The Writer's Journey

by Christopher Vogler

  As I began to teach "mythic structure," the film provided a convenient, widely seen example to demonstrate the movements and principles of the Hero's Journey, in which the function of the parts were simple, clear, and vivid. It entered the language of pop culture, providing useful metaphors, symbols, and phrases that expressed how we all felt about good and evil, technology and faith. It spawned a billion-dollar industry of sequels, prequels, ancillaries, franchises, and a whole universe of toys, games, and collectibles. Entire generations have grown up under its influence, and it has inspired countless artists to think big and pursue their dreams of creativity. It filled the same function for millions that the old myths did, giving standards for comparison, providing metaphors and meaning, inspiring people to stretch beyond their earthly bounds.

  If the Star Wars movie of 1977 had been a one-shot cinema event, its cultural impact would still have been considerable, but its influence was tripled by the continuation of the series with Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and Episode VI Return of the Jedi (1983). Series creator George Lucas had always planned a vast canvas on the scale of Wagner's Ring cycle, an epic tale that might take a dozen movies to tell in full. For the following sixteen years fans wondered if Lucas would ever fulfill the promise of more films, extending the saga into the past and possibly into the future. In what is known as "the Expanded Universe," various side-plots and back-stories were developed in comic books, novels, cartoon series, and TV specials, but it was only in 1999 that Lucas returned to the film series, eventually producing three "prequel" films that told the story of the generation before Luke Skywalker and Princess Leia, and revealed the events and character flaws that led to the development of Darth Vader, the series' supreme embodiment of evil.

  The master plan for organizing this huge canvas of six feature films seems to reflect a polarized view of the universe and of the hero myth itself, allowing full exploration of the dark and light possibilities of the heroic model. The films released in the 1970s and '80s represent the positively charged, optimistic view of heroism, in which the young hero Luke Skywalker is severely tempted by power and rage but ends up triumphant and morally balanced, an example of what Campbell calls "the Master of Two Worlds." The dramatic intention is quite different in the three prequel films (The Phantom Menace/1999, Attack of the Clones/2002, Revenge of the Sith/2005). Though sprinkled with moments of lightness and humor, the overall tone is dark and tragic, showing the destruction of a human spirit by fatal flaws of anger, pride, and ambition.

  A mythic theme that seems to run through all the films is a fascination with the emotional territory between fathers and sons. The impact of positive male role models, surrogate fathers and mentors like Obi Wan Kenobi, Yoda, Qui-Gon Jinn, Luke's Uncle Owen, and Mace Windu is emphasized, but the series is as much interested in the effect of absent or distant fathers and negative role models on a young man's developing personality.

  The first three films released portray Luke Skywalker's quest to discover the identity of his father and his struggle with the dark tendencies in his own nature. Episode IV, the film released in 1977, more or less follows an Arthurian model, with the young nobleman raised in humble surroundings, unaware of his true nature, and watched over by a Merlin-like figure (Obi-Wan) who gives him a powerful weapon that belonged to his father, a light saber similar to Arthur's sword Excalibur.

  In the next two films, Luke will discover more of his parentage and learn that Princess Leia is his twin sister. His relationships with surrogate fathers will continue to develop, losing Obi-Wan as a living influence (though his ghostly presence continues to guide Luke) and gaining a new father figure in Yoda. As he learns to master the Force he is tempted by the dark side, represented by the villainous Darth Vader, who eventually reveals himself as Luke's true father. Like many a hero before him, Luke must confront the fact that his father was not perfect, and that he has some of the same dangerous tendencies that made his father a tyrant and a monster. In this section the plot somewhat resembles the Wagnerian scenario of Siegfried, the young hero who must re-forge a broken sword that represents the failure of the previous generation.

