The Matrix (2009) © Village Roadshow Pictures An unexpected challenge When the kind invitation arrived from the Joseph Campbell Foundation to write a second MythBlast for the year—this time on the archetype of the Prophet—my heart immediately answered: “Yes.” How hard could it be? I thought. Naively, I assumed the archetype would simply reveal itself. Of course, the wise folks at the Foundation knew better. I would learn quickly. Almost immediately, two powerful narratives surfaced from my unconscious, each carrying its own prophetic figure. The first was The Matrix  (1999), a landmark of science fiction, philosophy, and action that had somehow eluded me for twenty-five years. The second was The Chosen  (2017-present), a series that portrays the life of Jesus with unusual freshness and emotional intimacy. One figure resists his prophetic destiny; the other seems born into it. Between Neo and Jesus, the Prophet archetype unfolded in contrasting, yet complementary, ways. The reluctant prophet: Neo’s red pill In The Matrix, Neo’s (Keanu Reeves) journey begins not with divine annunciation but with existential doubt. A hacker haunted by the sense that reality is not what it seems, he is offered a fateful choice by Morpheus (Laurence Fishburne): the blue pill, to remain in comforting illusion, or the red pill, to awaken to the truth. He chooses the latter—and is thrust into a dystopian world where humanity is enslaved by machines. Morpheus hails him as “The One,” the prophesied liberator destined to manipulate the Matrix and free humanity. Yet Neo’s first response is denial. Like many mythic heroes, he refuses the call. Prophetic identity is rarely accepted lightly; it entails the weight of collective expectation, an often crushing responsibility. As the trilogy unfolds, Neo must die to his old self to embrace his role fully. He becomes a prophet not because he seeks to be, but because reality—and the community around him—demand it. His path echoes Campbell’s monomyth: the refusal of the call, descent into the unknown, and eventual return, transformed. Neo’s prophetic power emerges through hard-won self-knowledge and sacrifice, not predestination. After all, is he really The One? The predestined prophet: Jesus in The Chosen In contrast, Jesus’ story as portrayed in The Chosen  begins with a divine message. In the Gospel of Luke, the angel Gabriel announces to Mary that she will bear a son destined to be called “the Son of the Most High.” Unlike Neo, Jesus’ identity as a prophet is proclaimed before his birth. This series captivated me in a way that The Matrix  never had. Perhaps because, as an Italian-Brazilian raised in a Christian cultural landscape, this story is etched into my spiritual passport. The Chosen  brings a sense of intimacy and immediacy to a narrative known by billions. It depicts Jesus not as a distant figure of doctrine but as a living, breathing presence—both deeply human and unmistakably numinous. Jonathan Roumie’s portrayal of Jesus carries the quiet authority of one who knows his path and accepts it fully —except, of course, at the profoundly human moment of the crucifixion, when he cries out, “Father, why have you abandoned me?”. His prophetic destiny is not the result of resistance overcome but of a mission embraced. This portrayal captures the essence of the prophet as vessel—one who allows a larger message to flow through, often at great personal cost. The Chosen (2017 - Present) © 5&2 Studios Prophets and the Self In Psychological Types  (636), Carl Jung writes that prophets, like heroes and saviors, express the Self—the archetype of wholeness that encompasses both the known and the unknown dimensions of the psyche. Prophetic figures are therefore not just religious leaders or seers; they are symbolic manifestations of the human capacity to perceive, embody, and transmit larger truths. The prophet stands at a threshold between the visible and invisible worlds. Sometimes this role is embraced willingly; sometimes it is thrust upon the individual. Neo embodies the reluctant prophet who must grow into his role through trials and transformations. Jesus embodies the predestined prophet who enters the world already carrying the message of who he is. Both reveal, in different ways, the psychological tension between individual development and collective expectation. Joseph Campbell often emphasized that mythological archetypes are not distant relics but living patterns within us. Each of us may, at times, be called to a prophetic stance—to speak uncomfortable truths, to see further than those around us, or to bear a vision that others cannot yet grasp, often at great personal cost. The shadow of the Prophet Prophetic vision is not without danger. When the search for truth becomes rigid or disconnected from reality, the prophet archetype can darken. Jung warns that archetypes carry both creative and