We Could Be Heroes.

Hi, and welcome to Studious! I’m your host, Stuart Byers. Each week on Studious, we try and parse out life’s greatest riddles. We’ll tackle topics of particular interest to me, and hopefully to you the listener as well. If not, consider this one of those great podcasts to fall asleep to.

This week on Studious we are going to begin to explore grand narratives or metanarratives. Grand narratives are overarching frameworks or stories that attempt to provide a comprehensive understanding of the world and human history. These narratives aim to explain the nature of reality, the meaning of life, and the progress or development of societies over time. They often encompass a wide range of topics, such as philosophy, religion, politics, and social structures.

Grand narratives typically offer a broad perspective on human existence and attempt to answer fundamental questions about the nature of the universe, the purpose of human life, and the relationship between individuals and society. They provide a sense of coherence and meaning by organizing and interpreting complex historical events and experiences into a unified framework.

Some examples of grand narratives throughout history are as follows:

First, we have Religious Narratives. Religious traditions, such as Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism, provide comprehensive explanations of the origin of the universe, the nature of divinity, moral principles, and the purpose of human life. These narratives often involve creation myths, stories of divine intervention, and guidelines for ethical living.

Our Second example of Grand narratives are Enlightenment Narratives. During the Enlightenment period, narratives emerged that emphasized reason, science, and progress as the primary drivers of human development. These narratives promoted ideas of individual rights, democracy, and the pursuit of knowledge as the means to achieve social and intellectual advancement.

Our third example of metanarratives Marxist Narratives. Marxist ideology offers a grand narrative that focuses on the struggle between social classes, the historical development of capitalism, and the eventual establishment of a classless communist society. It provides an economic interpretation of history and offers a blueprint for societal transformation.

Our last example of Grand Narratives are Nationalist Narratives. Nationalist narratives emphasize the history, culture, and identity of a specific nation or ethnic group. They often highlight heroic or pivotal events in national history and promote a sense of unity, pride, and loyalty among its members.

Grand narratives have been both influential and controversial. They can inspire collective identities, mobilize people toward certain goals, and provide a sense of purpose and belonging. However, they can also be criticized for simplifying complex historical processes, neglecting diverse perspectives, and suppressing individual freedoms. Critics argue that grand narratives often reflect the biases and interests of the dominant groups in society, potentially leading to oppression or exclusion of marginalized voices.

For the purposes of this podcast, we will examine multiple metanarratives from different angles in an attempt to parse out perhaps an underlying unifying theory. Grand narratives examine the bigger picture, but to accurately understand the big picture, we need to examine its parts. There’s this concept in science called "scale invariance" or "self-similarity." It is a principle observed in various scientific disciplines that suggests that certain patterns or properties exist at different scales or levels of magnification. This principle implies that the small-scale features or structures of a system or object can exhibit similar characteristics to the larger-scale or macroscopic ones. We had discussed fractals and Benoit Mandlebrot earlier in the podcast. With fractals, we can observe that small scale patterns in nature can often be observed in larger scale. For example, scientists can deduce the number of plants living in an ecosystem by examining the particular branching of just one plant in the ecosystem. Similarly, there’s this self-similarity when we examine mycelium in relation to our brain under the microscope, or on a larger scale, the distribution of matter in the observable universe.

So, when we begin to examine grand narratives, we can best begin to understand them through the lens of smaller narratives. After all, you and I are just a collection of stories. The stories we tell each other and the stories we tell ourselves. Today, we are going to study stories through the work of Joseph Campbell, in particular, the hero’s journey.

Campbell is probably best known for his works, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, and The Power of Myth. Campbell spent a lifetime studying the myths from around the globe, and he noticed something particularly peculiar: people without any contact historically were sharing similar tales. It’s as if there was a blueprint for the types of stories that we tell each other. Perhaps because the human experience is a shared one. Carl Jung believed in a collective mind shared by humans, and perhaps this relates to that, or it could simply just be that patterns emerge regardless because of a similarity in shared existence or the uniquely “human” experience.

