dream 23). Therefore, it is no surprise that films, one of our most popular devices for modern storytelling and mythmaking, have presented the important myth of the underworld time and time again. In 2010, director Christopher Nolan released the film Inception, which adeptly depicts the underworld through dreams. As Nolan indicates, “[W]hen you’re talking about dreaming . . . you are talking about this universal human experience” (10). The dreamscape provides an excellent landscape for the underworld (which is also a universal experience), for “[i]t’s no secret that dreams belong to the underworld” (Hillman, Dream 2). The film was a box office success because of Nolan’s ability to bring viewers into the timeless and relatable realm of dreams, which connects us all to the deeper, mythological experience with the underworld.

Inception, which is, on the surface, a multi-layered story about a heist, touches on the elements of the underworld that we are familiar with from ancient mythology. The main character Cobb (played by Leonardo DiCaprio) has recently lost his wife and is coping with this tragedy, which is compounded by the fact that the authorities think he killed her. His overarching goal in the film is to return home to be with his children. In this film, a device called the Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous Device allows individuals to share dreams. Cobb works with individuals that are hired to go into someone’s dream to steal a thought. This is called extraction. The high-stakes job the film centers around calls for something different, something that only Cobb has performed before – inception. Instead of extracting a thought from an individual, a thought is planted in the individual’s mind. Working with dreams, which automatically call to mind the unconscious and represent a descent, director Christopher Nolan is able to develop a new story of the underworld, which involves a look at the depths of mind and the process of grief and loss, another component tied to the underworld: “Loss does characterize underworld experiences, from mourning to the dream” (Hillman, Dream 54).

The film opens in a dream that Cobb and his entered with a team for an extraction. During Cobb’s opening dialogue about dreams, he states, “Once an idea’s taken hold in the brain, it’s almost impossible to eradicate” (Inception). As he explains this, a character off-camera picks up a wine glass. The glass crosses the screen, briefly disrupting the image of Cobb. Only the glass itself, not the wine within it, can be seen. This is the first of many uses of the image of glass in the film. In Re-Visioning Psychology, James Hillman emphasizes the importance of this image:

Glass in dreams . . . presents the paradox of solid transparency; its very purpose is to permit seeing through. Glass is the metaphor par excellence for psychic reality: it is itself not visible, appearing only to be its contents, and the contents of the psyche, by being placed within or behind glass, have been moved from palpable reality to metaphorical reality, out of life and into image. 142.

Nolan uses this visual metaphor often in the dream world as a reminder that the reality viewers are seeing is in the purely psychic realm, not one of day-to-day living. Later in this same dream sequence, when the dream begins to disintegrate, shattering glass explodes across the screen.

In order to enter this shared-dream realm to perform extraction or inception, an architect is needed to design the dream world. Cobb’s team needs a new architect for the inception job, and he hires an architect student named Ariadne (played by Ellen Page). Her name immediately calls to mind the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. As in the myth, Ariadne’s role will be to guide the hero, Cobb, out of a labyrinth – in this case, the labyrinth is in his own mind. When everyone enters the shared dream state, other elements may unconsciously arise. Because Cobb is undergoing a psychological struggle, the image of his wife appears in his dreams. Unlike his real life wife, Mal, this shadow of her is often destructive. Ariadne is the only one on Cobb’s team that knows how deeply his suffering is affecting him. Therefore, like Athena for Odysseus on his way home, Ariadne also becomes Cobb’s “guide and protector” (Smith, Sacred 26).

Figure 1 Cobb’s drawing in Inception

When Cobb hires Ariadne, he has to show her how to navigate the dream realm. The first time they dream-share, she is unaware they are dreaming. They have a discussion on dreams, and as Cobb identifies that the mind “creates and perceives a world simultaneously” (Inception), he draws a simple sketch (figure 1) that calls to mind the path the hero takes on his journey (figure 2), as identified by Joseph Campbell (30). Cobb’s simple circular arrows around a straight line indicate a descent and a return, as does Campbell’s formula. This visual accentuates that although the film encapsulates many characters and a great heist adventure, the heart of the story is about Cobb’s heroic descent and return. Cobb then leads Ariadne to recognize that they are having this conversation in a dream. She begins to lose her calm and the dream erupts around them, again including the image of shattering glass to represent the break of the psychic realm back to the daily realm. After they awaken, Ariadne agrees to explore more of the shared-dream with Cobb.

Figure 2 Campbell’s monomyth (30)

While walking through the landscape that Ariadne is designing in the dream, she asks Cobb who all the other people are that are also walking around. He explains that they are “projections of [his] unconscious” (Inception). Although Ariadne is the dreamer, Cobb is the subject, so his “subconscious populates [the] world.” As Ariadne explores new architectural possibilities in the dream realm, she begins to play with gravity and the natural order of the world. She soon notices that Cobb’s projections are staring at her. Cobb explains that his “subconscious feels that someone else is creating the world” (Inception), and it arouses suspicion. He also explains to Ariadne that because it is his “subconscious [he cannot] control it” (Inception).

This pivotal scene with Cobb and Ariadne, which sets up the parameters of dream-sharing for the viewers, introduces key elements from depth-psychology. The dream persons that Cobb identifies as projections were discussed by Hillman in Dream and the Underworld: “The persons I engage with in dreams are neither representations . . . of their living selves nor parts of myself. They are shadow images that fill archetypal roles” (61). These shadows are representative of the unconscious, as Cobb has identified. However, as the scene continues, a specific shadow appears in the form of Cobb’s wife. Appearing as more than a mere memory, she fulfills the archetypal role of the anima. According to Hillman, the archetype “comes in the shape of this or that personal memory” (61), so it is fitting that Cobb’s anima appears as his wife. Furthermore, Jung identified the “anima as the personification of the unconscious” (Hillman, Re-Visioning 43). When Mal appears before Cobb in his dreams, she is all at once memory, anima, and unconscious, powerful elements to contend with in the underworld of the dream realm.

When Cobb first sees Mal in this dream, Ariadne is continuing to play with the architecture around them. She turns two very large mirrors, which reflect her and Cobb (a symbol of their shared journey), together across a bridge. With the touch of her hand, she shatters both mirrors across the bridge, again demonstrating that ability to see through. This time, the glass vanishes and the dream continues. What is present in the dream is more than what meets the eye. There is a reason Cobb continues to be haunted by his memories, his anima, and his wife. Ariadne later identifies, “[Y]ou’re going to have to forgive yourself, and you’re going to have to confront her [Mal]. But you don’t have to do it alone” (Inception). Her mythological role as his protector and guide is solidified when she makes this statement.