destructive potentials; the prophet’s certainty can inspire transformation—or delusion. Neo ultimately dissolves the prophecy that burdens him, choosing a self-sacrifice that frees both humanity and himself from the weight of expectation. Jesus, in contrast, walks knowingly toward his crucifixion, carrying the prophetic path to its ultimate extreme. In a sense, they embody what some Jungian analysts, such as psychiatrist David Rosen, term egocide —a symbolic sacrifice of the ego, relinquishing what is obsolete in service of a higher principle. These two narratives, therefore, illuminate the paradoxical nature of the prophetic calling: it can liberate or bind, inspire or isolate, depending on how the vision is borne. Living the archetype Prophetic figures remind us that transformation often begins with vision—sometimes reluctant, sometimes embraced. Whether we identify more with Neo’s hesitant steps or with Jesus’ steadfast mission, the archetype invites us to listen to the deeper currents of the psyche and the world. Campbell once wrote, “The very cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for” ( A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living , 24). For prophets, that cave is often the unknown future—the space where their vision collides with collective destiny. To enter it is to risk everything; to avoid it is to deny the call. Prophetic figures remind us that transformation often begins with vision—sometimes reluctant, sometimes embraced. In our turbulent times, the Prophet archetype whispers still, calling individuals and communities to see differently, speak courageously, and act with integrity. Whether we accept or resist, the call itself is part of the journey. MythBlast authored by: Monica Martinez is a Brazilian writer, researcher, and professor whose work bridges communication, narrative, and Jungian psychology. She holds a Ph.D. from the University of São Paulo (ECA-USP) and postdoctoral degrees from UMESP and Universidade Fernando Pessoa (Portugal), exploring how stories shape identity, transformation, and social change. A clinical psychologist and Jungian analyst trained by IJEP, she maintains a private practice in São Paulo. Martinez teaches at the University of Sorocaba (Uniso) and coordinates the JORLIT research group on Literary Journalism and Transformative Narratives. She has authored several books and articles on literary journalism and psychological storytelling. Mother of Laura, 28, she believes in the enduring magic of narratives to heal, guide, and renew the human spirit. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Prophet. Latest Podcast C.J. Macias is a big wave surfer, healer, and teacher whose life feels as mythic as it is deeply human. Featured in HBO’s Emmy Award–winning series 100 Foot Wave, C.J.’s journey stretches from the beaches of Florida, where he first surfed with his dad, to Nazaré, Portugal, home of the largest waves on earth. Along the way he has faced devastating wipeouts, near-death moments, and the kind of initiations that strip life down to its essence. In 100 Foot Wave, we witness not only the danger and beauty of Nazaré, but also the brotherhood among surfers, the intimate dance with fear, and the transformation that comes from surrendering to the ocean’s immense power. In this conversation, we explore C.J.’s path, his call to big waves with Garrett McNamara, his evolving relationship with fear and the unknown, the ocean as teacher, and how Joseph Campbell’s vision of myth resonates with his own path. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "The very cave you are afraid to enter turns out to be the source of what you are looking for” -- Joseph Campbell A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living , 24      Kundalini Yoga: The God Syllable "AUM" See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

The Hunt for Red October (1990) © Paramount Pictures “Jack! Boy! Get yourself in here!” Admiral Greer (James Earl Jones) heartily greets Jack Ryan (Alec Baldwin) as they meet in the admiral’s office. After some banter, Greer continues, “What’s important enough to get you on a plane in the middle of the night?” These lines occur minutes into the beginning of John McTiernan’s The Hunt for Red October  (1990), a taut thriller about a renegade Russian nuclear submarine, set in the Cold War era. Together, they set the tone not only for establishing Ryan’s character in the film but also for how I would like to analyze him as a form of the prophet archetype.  