Today we will examine the trajectory of the hero’s journey. Why is it important? How does it inform our narratives? I think if we break it down, we can see how it applies to ourselves and how we choose to live our lives, or perhaps how we may choose to live them in the future.

Previously, we had discussed good and evil and our relation to it. The hero’s journey is often a heroic tale, and since we view it from the lens of our hero being the protagonist, we often associate him as good, and his enemies as bad. Just remember this is how our binary relation to good and evil works. Often, it is just a matter of perspective. We empathize with the protagonist, since he or she is the character we get to know. Not to offend, but more often than not, our protagonist is a “he.” Everyone has their challenges in life, but history has played out in a certain way. Moreso, it would seem the action-adventure paints a more visceral tale, and maybe its symbology is more readily made available. This says nothing about a woman’s capacity to be heroic or perform heroic deeds… I think it’s perhaps just more reflective of gender roles in human society, and not just human, but primate society as well.

If you haven’t yet had a chance, check out Chimp Empire on Netflix. I’ll try and keep my comments as spoiler free as possible, but what this short docuseries does is explore narrative in an unconventional way. We begin by following a primary group of Ngogo chimpanzees in Uganda. Throughout the first episode, we get to know members of the group individually and begin to care about them as we discover their unique personalities. We empathize with their struggles as their own personal and group tribulations are revealed. Then at the end of the episode, tragedy strikes. One of the primary members of the group is killed by a rival group of outsiders.

Chimps are wildly territorial. This is the behavior they evolved. If you are familiar with bonobo chimps, they have evolved a completely different strategy in relation to territory and outsiders. Perhaps resources were more readily available in their ecosystem. The Ngogo chimps’ hostility doesn’t stem from greed, or a grab for power. It simply is a matter of survival. They are at ends with rival outsider groups in a competition for resources. They lack the communication skills to even begin to broker for peace.

What is unique from a narrative standpoint in Chimp Empire, is that in episode 2, we get introduced to the rival outsider group. By the end of the episode, they are no longer strangers to us, like they are to the primary group of Ngogo chimps. The roles of protagonist and antagonist are turned on their heads. Furthermore, we learn of the struggles of this solitary outsider group. How they are wildly outnumbered by the larger group. But we also learn there is strength in their solidarity. They might have fewer numbers, but they present a more unified front. Even their females have taken on the roles of warriors and hunters to make up for their deficiencies. They have now become the plucky underdogs of the story, and who doesn’t love a story about characters overcoming impossible odds? At this point, who you decide to champion in this tale of war says more about you than it does them.

This feeling of ingroup and other is so ingrained in our primate behavior that it is readily revealed as this narrative plays out. We are hard-wired to begin to identify with protagonists of stories, because our empathy allows us to see the world through their eyes. Their struggles become our struggles, their enemies become our enemies. Chimp Empire calls our loyalty into question, because it changes the game and allows us to empathize with the antagonists. We can then take a step back and see what this reveals not only about chimpanzee nature, but our own. These are our closest relatives on the planet, sharing 98% of our DNA. We can learn much about ourselves by studying their behaviors. At the end of that first episode, you have feelings about this territorial death. To us, it seems like a senseless act of violence, and we immediately feel like retribution is in order. We have no skin in this game, and we can’t even remain objective.

This speaks volumes about our own nature and how we desperately need empathy to combat our own binary thinking. If one isn’t careful, they will forever be a pawn as the tool of narrative will be used to manipulate opinion. Be ever so suspect when your side in a conversation begins to become oversimplified in terms of good guys and bad guys. As Dave Mason so wisely said, “there ain’t no good guys, there ain’t no bad guys, there’s only you and me, and we just disagree.”