After this central dream, Cobb’s team begins to work on their heist job (to perform inception on a specific individual), and Ariadne prepares the architecture for the dream. Shortly before it is time for the team to leave for their heist, Ariadne finds Cobb, alone, connected to the Portable Automated Somnacin IntraVenous Device. Because of using this device so frequently, it is now the only way that Cobb can dream. Ariadne takes it upon herself to enter Cobb’s dream to see what he is doing in these dreams. She ultimately finds an elevator in Cobb’s dream and, much to his displeasure, descends to the basement level. This image of descent reinforces the notion of the underworld and dream. In the basement, metaphorically the deepest part of the unconscious, Ariadne sees Cobb’s memory of the night that his wife Mal killed herself. Mal was convinced that they were in a dream and that when she died, she would wake up.

After awakening from the shared-dream with Cobb, Ariadne insists on going with the team for the heist job since she is the only one who knows what he is dealing with in his subconscious. (Though she has designed the architecture for the dream world where the inception is to take place, it was not part of the plan for her to go with the team on the job). When the team, including Ariadne and Cobb, enters the shared-dream with the individual they are to perform inception on, a heavier sedation than usual is utilized. This will permit them more time in the dream realm and the ability to descend deeper by creating dreams within dreams (all necessary to successfully perform inception). The situation becomes problematic when one of the dreamers on the team is mortally wounded in the dream. Though dying typically wakes one up from the shared-dream, under this form of sedation the dreamer cannot awaken. Therefore, the mind will be lost in limbo, which is defined as “unconstructed dream space [filled with] raw, infinite subconscious” (Inception). Cobb explains to Ariadne that he and Mal were once trapped in limbo when they were exploring dreams within dreams. Though it was only hours in the real world, Cobb and Mal spent years in limbo together, losing track of what was real. As Cobb explains what this did to Mal, Ariadne understands that she “was just lost in the labyrinth” (italics mine, Nolan). This line, present in the shooting script but not in the final film, again emphasizes Ariadne’s mythological role.

The team descends deeper in the dream realm, continuing their job. Cobb’s projection of Mal appears in one of the deeper levels, shooting and killing another dreamer before Cobb can summon up the courage to stop her. With two individuals of the dream now trapped in limbo, Cobb decides to descend into limbo to bring them back. Because Cobb has been in limbo before, whatever he left behind remains there. Ariadne accompanies him to help him face Mal. When they descend into the realm of limbo, they are washed ashore by the ocean waves. As Hillman indicates, the “general geography” of the underworld gleaned from myth indicates that to descend to the underworld, waters must be crossed (Dream 17). Though the whole film embraces underworld and dream imagery, at this point we have descended into deepest realm of the unconscious, the darkest part of the underworld. Water also indicatesthat “the dreamer is in danger of being over-whelmed by the unconscious in an emotional psychosis, flooded with fantasies – no ground, no standpoint” (Hillman, Dream 153). This is the moment Cobb has truly entered the labyrinth that Ariadne must guide him through.

Cobb finds his projection of Mal – this image of both his anima and his guilt – in limbo. With Ariadne by his side, Cobb explains to Mal (and the audience) that he needed to convince her that her world was not real in order for them to escape when they were in limbo. However, as Hillman ascertains, “[T]he underworld perspective radically alters our experience of life” (Dream 46). Cobb never imagined that the idea would continue to grow, convincing Mal that the waking world they returned to was not real either. After telling his projection of Mal why he is responsible for her suicide, she asks him to stay with her this time. Like Nausicaa offering marriage to Odysseus, this “represents the familiar temptation of the hero to remain in the magic circle of the archetypal realm, rather than to make his way back into the normal suffering of human life” (Smith, Sacred 26). When Cobb refuses Mal’s plea, she stabs him. Ariadne shoots her, and as Mal’s projection dies in Cobb’s arms, he is able to tell her, “I miss you more than I can bear, but we had our time together. And now I have to let go.” He makes his peace, and Ariadne has guided him out of his inner labyrinth.

Ultimately, Cobb, Ariadne, and the wounded dreamers find their way out of limbo, and all of the dreamers awaken from the dream. In the midst of Cobb’s inner battle, the team successfully completed their job of inception. The heist is over, and as a reward from the man who hired them, Cobb’s name has been cleared with the authorities. No longer a suspect in his wife’s death, he is free to go home to his children.

In the film, all of the individuals who enter the realm of dream-share own a totem, an item that Hillman has identified as “keepers of our lives” (Re-Visioning 47). The totem is something individuals have created for themselves to be able to identify if they are dreaming or not. Throughout the film, Cobb uses Mal’s totem, a spinning top.

If he is in a dream, the top never stops spinning. When he is awake, it topples over. This helps Cobb differentiate between waking life and the dream realm. When Cobb arrives home, he spins the top on a table to make sure he is not dreaming about this long-awaited reunion with his children. Before he can see if the top has stopped spinning, his children turn to see him from the backyard. He walks through a doorway – a significant image that “marks the incarnation of the divine [back] into the mortal realm” (Smith, Sacred 32) – and embraces his children. The camera shifts over to the spinning top, but the screen cuts to black before viewers can see if it stops spinning. As the film ends, viewers are left with this question: Was Cobb dreaming?

After exploring the film as an underworld story, it is clear that Cobb was not dreaming in the final scene. Mythologically, he must return to his children after undergoing transformation in the underworld. As Evans Lansing Smith identifies, “The mythic journey . . . reminds us that there is a passage through death, and a return journey to be made” (Sacred 16). Just as Inanna returns after her descent to the underworld and Odysseus finds his way home, so too must Cobb. The Nekyia, which Jacobi defines as containing “life, death and rebirth” (italics mine, 179), includes both the descent and ascent. This is clearly represented in Cobb’s figure about dreams, which echoes Campbell’s figure of the hero’s journey (Figures 1 & 2). The trip to the underworld always includes descent to and from the underworld, which permits the “creation of new self out of decomposition of old self” (italics mine; Smith, Class). If Cobb fails to return from the underworld, the journey is incomplete.

Works Cited

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Princeton, NJ: Princeton UP, 1972.

Davis, Paul et. al. eds. The Bedford Anthology of World Literature: The Ancient World, Beginnings-100C.E. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2004.

Hillman, James. The Dream and the Underworld. New York: Harper & Row, 1979. Print.

—. Re-visioning Psychology. New York: Harper & Row, 1975.

Inception. Dir. Christopher Nolan. Perf. Leonardo Dicaprio and Ellen Page. 2010. DVD.

Jacobi, Jolande. Complex/archetype/symbol in the Psychology of C.G. Jung. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1959.

Nolan, Christopher. Inception: The Shooting Script. San Rafael, CA: Insight, 2010.

Smith, Evans Lansing. Class lecture. MS619: Myth and the Underworld. Pacifica Graduate Institute, Carpinteria, CA. 25 July 2012.

—. Sacred Mysteries: Myths About Couples in Quest. Nevada City: Blue Dolphin, 2003.

Works Consulted

Bulfinch, Thomas. Mythology. New York: Laurel, 1959. Print.

