Like many of you, I spend a significant amount of time immersed in stories. And as much as I’ve enjoyed,
and let myself be inspired by, the countless stories I’ve experienced
through a variety of mediums, there’s one thing I’ve always wondered about: if stories, like all forms of art,
are supposed to reflect life, either by directly representing it,
or by forming a more symbolical mirror, then why are they so different from reality? And by different I don’t mean that they
take place in imaginary worlds, or are filled with fantastical elements. I mean that at their most fundamental level, there exists a dissonance between the way
stories are structured, and the way we experience our own lives. Perhaps the most famous conceptualization of storytelling is Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With A Thousand Faces, in which he uncovers the archetypal structure,
the so-called monomyth, although more commonly referred to as
the hero’s journey, that is fundamental to countless stories
across different ages, and different cultures. The hero’s journey articulates the transformative process, or simply; the adventure, that a hero embarks upon, which leads them outside of their own,
ordinary world, into a new, unknown one where they encounter specific
characters, face a crisis, and eventually return as a changed person. Even in this brief summary, we can immediately
see the dissonance with our own lives. Whereas the hero’s journey is clearly structured,
our own often feels messy and chaotic. Whereas the hero encounters events and characters
that are purposeful to the larger adventure, our own experiences often feel incidental
and lacking in tangible meaning. And whereas the hero almost always has
a transformative arc, we ourselves do not walk such defined paths. Where do these differences come from? Why do we tell stories so differently from
the way we live them? And, somewhat inversely, what happens when
we do approach our own experiences as stories? What are the implications of viewing our lives
as hero’s journeys? I’ve grazed the surface of these questions in other videos, like The Fantasy of Ultimate Purpose, and my video on It’s A Wonderful Life which,
among other things, explores the relation between the hero’s journey and
modern individualism. But a while back I came across a book called
Adventures Don’t Exist, written by two Dutch philosophers
who perfectly articulate and expand on everything
I wanted to say about it. Unfortunately, as of yet, the book has not
been translated into other languages, but seeing as their main thesis is built on the work of other, more widely available philosophers, I’ll make sure to refer to their references
as well. So, over the course of the next few videos,
let’s begin a new journey, let’s really dive into the principles of storytelling,
and their relation to our own identities, starting today with the fundamental difference
between stories and reality. Episode 1 - The Fundamental Difference Part 1. Foundations Up. Get up! Once there was an ordinary world, Now! in which a hero lived an ordinary life. Whether this world resembles our own,
either past or present, or if it is a more imaginative place, like a distant planet, or a fantastical realm, doesn’t really matter. What matters is that to the hero;
this is ordinary existence. After all, where else does the extraordinary emerge,
if not out of the ordinary? It is from this place that the hero is called to adventure,
to a journey into a new world. They encounter someone, or something,
that disrupts the course of their ordinary life. A mysterious stranger, a message, a peculiar object, a promise. Hey! We were saving that. For today, I guarantee it. For the call to adventure,
in whatever form it comes, implies that our hero is no longer ordinary,
but special. You're a wizard Harry. I'm a what? There is another world waiting for them,
an evil force to defeat, a universe to save. It’s a call that seems frightening at first,
and is often downright refused. You've got the wrong hobbit. Perhaps the hero feels they cannot leave their ordinary world because of various obligations within it. I can't get involved, I've got work to do. Perhaps it is because they feel they are not
brave or capable enough to live up to the task. Luckily, a mentor already familiar with the
world beyond is ready to help, What you know you can't explain,
but you feel it. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. and our hero is guided over the threshold
into the unknown. I'm going on an adventure! As you can see, these simple narrative elements
can be found in most popular stories. The beginning in the ordinary world,
the call to adventure, and the supernatural aid
guiding the would-be hero. They are the first steps in Joseph Campbell’s
Hero’s Journey. If we briefly review the rest of the circle,
we find the same goes for the other steps; the adaptation to the unfamiliar, often marked
by a period of training or investigation, the first victory and transformation, the atonement for the hero’s venturing
through the world of chaos, followed by the moment
of ultimate darkness, the moment where all hope for a safe return
and happy ending seem to be lost, the realization that changes the initial goal of the hero and marks the moment of growth and maturation, which eventually rescues them from disaster. Finally, there is the moment of return. Now a master of two worlds,
our hero is back in their ordinary world, but has found a renewed balance, and peace. While it is easy to recognize this archetypal structure in grand adventures like Star Wars, The Lord of the Rings, or Harry Potter, where the stakes are high and the heroic victories are triumphantly celebrated, it is also present in stories that seem less grand
and less adventurous. Can I buy you a drink?