So back to my boy, Joey Campbell. As we go over the steps of the hero’s journey, we will begin to understand their roles in storytelling and why they speak to us. There are beats in storytelling that are just extremely satisfying for the audience. We often think of the hero or protagonist as the central character of the story, just as we thought the primary Ngogo chimps were the central characters of that story. In all actuality, the audience is the central character in any story. The story may be about some person or persons, factual or fictional, but the audience is always the lens in which we view those characters. How the story is interpreted is forever in the hands of the storyteller and the audience. Like young Sebastian in The Never-Ending Story, the audience is actually the central protagonist. We study the hero’s journey in myth and storytelling, because it is the story of us, the audience.

The first step in any hero’s journey is an introduction to the ordinary world in which they inhabit. Whether they be hunting womp rats in their T-16’s or sucking in Dudley dust in their cupboard under the stairs, our heroes start off in relatively humble situations, seemingly powerless in affecting change in the world they inhabit.

I want to take a quick aside to talk about something I personally noticed in our most popular tales of adventure. Have you ever noticed how many heroes are orphans? It is incredibly disproportionate to the actual number of orphans to non-orphans. Maybe this is the new quota for Hollywood to champion: less orphans in storytelling, and more orphans working in production.

Look at the two biggest franchises of the last 50 years. Luke Skywalker? Orphaned. Some daddy issues. Harry Potter? Notoriously orphaned.

But it doesn’t stop there. Superman, Batman, Spiderman. All orphans. It’s like almost a requirement if your superhero name ends in -Man that you must be an orphan. It would be readily recognized that orphans immediately cut an empathetic cloth, unless you are watching an old VHS copy of The Warriors. It might seem like the orphan trope plays out time and again because how easily it creates an empathetic character for the audience. And while that may be part of the reasoning behind its widespread usage, the primary reason is far simpler: parents are cockblocks for adventure. No sane parent is going to allow their child to be in such constant peril. Furthermore, the orphan will undoubtedly have some internal conflict to wrestle with as they face these external conflicts of adventure. It’s a shortcut to complexity.

But remember, all of these conflicts are symbolic. The whole tale is symbolic. The symbols can then be applied endlessly to situations relevant to the audience, who is again, our real central character.

Our second step in the hero’s journey is probably the one most talked about: the call to adventure. Whether it’s a message delivered by a plucky little astromech, or a similarly stumpy and head-whirly owl, the hero is presented with a herald to draw him out of his confines. This also seems to be often paired with the introduction of the mentor that will help guide the hero. These usually are sage-like wizards: your Obi-Wans, or Dumbledores, or Gandalfs. And why wizards? Well, obviously not all stories involve wizards, but the ones that do are going to involve some sort of transcendence into the metaphysical. And what is the metaphysical, but this shadowy realm past the ones our senses can reveal? This is Plato’s realm of perfect forms. Like the infinite regress of turtles, it’s symbols all the way down.

So the hero receives the call to adventure, be it a damsel in distress, or a message, it usually shakes up the status quo for the hero. Our most relatable heroes might reflexively shun this call initially out of fear or reluctance. Think of Bilbo Baggins. That dude was completely comfortable eking out the rest of his existence in his cozy Hobbit hole. Symbol time!!! Wanna take a stab at what that cozy little Hobbit hole represents? (Pause 3 seconds) That’s right. It is the womb… that location from where we all begin our own narratives. You’ll never be safer or cozier than when you were in the womb.

When I was a child I had many recurring dreams, but one that would particularly haunt me was this one where I was being terrorized by some sort of monster, usually an alligator or a mummy. I would run up the stairs of my grandma’s house and back into my aunt’s bedroom. In that room was a painting about a story written by family friend, Sewell P. Wright, science fiction writer and resident of Jupiter… Florida. In the dream, I would go to remove the painting from the wall and behind it was a vault, and in that vault was a cozy room full of pillows. To give you an idea, suppose the painting was 4 and a half feet from the floor. The vault room would have a floor that began around the same level, so this clearly was a womblike structure. Of course, it took me a few decades to properly interpret the significance.