Death and Sacrifice: Season 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Posted on October 31, 2012 by mythgirl under Buffy, Buffyverse, Grad School, PCA, Pop Culture, Whedonverse, Words for Wednesday, Writing

Welcome to Words for Wednesday! Below is a paper I presented at the Popular Culture Association conference in San Antonio, Texas in April of 2011. I’ve included the images used in my original power point presentation. I originally wrote it the paper for graduate school in 2009 and revamped it for presentation to a Whedon-y audience. Enjoy!

Joss Whedon created a contemporary mythology for a modern audience through Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Within the storylines of this mythology lie powerful characters and endless parallels to issues individuals face in society today. Throughout the seven seasons of Buffy, Whedon offers metaphors that speak to the trials and tribulations of life. These include everything from the teen angst of high school to the loss of loved ones. As a series that involves vampires and other demons, Buffy constantly depicts the metaphor of life eating on life (an idea frequently discussed by mythologist Joseph Campbell), and symbols of death abound. In the fifth season of the series, death becomes an exceptionally poignant element as Buffy suffers the loss of her mother and later the Slayer sacrifices her own life. Ultimately, Joss Whedon utilizes season five to depict the pain of such loss and show viewers how to embrace death. Like all useful mythologies, Buffy reflects the current societal state, giving viewers something to relate to, while also offering another approach to dealing with concerns of life and death, an important concern also addressed through ritual.

In our modern American society, our funerary rituals do not grant us the time needed to effectively manage the loss of loved ones. Americans do not have the opportunity to embrace the experience of death and loss for months or years. The process of the funeral and the return to “normal” daily life is rushed. The experience of the shock and grief involved with losing a loved one is powerful, and the fifth season of Buffy aptly and necessarily demonstrates this experience.
According to religious historian Mircea Eliade, “the supreme function of the myth is to ‘fix’ the paradigmatic models for all rites and significant human activities” (98). While a television series does not offer viewers new rituals, it opens a space for individuals to consider and contemplate events they have experienced and reflect on how they respond to those experiences. Whedon speaks to the American way of encountering death and ultimately embraces ideas from traditions outside of America, accepting “[t]he challenge death poses for the cultural community” and working “to integrate it into cosmological schema” (Grillo 22).

Before sacrificing her own life, Buffy faces the loss of her mother, Joyce. Whedon masterfully captures the horrors of this event. Though Buffy has faced death and tragedy throughout the first five years of the series, nothing compares to this loss. “The Body,” which includes no musical score, is arguably the most powerful episode of the fifth season of Buffy because of its chilling realism. As the title reveals, the episode sharply focuses on the image of the dead body. The episode begins with the moment Buffy finds Joyce dead on the couch and ends when she again sees her mother’s body in the morgue.

When Buffy finds her mother’s body, she promptly calls 911. She explains to the dispatcher that, “She’s cold.” When the dispatcher questions if, “the body is cold,” an offended Buffy declares, “No, my mom!” Before the paramedics enter, Giles arrives and rushes towards Joyce. Buffy exclaims, “We’re not supposed to move the body!” (“Body”) She raises her hand to her face in shock of what she just said. That shift in her language signifies that ghastly moment of realization – her mother is not coming back. This episode is painful to watch; however, it demonstrates reactions experienced with loss, reactions we sometimes try to hide.

When the episodes show the Scoobies reaction to the loss of Joyce, Anya poignantly articulates the pain and confusion of death. Though she often fashioned death and destruction during her thousand years as a vengeance demon, it never personally affected her. Anya expresses frustration with the mystery of death:

But I don’t understand! I don’t understand how this all happens. How we go through this. I mean, I knew her, and then she’s, there’s just a body, and I don’t understand why she just can’t get back in it and not be dead anymore. It’s stupid. It’s mortal and stupid. And, and Xander’s crying and not talking, and, and I was having fruit punch, and I thought, well, Joyce will never have any more fruit punch ever, and she’ll never have eggs, or yawn or brush her hair, not ever, and no one will explain to me why. (“Body”)

This discussion impeccably echoes Joseph Campbell’s discussion on death: “The question is, What has happened to this body? It was walking around, it was warm, it lied down, it was cold. Where has it gone? This idea of where it has gone is the first clue we have to a mythological thought” (Hero’s 70). Through Anya’s questions, Whedon is discussing prominent mythological concerns.

Why are people supposed to avoid asking the questions Anya presents? “Are we going to see the body? . . . Are we going to be in the room with the dead body? . . . Are they going to cut the body open?” (“Body”). Willow declares, “It’s not okay to ask these things.” This is the American approach. However, “Death, a fundamental, inevitable, physiological fact, seems to point to the most objective aspect of human existence – that we are material creatures subject to the physical conditions of the physical world” (Grillo 21). We should not be afraid to talk about it openly and directly. In addition to addressing mythological thought, Anya’s questions open the door to questions we are not “supposed” to discuss. Whedon intentionally makes viewers uncomfortable throughout “The Body.” In America, we do not have an appropriate manner of coping with death. By making us uncomfortable, Whedon demonstrates the need for change in our culture.

In her essay on “Funerary Rituals,” Laura Grillo explains, “the Toradja ‘cult of the dead,’ far from being a horrifying or morbid preoccupation with death, can be understood to affirm the continuity between the animated world of the living and the spiritual world beyond which it depends” (5). The Day of the Dead and the Cult of the Dead are examples of communities embracing death and allowing the processes of acceptance and transformation to take place over time. The Day of the Dead allows members to “memorialize [the dead and give] ritualized attention . . . to the deceased” (Turner and Jasper 139). The Texas-Mexicans are able to “use the tools of tradition to externalize their encounter with death and loss” (Turner and Jasper 149). They allow the time needed for coping. The Toradja keep their dead for up to a year, allowing for the process of moving from one realm to the next. This also allows for an unrushed grieving process: “Death must be apprehended, its chaotic and terrifying potential arrested and regulated by culture. The Toradja funeral rituals recognize death as a consumption but regulate it with prescribed steps circumscribed by the determinative meaning that culture ascribes” (Grillo 16-17). While the Toradja way will not likely become the American way, we are in need of a longer progression for our death rituals.

In the episode after “The Body,” Buffy has to make the arrangements for her mother’s funeral. Afterwards, Buffy explains to Angel, “The funeral was . . . brutal, but it’s tomorrow that I’m worried about . . . Tomorrow the stuff of everyday living resumes” (“Forever”). In America, the rituals and traditions typically end after the funeral. There may be a gathering after the funeral to share memories and a meal, but then life must go on. In “Intervention” Buffy explains to Giles that she is considering taking a break from slaying because she doesn’t like what it’s doing to her. “To slay, to kill, it means being hard on the inside. Maybe being the perfect Slayer means being too hard to love at all” (“Intervention”). Giles informs Buffy that previous Slayers went to “a sacred place in the desert” for “regaining their focus, learning more about their role.” Buffy accepts Giles’ offer to take her to this sacred place. Of course, as Eliade explains, “men are not free to choose the sacred site . . . they only seek for it and find it by the help of mysterious signs” (Eliade 28).