Sometimes a prophet appears in a form we’re not expecting. So often we associate prophetic powers with old age, in what Jung identifies as the senex archetype—embodying wisdom gained through life experience. The word senex  means “old man” (although it applies equally across all genders), and its opposing archetype is the young puer . As James Hillman notes, these two “personify the poles of tradition, stasis, structure, and authority on one side, and immediacy, wandering, invention and idealism on the other. The senex consolidates, grounds, and disciplines; the puer flashes with insight and thrives on fantasy and creativity” ( Senex and Puer , x). Holding these two poles in equilibrium is no easy task, but doing so enables Jack Ryan, particularly in his expression of the prophet, to become the hero in this film. The reluctant seer: intuition in a world of data Ryan is a CIA analyst specializing in Soviet naval affairs. His innate acumen, analytical skills, and deductive abilities allow him to infer the capabilities of the Soviets’ latest creation: a submarine (the Red October ) that can run virtually silent, evading the United States’ sonar capabilities. Ryan’s intuition from his synthesis of the intelligence reports lead to his middle-of-the-night plane flight from the UK to Washington to present Greer with an ominous evaluation—this sub could rain nuclear destruction onto the US before its military could respond. A key revelation of Ryan’s prophetic powers occurs when Greer asks him to give a precis to a meeting of top US naval and intelligence officials. New information has revealed that the Soviets believe Captain Ramius (Sean Connery), the commander of Red October , has gone rogue. While the top officials in the room interpret Ramius’s unsanctioned course toward American waters as a hostile maneuver, Ryan alone rejects the consensus, seeing this as a calculated bid for freedom and insisting that Ramius intends to defect. Ryan’s conviction stems not from tangible evidence, but from an almost instinctive understanding of Ramius’s character, gleaned from studying the captain’s personal history and psychological profile. This moment underscores Ryan’s prophetic ability to read between the lines of cold data, discerning the human story beneath the strategic noise. Ryan reluctantly agrees to get near the action of the hunt and flies to the aircraft carrier Enterprise . He once again embodies the prophet by deducing that the US submarine Dallas  is the closest to Red October , and he asks to be placed aboard her. Moreover, Ryan divines how Ramius intends to get the crew to exit the submarine while he and the other officers (complicit in the defection) can escape. All of this intuiting, strategizing, and action leads to the finale of the film (no spoilers) where the true test of Jack Ryan’s prophet occurs: the confrontation of the US with the Soviets. Joseph Campbell, in his conversation with Bill Moyers, relates one of the powerful themes of Star Wars —Vader’s loss of humanity in his cyborg form—with the problem he saw as ever-increasingly in modern society: the overreliance on technology (and its accompanying materialism and rationalism). The prophetic power of intuition, he claims, is even more at risk than ever before: “Technology is not going to save us. Our computers, our tools, our machines are not enough. We have to rely on our intuition, our true being” ( The Power of Myth , xiii). Later in their discussions, Campbell relates the myth of the Greek prophet Tiresias, who had experienced life as both male and female, to the correlation of intuition with the inner balance: “There’s a good point there—when your eyes are closed to distracting phenomena, you’re in your intuition … [Tiresias] represented symbolically the fact of the unity of the two” (252). In other words, Campbell saw the need for the prophet in all of us to gain ascendency as part of our human birthright and ongoing evolution. I would argue that another unity that fosters intuition is the senex-puer. Balancing the scales: the senex-puer synthesis in action Ryan’s puer is constantly being reinscribed by others in the film—from Greer’s opening (though affectionate) “Boy!” greeting, to his youth contrasted with the much older military and intelligence brass during his precis on Red October , to another aging admiral (played by Fred Dalton Thompson) referring to Ryan as “that kid.” However, Ryan’s unity of the puer and the senex is the key to his version of the prophet archetype. The prophet receives their unique insight or "message" through moments of sudden inspiration, intuition, and visionary capacity—the classic traits related to Hermes or Dionysus. This connection provides the imagination, creativity, and radical idealism needed to envision a different future or a higher truth, often challenging the status quo. The puer provides the spark and the "sense of destiny and mission" that drives the prophet. To be effective, the prophet must articulate their vision in a way that can be understood and implemented in the real world. This requires the structure, discipline, responsibility, and groundedness of the senex, associated with Saturn and the reality principle. The senex provides the authority and