  Luke passes a major Resurrection test in Episode VI: Return of the Jedi, when he has the opportunity and the motivation to kill his father, for Lord Vader is threatening to turn Luke's sister Princess Leia to the dark side of the Force. Luke spares his father's life, signifying his choice to uphold the positive side of the Force. The evil Emperor who has manipulated Darth Vader and is a kind of evil father figure for him now begins to destroy Luke with powerful lightning bolts. Moved by the sight of his son's impending death, Vader reverses polarity and goes over to the light side of the Force, throwing the Emperor to his death. Vader, dying himself from the struggle with the Emperor, asks Luke to remove his helmet, revealing the fragile human beneath the mask of technology. He seeks forgiveness and his son grants it. Luke, though wounded, dismembered, and sorely tempted by his own dark potential, ends up as a positively charged hero, able to use his powers responsibly for the good of all. He is even able to forgive the fact that his own father chopped off his arm and tried to kill him. One of the final images of Episode VI, theoretically the absolute end of the series, is that of the ghost of Darth Vader, redeemed and forgiven, standing benevolent watch over his son alongside the ghosts of Obi-Wan and Yoda, a trinity of father figures.

  Sixteen years after the release of Episode VI, Lucas returned to his unfinished canvas to fill in the first three episodes, detailing the ascendancy of Luke's father, the young Jedi knight Anakin Skywalker, and his corruption into the totally evil Darth Vader. Continuing his exploration of father-son or mentor-student relationships, in Episode I: The Phantom Menace (1999), Lucas begins with a young Obi-Wan training under his wise master, Qui-Gon Jinn. Qui-Gon and a galactic princess, Padme Amidala, find a brilliant, strong-willed nine-year-old boy, Anakin Skywalker, who is a slave on the desert planet of Tatooine where his son Luke Skywalker will later be raised. The boy, unnaturally skilled in mechanics and piloting, seems to be the fulfillment of a Jedi prophecy that a "Chosen One" will bring balance to the Force. But already the seeds of evil are present in the child, who has a quick temper and is difficult to control. Only Yoda seems to notice something is wrong with the boy, and warns that pride and anger may come to dominate in him.

  Interestingly in a story about fathers and sons, the boy Anakin has no father in the conventional sense. Like many mythic heroes of the past, his birth was almost miraculous, an "immaculate conception," for his mother was impregnated not by a human father but by mysterious microscopic life forms called "midi-chloridians" that the Jedi believe are channels for the Force. An important element in the moral compass of the Star Wars series is how humans will make the transition from purely organic creatures into beings of the future enhanced or modified by technology and machines. There are warnings implied throughout the series that though the technological possibilities are marvelous, we must be careful not to get out of balance, and yield too much of our humanity to the chemical and mechanical possibilities that will come our way in the future. The fact that Anakin has no natural father leads him to be alternately seeking and rebelling against father figures, and helps explain how he is able to become the monstrous, more-than-half-machine that is Darth Vader.

  The complex chronology of the films places the watcher of the prequels in a curious position. On the one hand, young Anakin seems to be doing the archetypal job of the hero, as the primary active character and someone whose fate we should care about. But it's very difficult to identify fully with a character who we know will turn out to be a science fiction equivalent of Hitler or Genghis Khan, even if we know he will be ultimately redeemed. Though the prequel films performed extremely well at the box office, the dramatic experience of watching them was necessarily muted by the knowledge that their principal hero is fated to be a despicable villain. Many people watched the prequel films with a certain detachment, unable to get behind the hero's struggles as they had with
Luke Skywalkers in Episodes IV-VI.

  Some of the audience's need to identify with positively charged characters was transferred from Anakin to other members of the cast in the three prequel films, such as Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan, Princess Padme Amidala, and others. Nevertheless a certain chilliness hangs over the prequel films, part of the artistic risk that Lucas took in attempting such a large and complex composition. Anakin's story grows darker as the films progress. In Episode II: Attack of the Clones, his special status as a genius allows him to fall prey to pride and arrogance. His mixed feelings about father figures leads him to rebel against positive role models like Obi-Wan and Yoda and to seek the twisted counsel of negative father possibilities like Senator Palpatine/Darth Sidious.