Giles takes Buffy into the desert and performs a ritual to invoke Buffy’s guide. He cannot take her any further. A mountain lion soon appears to lead Buffy to the sacred site. According to the philosopher Macrobius, “lions are emblematic of the earth” (qtd. in Cooper 98). Since the Earth “is the universal archetype of . . . sustenance,” the symbol of her guide indicates that this spiritual quest is going to provide her the nourishment she needs to move forward with her life and cope with her loss” (Cooper 59). Whedon and his team of writers masterfully utilize these symbols to affect a resonating image for viewers. Whether Whedon or the readers are consciously aware of the meanings can be argued; regardless, the collective unconscious, to use Carl Jung’s term, recognizes them.

After the lion leads Buffy to the sacred location, she awaits the arrival of her spirit guide. This guide appears in the form of The First Slayer. She speaks to Buffy’s fears and informs her, “You are full of love. You love with all of your soul. It’s brighter than the fire, blinding . . . Love is pain, and the Slayer forges strength from pain. Love, give, forgive. Risk the pain. It is your nature. Love will bring you to your gift.” While this sentiment initially comforts Buffy, the First Slayer then reveals to Buffy that death is her gift. Buffy argues, “Death is not a gift. My mother just died. I know this. If I have to kill demons because it makes the world a better place, then I kill demons, but it’s not a gift to anybody” (“Intervention”). According to Joseph Campbell, “We live by killing, which is what you do even when you are eating grapes. You are still killing something. Life just lives on life. And it’s the one life in all of these different heads of mouths eating itself. It’s a fantastic mystery” (Hero’s 12). Buffy must reconcile herself to the role she has a Slayer. The acceptance of death as a function of life is imperative for Buffy. Whedon utilizes this episode to set up the climactic conclusion of the season, but also to demonstrate the time of reflection we need to take for ourselves after facing death. Buffy’s spiritual quest presents the difficulty of accepting death and represents the post-funerary rituals that America is missing.

After the presentation in season five of various mythological and ritualistic elements, Whedon speaks directly to the significance of sacrifice and ritual in the season finale “The Gift.” To begin with, Glory prepares to sacrifice Dawn and, consequently, unleash hellish dimensions. In Read’s discussion, she indicates that “people must calculate their actions so that they do not upset their family’s, city’s, or sun’s spiraling motion” (152). Buffy must work to spare not only her remaining family and her city, but her world and many others, from spiraling into a destructive atmosphere.

Concerning the ritual, Glory forces Dawn to change into a ceremonial dress, honoring the sacredness of ritual sacrifice. When Read discusses “ritual costume” in “The Cosmic Meal,” she indicates that every “costume . . . embodie[s] a particular force” (147). There is an “exchange” made to create “a new force” (147). Although Dawn was not born human, she is a completely innocent creature, another element typical of ritual sacrifice. As Joseph de Maistre explains, “sacrificial animals [are] the gentlest, most innocent creatures, whose habits and instincts [bring] them most closely to [being] human in nature” (qtd. in Girard 241). Dawn characterizes the notion that “the ritual victim is an ‘innocent’ creature who pays a debt for the guilty party” (241). It is important for Whedon to demonstrate such elements of ritual here because he has been speaking to the ritual processes involved with death throughout season five.

When the ritual has begun and Dawn’s blood is being drained, Buffy realizes what she must do, how “death” is her “gift.” She will sacrifice herself to stop the ritual, rescue her sister, and save the world from great destruction. Buffy gracefully jumps off the tower, sacrificing her blood and body to the mystical portal. After Buffy dies, a series of shots show the grief of her friends while a voice-over indicates what Buffy said to her sister before she jumped: “Dawn, listen to me . . . I will always love you. But this is the work that I have to do. Tell Giles . . . I figured it out . . . and I’m okay . . . You have to be strong. Dawn, the hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me” (“Gift”). In this moment of clarity, Buffy reconciles the pain of life and passes her wisdom on to her younger sister. Buffy’s death reflects Campbell’s view that “death . . . is understood as a fulfillment of our life’s direction and purpose” (Thou Art That 34). Whedon uses the mythological and ritualistic elements of death and sacrifice to show viewers ways of accepting the painful and unpredictable nature of life alongside the certainty of death. Like the Toradja’s “conception of death [it is] not as an end but . . . a metamorphosis that leads to life” (Grillo 11). After Buffy struggles with the loss of her mother, she embraces her own death and the unknown that lies ahead of her.

“Who someone or something is, then, is a matter of the kind of powers that one’s mahceua has. And while in the course of a person’s life she is given a great deal of merit that helps determine her nature, she also can determine to some degree her own merit through her actions and the rituals performed at appropriate times and places” (Read 152). Buffy has no choice about having Slayer powers. She is automatically elevated to the role of hero. However, in her continual choices to embrace that role, she demonstrates her own merit. We too can make these choices. It is inevitable to discuss the importance of the hero when discussing death. As Campbell indicated, “one part of the mythological motif of the hero’s journey is acquiescence. For instance, I am moving toward death, as we all are. That’s also yielding. And the hero is the one who knows when to surrender and what to surrender to. The main theme is to yield your position to the dynamic. And the dynamic of life is now this form eats that form. Yield” (Hero’s 12). Of course, we are not all to sacrifice ourselves for the greater good, but to consider the metaphor that Buffy offers us, which is akin to the Mexica sacrifice: “Sacrifice was a way of re-forming things in order to create an appropriate order again” (Read 153). Literal sacrifices are metaphors for the emotional sacrifices we all make in life to bring forth balance and harmony.

According to Campbell, “the fourth function of mythology is psychological. The myth must carry the individual through the stages of his life, from birth through maturity through senility to death. The mythology must do so in accord with the social order of his group, the cosmos as understood by his group, and the monstrous energy” (Campbell, Pathways 9). Buffy functions so powerfully as a mythology because it fulfills this function, demonstrating Buffy’s life as a Slayer and her death, specifically in modern America. Surely one of the greatest mysteries we cope with is facing death.

Finally, we should remember that “Death is a paradox – it can be understood as both a changeless state and transforming process, as a definitive end or harbinger of new beginnings and rebirth” (Grillo 20). Buffy demonstrates both aspects of death. Although Joyce loses her life, her death functions to transform Buffy. While Buffy herself then sacrifices her own life, she provides new beginnings for those she loves. The sixth season of Buffy, then, deals with another prominent issue – rebirth and resurrection. Buffy faces what Campbell refers to as “the rescue from without” when her friends resurrect her from the dead (Hero 170). Future projects will explore the significance of Buffy’s unwanted resurrection and the implications it has on the cosmology of Buffy and the minds of the viewers. That discussion will also include an analysis of the afterlife as presented by Whedon and its relationship to the various depictions of heaven.