My son is 2 now. When his mom crouches down to hug him, he tries to crawl through her legs every time. Sure, crawling through things is fun when you are little, but I think there’s more at work here. It’s rather funny that we aren’t as claustrophobic as children, because perhaps the cramped environment more represents a womb than what later is perceived as a tomb. And how crazy that a single letter separates these symbols.

As we return to the hero’s journey, we reach stage 3: Crossing the Threshold. This is the birth of the adventure. There’s no returning to the womb from here on out. Leave those muggles behind; it’s adventure time. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are smoked jerky at this point. There’s no going back home, Dorothy.

The next step or stage 4 in the quest is called, Tests, Allies, and Enemies. Here’s where our heroine clearly isn’t in Kansas anymore. In her first five minutes of being in Oz, she is befriended by the good witch and confronted by the bad witch. As she sets off on the yellow brick road, she makes further allies and is subsequently tested.

This usually is also where our hero begins to grow confidence and self-esteem. By surviving trials and hardships, the hero gains experience, and with experience comes knowledge and wisdom. This growth period is essential for every hero, just as it too is important for the growth of every human.

Stage 5 is often referred to as The Approach to the Inmost Cave, but it is most commonly referenced as “the belly of the beast.” It is where our hero is quite literally swallowed whole by some monstrosity, such as a dragon or a whale. In Empire Strikes Back, Han Solo and Crew park the Falcon in a rather large cave on an asteroid in an attempt to hide from their imperial pursuits. It is only later revealed that their hiding spot is no cave at all, but the gullet of some infernal space worm.

Our favorite automaton, Pinocchio goes through a similar struggle after his attempt to flee Pleasure Island, finding himself marooned with his long lost father Geppetto inside the belly of the whale.

The belly of the beast narrative is particular interesting because it is found being told through so many cultures across time. This deep symbolism just resonates with humans at a distinctly primal level.

I took a small break from the podcast recently to tour Europe for a short spell. In Rome, we visited the catacombs of the early Christians and the first resting place of the earliest Popes. These catacombs and tombs held many symbols engraved to represent Christian ideology. One that was explained most thoroughly to the group was that of the symbol for Jonah and the Whale. If you are unfamiliar with the biblical tale, it’s pretty straightforward. He gets swallowed by a whale. The symbolism meant for those visiting loved ones in these catacombs was that not of sorrow, but of hope. Their graves were considered to just be a resting place, one of peace, as they await the return of the messiah. Jonah is symbolic of resurrection, in fact, all of these belly of the beast tales represent resurrection. It’s a rebirth. That old part of the hero dies, and is reborn with a renewed confidence. He has faced dire consequences, perhaps his greatest fears, and he comes out cleansed.

Just as Solo and Crew face the space worm, Luke faces his own cave, which is definitely more symbolic of an inner cave. While training with tiny space wizard, Yoda, Luke stumbles upon a cave stinking of foul, dark force energy. Yoda instructs Luke to leave his weapons behind, but he ignores the warning and straps on his laser sword instead. In the cave, he faces Lord Vader, and beheads the villain. The iconic helm blows up at his feet, revealing his own visage behind the mask.

This is a pivotal revelation for young Skywalker, and without context, he fails to properly understand its meaning. In his defense, he had been busy montage training, so he wasn’t ready for it. Ah, who doesn’t love a good training montage? They never seem complete without a headband or bandana being tied around the brow.

Stage 6 of the hero’s journey is perhaps oversimplified as the Ordeal. This is a significant moment of high stakes or intense struggle that is a life-threatening or transformative experience for the hero. For Luke, the dark force cave is only the preamble to the Ordeal. In the ordeal, Luke faces Vader, loses his hand, almost falls out of Cloud City and is barely saved by an old TV antenna. Oh, and SPOILER ALERT!!! Finally figures out what all that foreshadowing was all about when Vader reveals his paternity tests on Mo-Po.

Quite the ordeal indeed.