- No. You say 'no' a lot, don't you?
- No. Oh boy. Take any romantic comedy for example
and there’s a good chance you’ll still find the same foundations
of the hero’s journey. In these stories, the call to adventure often
comes in the form of a mysterious stranger that propels the hero on a romantic journey. Here too we see the monomythical circle being
played out as the new couple falls in love, faces some kind of conflict
that breaks them apart for a little bit, which will soon be followed by our hero realizing something they should have known all along, and making one final effort in the name of love; a dash to the airport,
a grand romantic gesture. You know how it goes. The lovers are reunited once again,
and live happily ever after. Before we get into the analysis of the hero’s journey,
and how it relates to real life, I briefly want to address one more type of story that does seem to break from this traditional structure, and that is the tragedy. The first season of Game of Thrones starts
out pretty conventionally; there’s a heroic character by the name of Ned Stark who is presented as a man of honor and principles in an otherwise ruthless and chaotic world. The man who passes the sentence,
should swing the sword. Like any other hero, he too goes on a journey
beyond the world he knows, but whereas the hero’s journey ends
in a victorious return, Ned’s journey ends in an unexpected tragedy. It is this apparent break from traditional storytelling that made first few seasons of Game of Thrones so popular. Whereas in other stories you could be fairly
certain that the main hero, despite facing a significant conflict, wouldn’t unceremoniously die halfway along the journey, in Game of Thrones, you were never quite sure about the
fate that would befall the characters. But even here there’s a structure at the foundation,
a sort of inversion of the hero’s journey. One that goes all the way back to the ancient tragedies in which, as conceptualized by Aristotle in his Poetics, we are presented with a heroic character who goes on an adventurous journey, but instead of them claiming a victory
through transformation, they instead find their downfall through
a fundamental flaw in their character. What makes a tragic hero tragic is that they meet their fate because they are acting with good intentions. Ned Stark’s demise was set in motion because
he discovered a secret that put the honorable, yet also stubborn principles of his character
at odds with his loyalty to the king, and more generally, with the rules of
the game of thrones. When you play the game of thrones
you win, or you die. There is no middle ground. In another example, in Breaking Bad, Walter White initially starts cooking meth to pay for his cancer treatments. But his fundamental flaw of grandiosity ultimately
corrupts his journey, and he too meets his tragic fate. So while the specific journey of the tragic hero
is different from that of the triumphant one, there’s still a similar structure at the core. Except instead of the steps of the hero’s
journey leading to a victorious return, they lead to a tragic downfall. What they have in common however is that all
these steps in hero’s journey, regardless if they lead to a victorious or tragic outcome,
all serve a singular purpose, and this, at last, brings us to the fundamental difference between stories and reality. Part 2. Cosmic Purpose Knowing how most popular stories play out according to similar structural foundations, we can begin to understand why they are so fundamentally different from reality. For there is one simple, yet important element
that separates the heroic journeys of let’s say Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter, and Neo,
from those of our own, and that is that they didn’t just happen
to go on heroic journeys, they were destined to. You are the one, Neo. I've spent my entire life looking for you. They were never truly ordinary, but were already fated to become extraordinary heroes long before that first call to adventure. Luke Skywalker is the son of Darth Vader, and it is this lineage, and his subsequent special connection to the force, that made his heroic journey inevitable. The same goes for Harry Potter, whose tragic
past connected him to the main villain, and granted him extraordinary magical potential. Up! In the case of Neo, this heroic destiny is even clearer through a prophecy that explicitly states that he, and no one else, is the one. The Oracle prophesied his return. And that his coming would hail
the destruction of the Matrix. Looking at some other popular stories, we
see the same recurring trend. As a descendant of royal blood,
Simba is born to become king. As is Aragorn. As is T’Challa. It is your time to be king. Clark Kent’s innate powers destined him
to become superman. You will give the people of Earth
an ideal to strive towards. Just as Diana’s origins led to her becoming
Wonder Woman. It is form of determinism that is present
in most stories. It is there in a slightly more complicated