Works Cited

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero’s Journey. Novato: New World, 1990.

— The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Novato: New World Library, 2008.

— Pathways to Bliss. Novato: New World Library, 2004.

— Thou Art That. Novato: New World Library, 2001.

Cooper, J.C. “Earth.” An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: Thames & Hudson, 1978.

Cooper, J.C. “Lion.” An Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Traditional Symbols. London: Thames & Hudson, 1978.

Eliade, Mircea. The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion. Florida: Harcourt, 1967.

Girard, Rene. “Violence and the Sacred: Sacrifice.” Readings in Ritual Studies. Ed. Ronald L. Grimes. New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1996. 239-256.

Grillo, Laura S. “‘Rambu Solo’: the Toradja Cult of the Dead and Embodied Imagination.”

Read, Kay. “The Cosmic Meal,” Time and Sacrifice in the Aztec Cosmos. Bloomington: Indiana UP 1998. 123-137; 144-155.

Turner, Kay, and Pat Jasper. “Day of the Dead, the Tex-Mex Tradition.” Halloween and Other Festivals of Death and Life. Ed. Jack Santino. Knoxville: U of Tennesse P, 1994. 133-151.

Van Gennep, Arnold. The Rites of Passage. Chicago: The U of Chicago P, 1960.

Myth and Literature

Posted on August 8, 2012 by mythgirl under Books, Grad School, Mythology, Writing

In celebration and honor of passing the comprehensive exams in my Master’s program in Mythological Studies and Depth Psychology, I’m sharing each essay I wrote. Here’s my second piece. This was a very open topic. I had to discuss a piece of literature from a mythological perspective. I decided to tackle something I’ve had a personal struggle with: Frodo’s final action in The Lord of the Rings. I already know many disagree with my analysis here, as small chats with close friends have revealed. I’m not looking to argue my point. This is just the way I see Frodo. I wrote this with the following comment from one of my profs in my mind: “You are such a competent, clean writer that I sometimes wished for something a little riskier or edgy.”

The Role of the Monomyth in The Lord of the Rings

The Lord of the Rings is hailed as one of the greatest pieces of literature from the twentieth century. It also functions as a beautiful mythology. It contains a supernatural realm, heroes, personal and collective journeys, and battles between good and evil. Though the characters range from hobbits to elves, they are akin to humans and share our experiences with life and death and all the emotions in between. Like any great myth, The Lord of the Rings transcends time and depicts the human condition. One of the central features of any myth is the hero. There are many heroes in The Lord of the Rings as nine members volunteer in The Fellowship of the Ring to take the ring to Mordor to be destroyed. Along the way, they meet many other admirable and fine characters who aid them in their quest. The quest to destroy the ring and save Middle Earth is the main storyline of the trilogy. The ring bearer, Frodo Baggins, is arguably one of the predominant main characters in this epic story. He is the one who carries the weight of the ring, and the safety of Middle Earth rests on his small, humble shoulders. A close examination of Frodo’s movement through Joseph Campbell’s monomyth reveals that although Middle Earth is saved, Frodo himself is a failed hero.

Joseph Campbell’s monomyth, famously defined throughout his text The Hero with a Thousand Faces, provides the structure that he found to exist in mythologies across time and cultures. The monomyth tracks the pattern of the hero on a quest. Campbell indicates that the patterns may shift in order and be presented in various ways, but accentuates that all mythological heroes must move through a separation, initiation, and return. Frodo certainly embarks on a quest that separates him from his known world, is initiated through his road of trials, and returns home. However, Campbell also emphasizes the inner journey that must occur on this heroic quest, and it is from that perspective that Frodo fails.

Frodo’s call to adventure begins when the wizard Gandalf asks him to get the ring out of The Shire, the simple hillside where he and the other hobbits live. Frodo’s initial aid is his friend Samwise Gamgee. They are soon accompanied by Frodo’s cousins Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. Frodo’s crossing of the first threshold occurs when they nearly encounter Ringwraiths in The Shire and flee into the Old Forest. The small hobbits are leaving their known world and really beginning their adventure. They continue to travel to new places, as when they enter Bree, but they always receive assistance when needed. In the Old Forest they meet the helpful spirit Tom Bombadil, and in Bree they meet the ranger Aragorn, who remains by Frodo’s side through the first book of the trilogy. Frodo’s separation is clear and follows the elements mapped out by Campbell.

As the hero continues the quest, he will be immersed in the belly of the whale and go through a road of trials. The belly of the whale provides that final separation from the world the hero came from. In the Shire, Frodo had nothing to fear and knew nothing of pain. But on the hill of Weathertop, Frodo is mortally stabbed by a Ringwraith. The injury consumes Frodo as he falls into a world of shadows. Frodo is taken to Rivendell and saved by the elves, but this encounter has truly marked his initiation. The Fellowship of the Ring is then formed in Rivendell, and he gains a total of eight companions. Together, the fellowship undergoes many hardships. Frodo, specifically, nearly faces death again in the Mines of Moria and loses his companion, Gandalf, to a demonic Balrog. Frodo and the remainder of the Fellowship find refuge, again from elves, in Lothlorien. It is here where Frodo has his meeting with the goddess, as Campbell phrased it. The goddess is represented by the great elf Galadriel. She fills Frodo with hope and also offers him and each of his companions a supernatural aid. Though Campbell indicates supernatural aid is received in the separation phase of the journey, this departure from the monomyth demonstrates that the different elements can appear in varying order. Through the separation-initiation-return path, the hero can be tossed about between aids and trials various times.

A key element seen in the hero’s trials is temptation. This often takes shape with the woman as temptress, but is ultimately anything that tempts the hero to wander from his quest. The ring itself provides Frodo with the greatest temptation imaginable. Forged by Sauron, the ring seeks to do the bidding of the dark lord. If Frodo puts the ring on, he can be seen by Sauron and the Ringwraiths. Caving into this temptation threatens his very life and the future of Middle Earth. However, the desire to wear the ring grows heavier and heavier as Frodo continues to be the bearer of the ring.

Through the trials the Fellowship faces, Frodo flees from his companions and seeks to go to Mordor alone, though he is accompanied still by his dearest friend, Samwise. Throughout the novel, readers become aware of Gollum, another creature drawn to the power of the ring, who wore it for years, hidden away in a cave. When Frodo and Sam catch Gollum following them, they capture the pathetic creature. Out of the mercy Frodo learned from his uncle, Bilbo, Frodo never harms Gollum. Driven by the power of the ring, Gollum later tries to have Frodo killed by the giant spider Shelob. Though his attempt fails, he escapes the hobbits and eventually Frodo and Sam enter Mordor with the ring alone.