In stage seven, we finally get a little taste of the glory. This is the reward stage. Our hero returns from the ordeal reaping rewards or gaining new insights. This can come in a manner of different shapes, be it treasure, newfound knowledge and understanding, or a sense of accomplishment. Luke walks away from Cloud City with a T-Shirt that reads, “I fought my father, and all I got was this crumby robot hand.”

For young Harold Potter, he is seemingly going through one ordeal after the other, gaining new insights and artifacts along the way. Particularly, each book walks us through repeated cycles of the hero’s journey. Ultimately, the reward stages become more defined as he collects horcruxes and hallows, and other manners of tools to defeat Lord Vader… I mean, Volde, voldem… He Who Must Not Be Named.

In Stage 8 of the hero’s journey, AKA The Road Back, our hero begins their journey back to the ordinary world, often pursued by enemies or facing new challenges. This stage may involve a crucial decision or moment of reckoning. 

For young Skywalker, this is pretty much all of Return of the Jedi. He first has to go rescue his old pal, Han and get the team back together, but ultimately, he must go and face his father alone. Most of what we see on Endor is just a display of his ascension as a Jedi.

For Harry, we see him say goodbye to the Dursleys a final time in book 7, and there’s this feeling of the end approaching, his final confrontation with the Dark Lord impending. He will spend his darkest days seeking out those final horcruxes, trying to riddle out Dumbledore’s character and intents, and ultimately preparing himself to face martyrdom to save those remaining friends he cares about.

Stage 9 is very closely related to stage 5, as we recall was the belly of the beast. Stage 9 is our Resurrectionstage. The resurrection stage shows our hero facing one final, climactic challenge, often a confrontation with a powerful enemy or a symbol of their previous fears. They must demonstrate their transformation and newfound abilities, sometimes even sacrificing themselves for a greater cause. For Harry, it’s a very literal resurrection. He sacrifices himself as the Christ figure, only to rise again like Dumbledore’s pet Phoenix, Fawkes.

In Jedi, two sacrifices take place. Luke surrenders to fate and resigns not to fight his father or Emperor Palpatine and refuses to give in to his darker urges to destroy the dark duo. However, Jedi wasn’t only the third story in a trilogy, it is the 6th story in an even larger tale, The Rise and Fall of Anakin Skywalker. Lord Vader sacrifices himself for his son and the galaxy to defeat the emperor. His resurrection comes as he rejoins with the force and his previous mentors in the celebration on Endor.

Our final stage in the hero’s journey is stage 10, otherwise known as Return with the Elixir. Our hero returns to the ordinary world, bringing back the "elixir" or the boon they obtained during their journey. This could be a physical object, knowledge, or a gift that has the potential to transform their world. The hero's return may bring about positive change or enlightenment for themselves and their community.

In Jedi, this is of course toppling the emperor and the intergalactic empire. Similarly, for young mister Potter, it is also thwarting the great evil villain. For Frodo and company, it’s the defeat of Sauron and destroying the one ring to rule them all. But as we previously discussed, each book of Potter is its own mini hero’s journey, and he literally returns with the elixir of life after his first adventure.

We may not all be familiar with Journey to the West, but here in the West we are familiar with Kung-Fu Panda. At the end of the first film, the chosen one, Po discovers his inner strength when he solves the riddle of the blank scroll. This is perhaps more indicative of what the hero returns with for his community. The journey not only tests the hero’s resolve, but it gives him an insight and wisdom he previously lacked. The Hero's Journey is a flexible framework that provides a general template for understanding the hero's transformative journey from the ordinary to the extraordinary and back again. It reflects the universal human desire for growth, self-discovery, and the triumph of good over evil.

I wanna take a second to go back and talk about wizards, because I can’t believe I spent such little time talking about something I find so fascinating.