  That most human element, love, is awakened in the young Anakin by his secret romance and marriage with Princess Amidala. However, his capacity to love becomes distorted by the death of his mother at the hand of Tusken raiders. In a sequence that recalls the Western movie universe of John Ford's The Searchers,

  Anakin finds his mother horribly tortured by the savages and overreacts to her death, unleashing a tide of bloody revenge that makes him almost unredeemable in an audience's eyes.

  In Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Anakin becomes obsessed with the fear of losing that which he loves, Princess Amidala, and is haunted by prophetic dreams of her dying in childbirth. He is thus easy prey for the temptations of Senator Palpatine, who holds out the promise of an elixir that can rescue loved ones from death. Anakin makes further bad choices, preventing positive Jedi mentor Mace Windu from killing Palpatine and allowing Palpatine to kill Windu. When Amidala pleads with him to leave public life, Anakin errs again, choosing to remain at the center of things in the vain hope of overthrowing Palpatine someday.

  Paradoxically, Anakin nearly causes that which he fears the most, Amidalas death, by almost strangling her when he suspects she has betrayed him to Obi-Wan. She dies of a broken heart after giving birth to the future Luke and Leia. Anakin's descent into monsterhood is completed in a final duel with Obi-Wan, who cuts off both his arms and one leg, leaving him to roll near the scorching lava of a volcano. Palpatine, now revealed to be the evil schemer Darth Sidious, rescues Anakin and uses machines to turn him into the less-than-human creature we know as Darth Vader. In this dark and tragic climax, the only ray of hope is that the infants Luke and Leia are sent to be raised by surrogate parents, Luke going to his aunt and uncle on Tatooine and Leia being raised by a noble family, the Organas, on the planet Alderaan.

  Audiences and critics had mixed reactions to the three prequel films, ranging from strong criticism of comic elements like the character of Jar-Jar Binks to expressions of disappointment that Lucas seemed to have lost some of the bright, cheerful spirit of episodes IV-VI. One possible explanation for the markedly different tone of the prequels is that Lucas was in a different stage of his life when he returned to his youthful creation. In making the first three films in the '70s and '80s, Lucas had only a short walk backwards to reach his childhood, and was firmly in touch with the optimism and hopefulness of youth. The road back to innocence was a lot longer by 1999, and his perspective was no longer that of a young rogue filmmaker, but that of a responsible parent and head of a huge network of companies. Although in Episode I Lucas was dealing with the early childhood of his protagonist, Anakin Skywalker, the boy genius in the film sounds more like a world-weary adult.

  Though Lucas has said he has completed his original vision with the six feature films, the universe he founded continues to be developed in countless novels, comics, animation series, and games. It has a definite life of its own, quite apart from the intentions of its creator, and it has been embellished by original contributions from fans who feel they own it. And we are entitled to wonder if someday, perhaps in a universe far, far away, one version of the original scheme will ever be realized, one that called not only for three prequel films, but also three sequels, presumably Episodes VII, VIII, and IX, that might deal with the further adventures of Luke, Leia, and Han Solo, and perhaps their descendants or students. It would be interesting to see, in that hypothetical universe, how the perspective of the creator might mellow, perhaps producing a tone completely different from those of the first six films, in a future where humans will have to make ever more difficult choices about the Force and the god-like possibilities of technology. Having explored idealized goodness in the first three films, and the roots of evil in the prequels, Lucas and his successors might find a synthesis in a future triad of films that finally brings a balance to the Force.