the capacity for ordered thinking necessary to consolidate the initial "flash" of insight into a coherent message and to endure the resistance that often accompanies radical change. A prophet who is all puer might have many visions but be unable to communicate them effectively or bring them into concrete reality, remaining an eternal dreamer. A prophet who is all senex might be a rigid, authoritarian figure obsessed with maintaining traditional structures, lacking the creative spark to offer new, transformative insights. The balanced prophet integrates the puer's imaginative flight with the senex's grounding, creating a figure who is both a visionary and a credible authority. the most effective prophets are those who can dance on the edge of order and chaos From insight to impact: the prophet’s dance between vision and actualization Ryan’s journey from reluctant analyst to accidental hero illustrates the essential alchemy of the prophet: the ability to harness the visionary energy of youthful inspiration while tempering it with the discipline of mature judgment. In this balance, Ryan not only prevents an international incident but also models the psychological integration that depth psychologists like Jung and Hillman argue is vital for true leadership and transformation. His story reminds us that prophecy is not merely about foreseeing the future, but about bridging the gap between revelation and reality—a task that requires both the structured wisdom of the old and the daring imagination of the young. Ultimately, Ryan’s character reveals that the most effective prophets are those who can dance on the edge of order and chaos, using the senex’s clarity to give form to the puer’s flashes of genius to reshape the world. MythBlast authored by: Scott Neumeister, PhD  is a literary scholar, author, TEDx speaker, mythic pathfinder and Editor of the MythBlast series from Tampa, Florida, where he earned his PhD in English from the University of South Florida in 2018. His specialization in multiethnic American literature and mythology comes after careers as an information technology systems engineer and a teacher of English and mythology at the middle school and college levels. Scott coauthored Let Love Lead: On a Course to Freedom with Gary L. Lemons and Susie Hoeller, and he has served as a facilitator for the Joseph Campbell Foundation’s Myth and Meaning book club at Literati. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Prophet. Latest Podcast In this bonus lecture from Campbell’s early WNDT days, The Shaman and the Priest, he contrasts two ancient spiritual lineages: the lone visionary who gains power through ordeal, and the priest who serves the continuity of the community. Moving from Paleolithic hunters to Pueblo rituals, he shows how these twin archetypes shape cultures—and the inner life of each of us. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "Technology is not going to save us. Our computers, our tools, our machines are not enough. We have to rely on our intuition, our true being." -- Joseph Campbell The Power of Myth , xiii      Emerging Mythology Q&A See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Jonathan Glazer’s The Zone of Interest  (2023) rattled me so thoroughly that I found myself returning twice more to the same theater where I first witnessed it—in December 2023—as if to the site of a haunting. Many films wrestle with the problem of evil, but very few are worthy of being labeled a cinematic theodicy. Cinema, and its sister arts, have reckoned with how—or whether—it is even possible to depict the Holocaust. A genocide of debased brutality on an industrial scale that defies our everyday comprehension, the “Final Solution” enacted by the Third Reich between 1942 and 1945 resists the capacities of art to render or contain. The unflinching realism of Tim Blake Nelson’s The Grey Zone  (2001) and the ultimately redemptive arc of Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List  (1993) offer two distinct attempts to place the Shoah within a celluloid frame. The Zone of Interest  aspires, through the plasticity of filmmaking itself, to alchemize a mythic image of prophecy (Spoiler alert). A prophetic heritage The Western world is the inheritance of the prophets. From the admonitions of the Hebrew scriptures to the political theater of today, the prophet archetype is ever-present: the one who sees what others refuse to see, crying out from the margins, whose voice unsettles the comfortable. Prophetic voices become cultural forces unto themselves—not limited to religion, but emerging in moments of moral emergency. American history is punctuated by this: from John Brown and Frederick Douglass, to the twinned prophetic voices of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X—Gemini-like in their shared purpose but divergent methods.  