Aside from the magical aspects of wizards, what these guys really represent are the gurus and mentors of our lives. If we kick it back to the old school, Socrates represents the original wizard, the mentor to Plato, who mentors Aristotle, who later mentors Alexander the Great. Think of the Socratic method. Here you have a guy displaying this wisdom of approaching a subject as if you know nothing. You ask questions until you and your argumentative “adversary” discover the truth together. How many of us can display the patience required to accurately perform the Socratic Method?  Most of us, myself included, are more concerned with displaying our intellectual prowess and proving we are right to our adversaries, and if failing proving to do so, at least humiliating our opponent in the process. This is why I ditched social media so many moons ago. You will never convince another to see things your way in a 5 minute Facebook rant. It took you perhaps a short lifetime to form your ideologies, you think you can sum that up in 5 minutes? I can barely shore up an idea in a half hour podcast, and I’m not even trying to persuade anyone of anything really. I’m just waxing philosophy.

When I was younger, I was always eagerly awaiting a good ol’ fashioned ass-whoopin’ from our resident wizard. You barely get a little fan-service with Gandalf fighting the Balrog. Obi-Wan Kenobi sacrifices himself after a very short duel with his former pupil. For the entire Potter series, we await Dumbledore’s wisdom. He's like this absent-father figure for Harry. He pops in and drops knowledge from time to time, much like my Great, Great Grandfather Perry Ludger would drop in with Christmas presents for his old lady and the kids before returning to life on the rails. We have to wait five whole novels before his infamous duel with Tom Riddle. And even then, it’s a stalemate, with Harry ultimately fighting the dark lord inside his mind.

What I never understood was that it is not the job of the wizard to do the work for the hero. He might provide a buffer initially when the hero is too weak or inexperienced to face his opponent, but he does not exist to do the hero’s battles for him. The wizard is merely a guide for the hero on his quest.

This is an important aspect of the hero’s journey because it illustrates the passing of the baton to the next generation. It also helps to show that at some point in every person’s life, they must grow and mature and take responsibility for themselves. There’s an ownership and accountability when we finally choose our own paths in life. The hero’s journey helps to illustrate all the trials and tribulations we are to face throughout life, but just because these are forces against us, it doesn’t make them a negative experience, for far too often our most troublesome experiences end up becoming our greatest instructors. Perception is everything; it’s why people choose to ditch the victim narrative in their mind for a preference to that of a survivor. If an individual has made this important leap in their own mind, it would behoove no one to further reinforce that victim narrative back at them. This will only lead to self-isolation and paranoia.

Life is this never-ending series of hoops one must jump through. One obstacle after another, ad infinitum, and then we die. This is where the Rest in Peace sentiment comes from, because life was never intended to be peaceful. But instead of looking at life being filled with obstacles, perhaps choose to view it as being filled with challenges. Every challenge gives the individual a chance to gain experience, and an opportunity to level up. Are we 100% sure this all isn’t a simulation?

I think it’s important to remember this concept of leveling up. When I was young, I wanted to become a film maker. When I would think about my future in film, it seemed all too overwhelming. Helming a project, orchestrating the entire cast and crew with their schedules and leading everyone. It seemed so daunting, that I just put the dream up on the shelf, where failure couldn’t harm it.

What I failed to realize is that no one becomes a director overnight. They start small with realistic independent projects. They gain experience making a fledgling film and learn along the way. After many successive years of failing away, they then gain all the skills required to helm an ambitious undertaking.

This doesn’t have to apply to careers, it can be applied to any part of life that requires growth. You look in the mirror and see that flabby bod after years of parenting. You still can transform it into something better, but it won’t happen overnight. It’s going to take work and dedication. That’s the hardest part of our hero’s journey: facing our fears of failure and putting in the work anyway. We might fail greatly, and we may not even accomplish what we set out to do, but at least we are doing something to change our fate. Complacency is our greatest enemy. Your life’s adventure never begins if you continue to ignore the call.

That’s all the time we have today on Studious. I hope you enjoyed our introduction to Grand Narratives, after all, we all are just a collection of stories: the stories we tell each other, and the stories we tell ourselves. Now go out there and tell yourself a better story. Thanks again for listening to Studious.

If you have time at the end of the episode, please like, rate, and comment. I’d love to hear any thoughts you have about the episode. I’ll see you next week.