version in Interstellar, in which Cooper and his daughter were specifically chosen by greater forces for their parts in the adventure. Why me? And it is present in The Terminator films where the main heroes are not drawn into the adventure through random selection, but because of a pre-existing destiny that made them unique compared to anyone else. There was one man, who taught us to fight. Your son, Sarah. Your unborn son. Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines also shows
the tragic inversion of this heroic destiny, as here the story is driven by a prophecy
that promises not a hero, but a tragedy, one that despite the hero’s best efforts,
is fulfilled at the end. Our destiny was never to stop Judgement Day. It was merely to survive it. Another example of this is Anakin’s transformation into the villain Darth Vader in the Star Wars prequels. Here we have two different prophecies guiding
the course of the story, the first being that Anakin will bring balance
to the force, which initially promises a more traditional
heroic journey. But then we learn of a second, darker prophecy
as Anakin becomes plagued by visions of his wife dying, and it is because of these visions
that he grows fearful and angry, and eventually turns to the dark side. In doing so, he too ultimately fulfills
his tragic prophecy. In your anger, you killed her. But what about all the ordinary heroes? The ones who weren’t born to kings and queens,
who don’t have innate special powers, or a prophecy connected to their existence? What about the underdogs who came from nothing
and either ascended to heroism, or fell into tragedy,
by virtue of their own character? Think about the citizens who built themselves
into superheroes, or the gangsters who rose up the ranks of a criminal organization only to bring about their own downfall, or the ordinary individuals who just happened to
be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Come out to the coast, we'll get together,
have a few laughs. Or let’s look a little closer to real life,
and all the biographies of historic people; all the musicians who after a long struggle
became world-famous, all the billionaire mavericks who started out in
their garages or dorm rooms. Everyone who achieved or experienced
something extraordinary enough that we are now retelling their tales. Can it be said of all these characters that
they were destined to go on hero’s journeys? That they were never as ordinary as they appeared? In a way, yes. While none of these characters were explicitly
destined for a greater purpose, it is the very structure of the hero’s journey,
and by extension, the act of retelling it, that grants them this purpose anyways. All stories are essentially told backwards
by their very nature. They are told already knowing
where it is going to go. As such, the end is always built
into the beginning. And as a consequence, the beginning,
and the journey that follows, is always made up of selected parts
that are directly meaningful to the end. It is why everything we see the hero do is
filled with promise and purpose. And why we rarely see them spend a lot of time
doing uninteresting, ordinary, everyday things like eating, folding laundry,
or filling out tax forms. It is also why the hero never does something
awkward that significantly stumbles the journey; the soldier never sprains his ankle
and has to sit out the big battle, nor does the boxer get onset diarrhea
just before the climactic fight. Or do they? Cut my gloves off. What's wrong? I'm freaking out, ok? I'm freaking out right now,
I gotta take a shit. Little nervous? Nerves. Hurry up. Part 3. Unheroic Journeys? There are plenty of popular films that deliberately
subvert some aspects of the hero’s journey. Although, these are mostly smaller moments
that serve as unexpected twists, or as comic relief. Superhero landing, she's gonna do a superhero landing! Wait for it! There are however some popular films
that follow the hero’s journey while still providing a more meaningful
commentary on it. The ending of The Lord of the Rings for example
shows that the hero’s return isn’t always as easy and triumphant
as we might imagine it to be. Frodo finds his way back to the shire,
but truly return, he does not. It’s an ending that shows how the trauma experienced along the way isn’t always in service of some greater end, sometimes pain is just that. Another interesting example is Blade Runner 2049,
in which the main character, a replicant, comes to belief he is special,
that he is born with a unique destiny, a promise of cosmic purpose that is eventually pulled out from under him as it turns out he wasn’t special at all, You imagined it was you? and that he wasn’t going on a hero’s journey
in the way he thought he did. Star Wars The Last Jedi tried to do
a similar thing as the series’ new hero Rey was foreshadowed to be
of important ancestry, but was later revealed to be simply an ordinary individual like everyone else. You have no place in this story. You come from nothing.