Europe produced its own secular prophets, from Nietzsche’s proclamations of the death of God to Marx’s vision of revolutionary upheaval and Jung’s warnings of psychic fragmentation. And, in the darkest of incarnations, Adolf Hitler demonstrates the catastrophic perversion of prophetic charisma. Mein Kampf , fevered and deranged, nevertheless functioned as a prophetic text whose visions were enacted with genocidal precision. Ambivalence defines Joseph Campbell’s relationship to the Prophet. In an early essay, he cautioned that “overwhelmed by his own muse, a bad poet may fall into the posture of a prophet—whose utterances we shall define (for the present) as ‘poetry overdone,’ overinterpreted—whereupon he becomes the founder of a cult and the generator of priests” ( The Mythic Dimension , 25). From Creative Mythology  onward, however, his tone shifted to an optimistic insistence that “all mythic images are rendered by what are called seers or prophets; today we would call them artists. The artist is one who’s opened the eye of vision and sees past the phenomenal forms to the morphological principles that animate them, and then renders them to us ( Myth and Meaning , 168).” Campbell’s evolution is instructive for reading Glazer’s film. If the modern artist inherits the prophetic mantle, then cinema—at its most daring—can perform the prophetic function: to pierce ordinary perception, and to mythologically disrupt linear time.  If the modern artist inherits the prophetic mantle, then cinema—at its most daring—can perform the prophetic function Zones of interest: filmmaking as oracle The Zone of Interest  positions us not inside a mythic underworld, but at its perimeter. From the chilling vantage point of Auschwitz’s “neighbor,” we traverse the household of its kommandant, SS Obersturmbannführer Rudolf Höss, and his family. Glazer moves through three distinct cinematic modes that shape our perception, conditioning us for the film’s final, prophetic rupture in time. The first technique is rendered with the flat, affectless clarity of surveillance footage—what I think of as “Ring Camera realism.” Glazer portrays evil not through slaughters or ideological tirades, but through the numbing rhythms of suburban middle-class routines. It would be easier if Höss (personally responsible for the slaughter of over one million Jews, gypsies, queer and disabled people) resembled a hydra or Oceanic sea-beast—as if evil only ever announced itself with grotesquery or supernatural aura. He is life-sized, unfortunately human . The dreams of Rudolf and Hedwig Höss, couched though they are in the specific Nazi ideology of Lebensraum , are nevertheless, and queasily, recognizable: a comfortable house, a pool in the backyard, a jungle gym for the kids. Glazer’s camera asks, with prophetic disquiet, How different are these people from us? The second aesthetic is that of sensory disturbance. Glazer introduces slow-dissolving images—flowers and other shapes that bloom and fade—paired with a soundscape that is less score than lamentation from composer Mica Levi. These sequences are impressionistic prophecies that refuse spectacle yet summon horror through absence.  Filmed with night-vision technology, the third mode follows a young, Polish servant girl of the Höss household. In a mythic gesture to Hansel and Gretel , she leaves literal breadcrumbs, small offerings of sustenance for the prisoners at surrounding labor sites—a quarry, a railroad junction. Neither prophet nor savior, she is simply a human being who enacts a minor defiance against the machinery of death. A reminder that even in the darkest architectures of violence, some refused to avert their eyes and turned towards care, however small. These modes—domestic realism, abstract sensory disturbance, and nocturnal resistance—work in concert. Without these preparatory movements, the film’s final rupture would arrive as mere gimmick. With them, it lands as revelation. A cleft in cronos: myth, history, and the visionary Telephoning his wife (annoyed at being awoken from sleep) during a banquet at which he is so bored all he can think about is how he would go about gassing the Nazi Party guests with Zyklon B, Hoss informs her of his grand achievement. Heinrich Himmler and Adolf Eichmann have drawn up a plan called Aktion Höss. During this namesake Operation, he will oversee the deportation and liquidation of nearly half of Hungary's Jews (some 420,000) in little over two months; in terms of the rapidity and efficiency of the killing, it is one of the most extraordinary crimes of the Holocaust. He then descends a bureaucratic staircase.  