In Campbell’s monomyth, after undergoing the various trials of initiation, the hero experiences apotheosis. This can consist of a literal or figurative death, but the hero ultimately unites opposites and achieves his quest. This should be followed by receiving a boon to disseminate to the world and ultimately end with the hero returning to the home he left at the beginning of the myth. Often this return includes the hero refusing to return and being rescued from without. This is an important component to the monomyth and to the personal development, typically a form of individuation, which the hero is to achieve.

After surviving many life-threatening experiences, Frodo and Sam enter the Cracks of Doom, their ultimate destination. Now, Frodo must simply toss the ring into the fires to defeat Sauron and protect all of Middle Earth from the return of his evil reign. At this climatic moment, however, the power of the ring finally possesses Frodo, and he places the ring on his finger. He has claimed the power of the ring for himself and abandoned his quest. The weight on him has been very heavy, and it is unfortunate that he surrenders when he is so close to such a great achievement. However, Tolkien then provides what he coined a eucatastrophe: when all seems lost, there is a sudden turn of events. Gollum, spared by Frodo’s mercy, shows up unexpectedly, attacks Frodo, and claims the ring. In his unbound enthusiasm, however, Gollum falls into the pits of the fire with the ring, thus destroying himself, the ring, and Sauron. Frodo completed his quest in getting the ring to Mount Doom, and he carried a heavy weight on his shoulders throughout the book; however, ultimately the weight of the ring was too much for him to bear. Middle Earth was saved by chance, which was made possible by Frodo’s mercy (an action that speaks greatly to Tolkien’s Catholic background). Nevertheless, Frodo failed to achieve apotheosis, wherein the hero recognizes the divine within himself.

Frodo and Sam do continue on the hero’s journey when they receive rescue from without and, after more trials, are able to return to their home in The Shire, which is unfortunately not in the condition they left it in. With the aid of the other hobbits, Frodo and Sam are able to reclaim The Shire and restore peace and happiness for its inhabitants. Throughout Middle Earth, there is much joy. Other main characters survive the battles, including Gandalf, who returns from the pits of Moria where he had been consumed. The couple Arwen and Aragorn and the couple Eowyn and Faramir are granted a standard happily ever after. Middle Earth has been saved, for everyone except for Frodo. He does not get to become the master of the two worlds, as Campbell indicates. His physical and psychological scars are too deep. Frodo has been returned, but he remains broken. After trying to maintain life in The Shire, Frodo decides he cannot remain there. He lives in great pain, and his time with the ring has extended the length of his life. Accompanied by Bilbo, Frodo sails to Valinor, the Undying Lands. Valinor is the land of the elves, and they have granted Frodo and Bilbo, both ring bearers, safe passage for the weight the ring had on them both. The elves mercy, like Frodo’s mercy for Gollum, grant him a place to find peace and finally find recovery.

The Lord of the Rings offers an undeniable mythology with a variety of characters whom can each be explored in their own right. Frodo is often heralded as the hero of the story, so it is important to examine how he fits the role. Campbell has demonstrated the importance of the hero and outlined the hero’s typical journey. This journey has occurred in mythology time and time again throughout all cultures. It is a significant journey, and one that will have variations. The variations Frodo experiences in the return, however, indicate that the mercy he granted Gollum led to the final defeat of Sauron, but that his personal failures prevented him from gaining the personal boon of the hero.

Works Consulted

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero with a Thousand Faces. Princeton, NJ: Princeton, UP. 1972.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Lord of the Rings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1967.

Mythology & Religious Tradition

Posted on August 7, 2012 by mythgirl under Grad School, Mythology, Writing

In celebration and honor of passing the comprehensive exams in my Master’s program in Mythological Studies and Depth Psychology, I’m going to share each essay I wrote. First up is a little piece where I was required to define mythology while integrating the thoughts of two significant figures and one religious tradition. Ya know, nothin’ big.

Defining Myth:
Joseph Campbell, Ginette Paris & The Buddhist Tradition

Joseph Campbell provides an excellent overview of mythology in The Hero of a Thousand Faces. He explores different facets of the hero’s journey while providing examples from mythologies around the world. His monomyth of the hero has become a building block for current mythological studies. It is clear that the human experience is not bound by culture or by time. Mythologies speak to individuals because they resonate with the soul, touching archetypes we all understand, consciously or unconsciously.

As the study of mythology has moved into the twenty-first century, thinkers such as Ginette Paris have integrated the study of mythology and depth-psychology. In her works, she makes it clear that myths, our human stories, provide “the images that open the heart and make us see what is right there in our psychological reality” (163). We can find this in art and literature, as Paris identifies. Mythology is not restricted to the stories of the past from Rome or Greece. In one important definition (presented in an introductory text on Buddhism), Damien Keown explains that myth “does not mean something that is false,” (7) which is unfortunately a common use of the term today. Instead, “myths are stories which have a compelling force by virtue of their ability to work simultaneously on several levels” (7). They are also “metaphorical” and contain “universal truths” (8).

One place where we can find mythology and identify these truths is in religion. One Eastern tradition in particular, Buddhism, is working its way into the consciousness of the West and allowing us to reimagine our definitions of mythology and religion. For both mythology and religion to function in a society, they must speak these spiritual truths to the people of the community in a relatable manner. In Old Path White Clouds,Buddha directs his students to understand that, “The Dharma must be applicable to present life, and compatible with local culture” (Nhat Hanh 462). Likewise, Joseph Campbell indicates that, “The myth has to deal with the cosmology of the day and it’s no good when it’s based on a cosmology that’s out of date” (Hero’s Journey, 43). So while the elements of the myths are timeless, all myths do not necessarily remain accessible. For example, when some modern readers pick up a copy of Oedipus Rex, the events that play out may not resonate with them. They may not be able to relate to the antiquated palace setting. However, when those same modern readers watch a television series such Angel, which at times explores the same Oedipal issues in a modern setting, they may find the truths in the story more accessible. Though it is certain that not all modern fiction provides the metaphysical, cosmological, sociological, and psychological functions of mythology (as identified by Campbell), there are many films, television series, and works of literature that do provide them. Mythology surrounds us today. The form and matter of mythology changes and grows with the culture, but they will always speak the same truths.

Mythology speaks to the imagination, depicts the human condition, demonstrates a hero on a journey, and provides readers/listeners/viewers with guidance. As Campbell indicates, “we have not even to risk the adventure alone; for the heroes of all time have gone before us… where we had thought to travel outward, we shall come to the center of our own existence; where we had thought to be alone, we shall be with all the world (Thousand Faces 25). This shared experience and oneness with the world that Campbell identifies is strongly present in the Buddhist tradition. Paris emphasizes the same idea of oneness in a footnote when she indicates that “there is no tight boundary between me and others, me and the world” (231). The Buddhist text Old Path White Clouds explores the seminal idea of oneness as Thich Nhat Hanh tells the story of the Buddha’s life on earth. It is irrelevant whether the Buddha walked on this earth or if the details in the book are historically accurate. The story of the Buddha is itself is a myth. It is not about literal truth but spiritual truth. The spirit itself transcends terms like “Buddhism” and “religion” as it points to the universal human condition. All religions, as all mythologies, point to the same truths about our experiences. In The Hero’s Journey, Campbell further defines mythology: “The images of myth are not fact, they are metaphors; and the reference is to transcendence. They take the facts of life and relate them to the psyche” (43).