  In 2001 I participated in the making of a documentary film, A Galaxy Far; Far Away, looking into the "Stars Wars phenomenon" that was cresting in the public imagination because of the revival of the series. The film took a light-hearted view of the curious obsessions of Star Wars fans and the importance of the movies in their lives. Given that fathers and sons are so significant in the films, it's not surprising that a major conclusion of the filmmakers was that the Star Wars saga is one of the few cultural events that unites generations, making strong bonds between fathers and sons. Many young men interviewed for the documentary reported that the Star Wars films were among the few movies that fathers and sons could watch together, and that they had become an important part of family memories. Despite their occasional flaws and missteps, the films collectively are an impressive achievement of the mythic imagination, continuing the epic tradition and proving that abundant energy still surges in the motifs of the Hero's Journey.

  The beauty of the Hero's Journey model is that it not only describes a pattern in myths and fairy tales, but it's also an accurate map of the territory one must travel to become a writer or, for that matter, a human being.

  The Hero's Journey and the Writer's Journey are one and the same. Anyone setting out to write a story soon encounters all the tests, trials, ordeals, joys, and rewards of the Hero's Journey. We meet all of its Shadows, Shapeshifters, Mentors, Tricksters, and Threshold Guardians in the interior landscape. Writing is an often perilous journey inward to probe the depths of one's soul and bring back the Elixir of experience — a good story. Low self-esteem or confusion about goals may be the Shadows that chill our work, an editor or one's own judgmental side may be the Threshold Guardians that seem to block our way. Accidents, computer problems, and difficulties with time and discipline may torment and taunt us like Tricksters. Unrealistic dreams of success or distractions may be the Shapeshifters who tempt, confuse, and dazzle us. Deadlines, editorial decisions, or the struggle to sell our work may be the Tests and Ordeals from which we seem to die but are Resurrected to write again.

  But take hope, for writing is magic. Even the simplest act of writing is almost supernatural, on the borderline with telepathy. Just think: We can make a few abstract marks on a piece of paper in a certain order and someone a world away and a thousand years from now can know our deepest thoughts. The boundaries of space and time and even the limitations of death can be transcended.

  Many cultures believed the letters of their alphabets were far more than just symbols for communication, recording transactions, or recalling history. They believed letters were powerful magical symbols that could be used to cast spells and predict the future. The Norse runes and the Hebrew alphabet are simple letters for spelling words, but also deep symbols of cosmic significance.

  This magical sense is preserved in our word for teaching children how to manipulate letters to make words: spelling. When you "spell" a word correctly, you are in effect casting a spell, charging these abstract, arbitrary symbols with meaning and power. We say "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me," but this is manifestly untrue. We know that words have power to hurt or heal. The simple words of a letter, telegram, or phone call can strike you like a hammer blow. They're just words — marks on paper or vibrations of air — but mere words such as "Guilty," "Ready, aim, fire.'" "I do," or "We'd like to buy your screenplay" can bind us, condemn us, or bring us joy. They can
hurt or heal us with their magic power.

  The healing power of words is their most magical aspect. Writers, like the shamans or medicine men and women of ancient cultures, have the potential to be healers.

  WRITERS AND SHAMANS

  Shamans have been called "the wounded healers." Like writers, they are special people set apart from the rest by their dreams, visions, or unique experiences. Shamans, like many writers, are prepared for their work by enduring terrible ordeals. They may have a dangerous illness or fall from a cliff and have nearly every bone broken. They are chewed by a lion or mauled by a bear. They are taken apart and put back together again in a new way. In a sense they have died and been reborn, and this experience gives them special powers. Many writers come to their craft only after they have been shattered by life in some way.

  Often those chosen to be shamans are identified by special dreams or visions, in which the gods or spirits take them away to other worlds where they undergo terrible ordeals. They are laid out on a table to have all their bones removed and broken. Before their eyes, their bones and organs are split, cooked, and reassembled in a new order. They are tuned to a new frequency like radio receivers. As shamans, they are now able to receive messages from other worlds.

  They return to their tribes with new powers. They have the ability to travel to other worlds and bring back stories, metaphors, or myths that guide, heal, and give meaning to life. They listen to the confusing, mysterious dreams of their people and give them back in the form of stories that provide guidelines for right living.