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New York - After witnessing the popularity of Star Wars, director Francis Ford Coppola told George Lucas he should start his own religion. Lucas laughed him off, but Coppola may have been onto something.
Indeed, the Star Wars saga taps into the very storytelling devices that have structured myths and religious tales for centuries. And with every new film, fans are able to reinforce their unique communities in a world that has grown, in many ways, increasingly isolated.
Lucas admits he based his Star Wars epic on the “hero’s quest” that mythologist Joseph Campbell, in his 1949 book Hero With A Thousand Faces, argued underscores many myths and religious tales.
According to Campbell, hero quests have similar trajectories: the hero leaves his ordinary world and ventures to a place of supernatural wonders.
He faces a series of trials to prove his mettle, survives a supreme ordeal, is granted some sort of boon or treasure and returns home to share his knowledge or treasure with those he left behind.
Following this formula, Lucas substituted his own characters for the heroes, villains, and saviours of earlier hero quests.
Take Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope: the hero (Luke Skywalker) leaves his ordinary world (Tatooine) after receiving “a call to adventure” (Princess Leia’s hologram message) and learns he has the special talents of a Jedi. A supportive mentor (Obi Wan Kenobi) offers supernatural aid (lightsaber) and guidance. Then Luke faces a series of trials to prove his mettle (storm troopers, Jabba the Hutt), survives a supreme ordeal (Death Star, Darth Vader) and returns home wiser and victorious.
These stories typically appear during times of doubt and can help viewers reclaim the goodness and innocence in themselves, reminding them they can overcome the evil they see in the world. When Lucas set out to create Star Wars – against the backdrop of Vietnam, Watergate and the assassinations of the Kennedy brothers and Martin Luther King jr – he had his work cut out for him.
Lucas acknowledges he wrote Star Wars because he believed our society was in dire need of fairy tales, myth and fantasy – a “new myth” would provide a “new hope” for an audience that had grown cynical and demoralised.
Today’s anxieties are just as acute. The American people yearn for a mythic narrative that will reaffirm their view of the world, with a traditional American hero who will triumph over evil and ensure “everything will turn out okay”.
It’s no wonder, then, that in an increasingly secularised society, many find themselves gazing away from the pulpit, instead finding meaning in the stories playing out on screens in living rooms and movie theatres across the country.
Film is sometimes described as a “dream screen” – a mirror, when held in front of an audience, reflects both the personal and collective subconscious of our culture. It’s a place where all our hopes, fears and desires find expression.
Considering Star Wars’ mythic foundation, it’s not surprising that it packs such a powerful, emotional punch.
Myths are about creating meaning, reinforcing connections between the I and Thou, and mending the rift between the sacred and profane.
They give us heroes we can identify with, who allow us to realise that divinity is not outside the self, but within. In the beginning, Luke might be the character you wanted to pretend to be. With time “playing Luke” helps you become the person you always wanted to be.
If all roads of the hero’s journey lead inward, then film, as a shared cultural artefact, begs us to take the first step.
Rather than Star Wars existing as something outside viewers, it takes root within.
Many were exposed to the Star Wars films as children. Some acted out scenes, investing time and creative energy into a fictional universe and characters who became like an extended family.
In this way, Star Wars no longer remains just a film; it becomes much more.
Even subtle challenges to a narrative we’ve created about the world and ourselves can be stressful. In response, we’re prone to cling even more tightly to our beliefs.
As powerful as any holy relic, buying and collecting Star Wars merchandise can trigger memories of the past.
Accessing positive memories and tapping into nostalgia have been shown to be a critical component of forming a meaningful personal narrative.
Watching a Star Wars film or buying Star Wars memorabilia does not only remind us of the “good old days.”
It serves a more meaningful purpose: it builds community in a world that has grown increasingly isolated, that has traded the physical for the virtual.
If the decline of social capital in public life (which includes religion) is partially responsible for this phenomenon, the rise of technology is equally at fault.
Waiting in line for days to buy tickets, wearing your favourite Star Wars T-shirt and dressing up as your favourite character at a convention are all social touchstones – icebreakers that facilitate a sense of community and belonging.
It is in this shared storytelling space where history lives and meaning dwells. As cultural critic Lewis Hyde writes, meaningful stories can induce a “moment of grace, a communion, a period during which we too know the hidden coherence of our being and feel the fullness of our lives.”
l Patti McCarthy is visiting assistant professor, Department of English/Film Studies, University of the Pacific. This article first appeared on theconversation.com.