The influx of Buddhism in the Modern American culture points to elements of unity, oneness, and mindfulness that our hustle and bustle culture has arguably been lacking. Buddhism, as both a religion and a mythology, presents the functions of mythology, offering individuals with texts and concepts that provide ways to cultivate the mind in ways that are new to many Westerners. Many Buddhist texts are accessible to Western readers, and some even integrate our foundational religion: Christianity. In books such as Jesus and Buddha as Brothers and Living Buddha, Living Christ, Thich Nhat Hanh emphasizes a growing idea: inclusivity instead of exclusivity (a notion that also includes religious tolerance). The Dalai Lama also emphasizes in his writings that a belief in the Buddha and his teachings does not negate a belief in Christ and his teachings, and vice versa. Mythologies point to truths of human existence, but they are most effective when they do not exclude other mythologies. Each mythology and religion offers a piece of the truth. Essentially, we are each on our own hero’s journey through life and, as Campbell asserted, the myths can guide us on that journey.

A significant part of our lives’ journey is also the process of individuating, something Ginette Paris and other Jungians point to. The steps to individuation, which Jungians define as “the ultimate goal of human life” (Walker 33), bare many similarities to the Buddhist path of Enlightenment, Nirvana, or “self-realization,” whose goal is to “put an end to suffering and rebirth” (Keown 44). Together, Depth Psychology and Eastern mythology/philosophy/religion (all the words apply) can provide a very powerful compass for navigating this life. In these complementary approaches, individuation and enlightenment hold the same goals as both ultimately seek to end suffering and provide unity. Furthermore, in the most profound way, Buddhism offers guidance for what Campbell identified as “joyfully participation in the sorrows of the world” (173): “The joy and happiness of meditation permeates mind and body, heals all anxiety, sorrow, and despair and enables the practitioner to experience the wonders of life” (Thich Nhat Hanh, Old Path 529). Paris echoes this sentiment a chapter subheading: “Life is absurdly, awesomely ugly and beautiful” (59).

Learning to live in this world, going on one heroic journey after another, and seeking individuation and peace of the mind, body, and spirit are all endless processes in our human existence. Following the work of great thinkers such as Joseph Campbell and Ginette Paris opens doorways to insight and understanding. Religions such as Buddhism offer a mythology that reminds us “what life has to offer – this instant, this body, this love, this destiny” (Paris 197). Mindfulness is becoming a popular term in America today as it points to something we all need: a return to the present. Caught in consumerism and a fast-paced culture, it is easy to lose sight of the moment. We collectively need navigational skills to aid us in making both the day-to-day and large decisions in our life. Reading, studying, and meditating are combined components from mythology, depth psychology and religion that will help us to develop well-rounded lives that allow for moments of quietude, self-reflection, and soul movement. Caring for ourselves in this way is the first necessary step in tending to the soul of the world.

Works Cited

Campbell, Joseph. The Hero’s Journey. Novato: New World, 1990.

— The Hero with a Thousand Faces. New Jersey: Princeton UP, 1972.

Keown, Damien. Buddhism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Print.

Nhat Hanh, Old Path, White Clouds: Walking in the Footsteps of the Buddha. Berkeley, CA: Parallax Press, 1991. Print.

Paris, Ginette. Wisdom and Psyche: Depth Psychology After Neuroscience. London: Routledge, 2007. Print.

The Hero’s Journey

Posted on June 11, 2012 by mythgirl under Books, Life, Writing

I deeply enjoyed Steven Pressfield’s The War of Art when I read it last year. Following that same thread, he has just released the new book Turning Pro: Tap Your Inner Power and Create Your Life’s Inner Work. Sounds great! Can’t wait to get a chance to read it! (And a big thanks to my super cool uncle for telling me about it!) I recommend Pressfield’s books to all my fellow writers/artists/creators out there! In other words, to EVERYONE! We all have the potential to create.

Excited about the release of the new book, I was perusing Pressfield’s site and discovered he’s recently been blogging about Joseph Campbell’s hero’s journey! It all began in his post The Hero’s Journey, Pt. 1 where he reflects on Campbell and introduces his reader to the hero’s journey. In his second post, The Hero’s Journey in Myth, Pressfield reflects on the components on the hero’s journey and considers how this may be hard wired in each of us. In the third installment, The Hero’s Journey as Screenplay, Pressfield looks at one of my personal favorite mediums for myth. He reflects, “The hero’s journey, in myth or in movies, reflects a primal template of the human heart. It describes how life really works.” In his fourth post, The Hero’s Journey as Boot Camp, Pressfield discusses how his discussion on the hero’s journey in the previous weeks is applicable to our daily lives. He indicates that we can choose and create our own “artificial” journeys by deciding what we want to learn and what we want to become. More mythically, he also identifies the “authentic” hero’s journey: “The real hero’s journey arises from the unconscious imperative of our own hearts, which is by definition unknown to us.”

Throughout these posts, Pressfield identifies some of the key attributes of the hero’s journey as he reflects on how Campbell has impacted his own life. I key in with excitement any time anyone mentions Campbell as he has been such a powerful force in my life and academic journey. I study mythology because of Campbell, and Pressfield can show you some of the reasons why his work is so compelling! I look forward to more of his thoughts in his Writing Wednesdays.

OPUS Archives

Posted on March 16, 2012 by mythgirl under Books, Grad School, Mythology

While I was at Pacifica’s Ladera Lane campus for the James Hillman Tribute event, I took advantage of the opportunity to attend one of the short tours in the OPUS archives. It took every effort not to walk around jaw-dropped at the collections I was seeing! I thought I had a good grasp on Joseph Campbell, with my home bookcase that shelves at least half of his published works. But now I’ve learned that those published works are really just the beginning. The archives also host materials from Marija Gimbutas, Jane Hollister Wheelwright and Joseph Wheelwright, Marion Woodman, Christine Downing, and a few others, including, as I discussed in recent posts, James Hillman. The work done in the archives is near unfathomable to me. Every scrap, every page, every photo is or has been organized, cataloged, and digitized. The attention to detail and the work to preserve these collections utterly amazes me.

Of course, what I was most amazed by was the Joseph Campbell collection. As I have mentioned before, Campbell is the driving force behind all my academic studies. As awed as I was to see how much of his material was archived at OPUS, nothing moved me as much as the newest edition: his personal writing desk. And the best part? We were even allowed to touch it. They also have his personal encyclopedia set with the custom bookshelf he built for them. Just amazing!

Just some of the boxes that house the cataloged work of Campbell

Joseph Campbell's Encyclopedias

Joseph Campbell's Writing Desk

If you ever find yourself in Carpinteria, CA, I encourage you to explore the campus of Pacifica and the richness of the archives.