You're nothing. The twist however, was undone in
The Rise of Skywalker, in which it was revealed that Rey was
of special heritage after all, and therefore, that there was some innate destiny within her being that once again made her a classical hero. There are of course more examples
of mainstream films that play around with the individual elements
of the hero’s journey, or use them for the purpose of commentary. But still, it is extremely rare for them to significantly break from the concept as a whole. For that, you really have to turn
to art-house films, which are generally more likely to interrogate and challenge the structures of traditional storytelling. But even here we find the same rules that
make these stories distinct from reality. The famous literary principle of Checkov’s
Gun for example states that every element in a story must be significant; that if you present a rifle hanging on the wall,
it has to go off at some point. Again, the end is built into the beginning. For unlike an actual gun,
Checkov’s gun exists with an innate destiny. And furthermore, even the most unconventional films cannot escape having some sort of ordering principle, as after all they are still products
that have defined boundaries, they exist within their own little universe that begins with
an opening shot, and ends with the credits. And it is within these confines that the story,
however incomprehensible it may be, is still organized with some measure of intent
and outside overview. However, if you dig far enough, you’ll certainly find experimental films that dismiss the idea of purposeful storytelling altogether. And although these films can be really interesting
and meaningful for a lot of people, it is telling that these structurally chaotic and unheroic films never really break into the mainstream, nor do they truly become part of
our collective subconscious. And besides, as Ernest Hemmingway once pointed out; even in stories that seems to be made up of insignificant, incoherent elements, people will still project meaningful patterns
on them anyways. It seems as if there is a part of us that
desires the purposeful structure of adventures, that wants stories to be meaningful,
heroic journeys. That longs for that innate destiny. But why? Part 4. Stories vs. Reality Now that we’ve discussed how most popular stories, unlike our own lives, unfold according to an archetypal structure in which every character trait that we’re shown, every effort that is made,
every event that is experienced, every victory, every defeat,
every step along the way, tends to be imbued with an inherent sense
of purpose, we can also see what makes them
so appealing. It’s obviously comforting to believe that our lives too are ordered according to meaningful principles, that everything we do is significant
to a greater purpose, and that it will all work out in the end. But stories are ordered from the beginning
in a way that we can only do by virtue of hindsight, by looking back afterwards and trying to make sense of everything that came prior. Therefore, when we recount our own lives as stories,
as we so often tend to do, we are basically fictionalizing what really was. Take historical biographies for example, here it becomes especially clear that people’s lives are never retold as they truly were. In fact, events are often misrepresented,
shuffled around, or made up altogether to ensure that every part of the story becomes directly meaningful, purposeful, to the greater end. It is why, as many others have pointed out, that musical biographies all tend to feel the same, even though the real-life stories are all unique and are often times barely comparable to each other. We love you! It is also the reason that we can now look at certain historical figures and say that they were indeed born to do what they do, that they were made for greatness, or that they were doomed for tragedy. All this is not to diminish or undermine any
real life accomplishments, but the point is that when we retell these stories,
we fundamentally separate them from reality. And because of this, we tend to mistakenly create the illusion that whatever goal was achieved, whatever outcome got materialized, was already, in a way,
destined from the start. And that everything along the way was directly
meaningful to this end. And this, of course, is not how we experience
our own lives. We live looking forward without knowing what
end, if any, is built into our actions. We can act with a certain goal in mind, but we never have the security that the actions we take towards that goal will actually bring us closer to it. Even if there is a pre-determined meaning
to what we do, we don’t have access to it until we are once again looking backwards. Still, it seems that, more than ever,
we are obsessed with heroic adventures. Not just as stories in films, but also as
expectations in our own lives. We are increasingly occupied with turning
our lives into adventures. We want our lives to be exciting and memorable. At the very least, we want them to be meaningful. We want them to have some sense of coherence. And we tend to retell our stories as such. As if we are the heroes of our own cosmic adventures
in which every experience is framed as significant, as a stepping stone to some greater purpose. Why is storytelling so closely related to
our own personal identities? How exactly does the hero’s journey impact
who we are, and how we see ourselves? And how does it affect our society as a whole? There are many important questions left to explore, and we will get to that. Next time. To be continued. In my upcoming video, I am going to further explore the monomyth that lies at the basis of most of our storytelling, and how it relates to our own lives. In that video, I’ll be specifically examining
the history of the heroic adventure, and how, over time, it became not just the basis of
our stories, but also of our personal identities. In the meantime, if you want to learn more
about the hero’s journey I highly recommend you check out Joseph Campbell’s The Hero With A Thousand Faces on Audible, the world’s largest audiobook service. Here you can also find other great books of
his like Myths to Live By and Goddesses, to further your understanding of the stories
that connect us. With the Audible app, you can listen to audiobooks
anytime, anywhere, and on any device. And if you go to Audible.com/likestoriesofold,
or text likestoriesofold to 500 500, you can do so as well with a 30-day Audible trial
that let’s you listen to one audiobook, and 2 Audible Originals, for free. So if you want to dive deeper into the work
of Joseph Campbell, or simply explore Audible’s vast collection
of audiobooks, be sure to check out Audible.com/likestoriesofold,
or text likestoriesofold to 500 500, and start listening today.