The Tree of Life

Posted on January 27, 2012 by mythgirl under Life, Mythology, Pop Culture

Wow. I’m not really sure what one is supposed to do after watching The Tree of Life. You can’t just go immediately back to the regularly scheduled programing of your daily life. So, first I went back to the “Creation” segment and rewatched it because it was so beautiful, so awe-inspiring. And now I’m at my PC writing this post and reading some reviews of the film and letting it all sink in.

This film was recommended to me by many people, though it had been clear to me from general buzz out in the internet that it’s the kind of film you either love or hate. Here’s a terrible article by an individual who completely missed the point of the film. But, if you want to know the criticisms, here they are: Twelve Good Reasons to Avoid Seeing The Tree of Life. On the other hand, if you want to delve into the beauty of the film and see a discussion of some answers to some questions posed in the film, you will truly enjoy this article: Your Guide to Terrence Malick’s Tree of Life. Matt Zoller Seitz has a good handle on the film, and most importantly notes that The Tree of Life “is designed to elicit unique, personal responses in viewers, as unique and personal as what Malick is putting onscreen.”

In some ways, the film reminded me of LOST, especially in its final sequence. And this comment of Seitz’s resonates with ideas from LOST as well: “I suspect that a lot of the reviews of this movie are mistaking it for a puzzle that one can eventually solve, and that’s a mistake because it’s really not that kind of movie.” Something important to keep in mind. And if anyone went into the film not knowing what kind of movie it is, I can understand why they might have walked out.

Later in his article, Seitz quotes a beautiful portion of Roger Ebert’s article “A Prayer Beneath the Tree of Life“: “In the span of the universe, we inhabit an unimaginably small space and time, and yet we think we are so important. It is restful sometimes to pull back and change the scale, to be grateful that we have minds that can begin to understand who we are, and where are in the vastness.” I recommend reading Ebert’s full article. It really touches on the spirituality of the film. I enjoy this quote because it speaks to what it is about the “Creation” sequence that I am so drawn to. Throughout my life, I have been comforted when I step back, think of the scope of the universe, and see how small I am. It doesn’t make me feel insignificant. It just makes me feel alive, comfortably small, and somehow safe and protected. It also reminds me of the important things in life.

I like that the film can be interpreted in different ways and that Malick doesn’t set out to tell us the meaning of life. It doesn’t fit to one specific religion or tradition; it fits to them all. And that’s what any profound story – any mythology – can do. It speaks to human experience outside of time and space and definition and words. In fact, there’s very little dialogue in the film. A wise choice. I think of the Buddha’s words in Thich Nhat Hanh’s book Old Path White Clouds: “Words cannot describe reality. Only direct experience enables us to see the true face of reality.” Tree of Life certainly offers an experience. And, on the spirituality of the film, I also would like to add that, in my opinion, the big bang approach of the “Creation” sequence is not denying the existence of God / a god / gods / higher power, but in fact demonstrating it. But that’s just my opinion. It might mean something else to you.

One other important element the film clearly demonstrates is suffering, which can be hard to watch. Especially after the often whimsical images of the creation. The scenes where Pitt is mistreating his sons wrenched my heart. And it was supposed to. I’ll lean on my mythological roots here and offer a quote from Joseph Campbell that really explains why this needs to be in a film that is as much about the beauty of life as it is about the pain of it:

“The impact of this horror on a sensitive consciousness is terrific – this monster which life. Life is a horrendous presence, and you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that. The first function of a mythological order has been to reconcile consciousness to this fact” (Campbell, Pathways to Bliss, 3).

Life consists of suffering. Of course we don’t want it, but we have to accept it and live with it. Recognizing suffering was what motivated Siddhartha to renounce his palace life and become the Buddha. The quest to end suffering essentially is at the root of the entire Buddhist tradition, and, if you step back and think more about it, at the root of our existence. We seek pleasure, not pain.

“The idea of the Bodhisattva is the one who out of his realization of transcendence participates in the world the imitation of Christ is joyful participation in the sorrows of the world” (Campbell, The Hero’s Journey, 173).

Well, these are my initial, rather quickly written thoughts on the film. Daily life is pulling on me and I do have an appointment to get to, but I just had to share some thoughts on this truly profound and moving film. I leave you with yet a final quote from the great Joseph Campbell (who, if you haven’t noticed, influences all of my writing and academic ventures).

“All societies are evil, sorrowful, inequitable; and so they will always be. So if you want to help this world, what you will have to teach is how to live in it. And that no one can do who has not himself learned how to live in it in the joyful sorrow and sorrowful joy of the knowledge of life as it is” (Campbell, Myths to Live By 104).

Finding Joe

Posted on October 4, 2011 by mythgirl under Mythology, Pop Culture

The documentary Finding Joe is a beautiful cinematographic exploration of Joseph Campbell. The primary focus is on the movement of Campbell’s monomyth, the hero cycle that virtually all mythology demonstrates. Finding Joe explores the hero cycle with insightful commentary from a variety of individuals, including Tony Hawk, Deepak Chopra, and Rashida Jones. The most beautiful part of the film is the segments of the hero’s journey re-enacted with children. Great imagination and fabulous imagery! The film also emphasizes how the hero’s journey has been represented in modern film, including Star Wars, Harry Potter, and Alice in Wonderland. (As you all know, my own work focuses on bridging the gap between pop culture and mythology, so I was quite delighted to see this). Finally, the film focuses on the other key concept in Campbell’s voluminous work: how you can find and follow your bliss.

I have read a variety of reviews on the film and am pleased to see that most are rather positive. There has been some critique of the film in failing to completely portray Campbell’s vision or in having the tone of a type of self-help infomercial. I can see where this criticism comes from, but I believe the film fulfills its purpose quite well: it introduces individuals to Campbell and serves as a great ground to start sharing his vision. It also offers inspiration!! Does it completely encompass Campbell? Well, no, but no 80 minute film could do that. (I read that the original cut is 8 hours long. That would be interesting to watch!!) Campbell has endless works and thoughts that one could spend a lifetime studying (in fact, that’s what I’m doing!). Nonetheless, this documentary taps into the heart of the hero’s journey and makes it accessible to every modern individual. Anything that brings myth and Campbell to the public eye gets two thumbs up from me!

I had the fortune of seeing the film opening night when the director was present and available for a short Q&A after the show. I felt the theater rushed us out just as we were getting to the good stuff! Nonetheless, it was great to see director Patrick Takaya Solomon accompanied by Robert Walter, president of the Joseph Campbell Foundation. I even had the pleasure of meeting Solomon. He’s a very friendly gentleman filled with a great passion for Campbell. I encourage you to support his project! It has not yet earned a wide release yet, but can help influence its availability by seeing the film if you’re in CA, CO, AZ, WA or OR.

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