Midway down, he begins dry heaving, but is incapable of actually vomiting. For the first time, a crack appears in his impenetrable psychopathy. At the base of the stairs, he pauses before a corridor, illuminated only by a small, distant light. He gazes toward it, and, without warning, time dislocates. As if through a mystic portal, we have slipped into present-day Auschwitz, preserved as a museum and memorial. The lighting is fluorescent, an atmosphere sterile in its reverence. Custodial staff mop the crematoria floors and vacuum hallways where mountainous piles of shoes, suitcases, and other relics of lives extinguished are displayed. Following these caretakers of memory, we are watching history’s afterlife. The living perform the quiet, repetitive labor of remembrance, preserving the traces of those whom Höss sought to eradicate.  Several minutes elapse, and Höss stands exactly where we left him, staring into the cinematic void. Was this glimpse into the future a prophetic vision thrust upon him, or does the rupture belong to us? One reading is that despite his bureaucratic efficiency and pride in the machinery of extermination, history will instead preserve the memory of his victims. Or, is Glazer showcasing, through cinematic quietude, how the power of memory itself can withstand even the most violent attempts at erasure? Prophecy, in The Zone Interest, incarnates not as redemption or justice, but as endurance.  If ancient prophets warned their communities of impending disaster, Glazer uses cinema to warn us against the numbing of perception—against the normalization of evil through proximity and routine. Cinema itself becomes the medium of prophecy. Campbell’s later claim that the modern artist inherits the role of the prophet feels especially resonant here. If the artist, as Campbell writes, “opens the eye of vision” and “renders it to us” ( Myth and Meaning , 168), then Glazer’s film is an act of prophetic seeing: it forces us to confront not the spectacle of genocide, but the structures that enable its horrible invisibility. Prophecy, in myth, arrives through dreams, visions, or sudden fissures in time. The Zone of Interest  offers one such cleft in chronos—but it does not grant closure. It leaves us suspended between genocide’s occurrence and remembrance. The light at the end of the corridor remains distant, a cloud of unknowing where myth and history brush against each other but refuse integration. As the credits roll and Levi’s score wails into the dark, we are left uncertain as to whether we have glimpsed a warning, a judgment, or, maybe, the prophetic persistence of memory. Glazer’s film obliquely, yet stirringly, asks the question to all of us modern-day mythmakers: might mythology itself be the work of being the custodian of the world’s memory? MythBlast authored by: Teddy Hamstra  is a writer and seeker in Los Angeles. He is the recipient of a PhD from the University of Southern California, where he completed and successfully defended a dissertation entitled 'Enchantment as a Form of Care: Joseph Campbell and the Power of Mysticism.' Recently, Teddy has been working for the Joseph Campbell Foundation, spearheading their Research & Development efforts. As an educator and research consultant for creatives, Teddy is driven to communicate the wonder of mythological wisdom in ways that are both accessible to, and which enliven, our contemporary world. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Prophet. Latest Podcast C.J. Macias is a big wave surfer, healer, and teacher whose life feels as mythic as it is deeply human. Featured in HBO’s Emmy Award–winning series 100 Foot Wave, C.J.’s journey stretches from the beaches of Florida, where he first surfed with his dad, to Nazaré, Portugal, home of the largest waves on earth. Along the way he has faced devastating wipeouts, near-death moments, and the kind of initiations that strip life down to its essence. In 100 Foot Wave, we witness not only the danger and beauty of Nazaré, but also the brotherhood among surfers, the intimate dance with fear, and the transformation that comes from surrendering to the ocean’s immense power. In this conversation, we explore C.J.’s path, his call to big waves with Garrett McNamara, his evolving relationship with fear and the unknown, the ocean as teacher, and how Joseph Campbell’s vision of myth resonates with his own path. Listen Here This Week's Highlights “All mythic images are rendered by what are called seers or prophets; today we would call them artists. The artist is one who’s opened the eye of vision and sees past the phenomenal forms to the morphological principles that animate them, and then renders them to us.” -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 168      The Virgin Birth See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

One Battle After Another (2025) Warner Brothers Pictures. “In choosing your god, you choose your way of looking at the universe. There are plenty of Gods. Choose yours.”   –  Joseph Campbell , A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living How do we choose our god?  I think about this question when I accompany my mother, a devout Catholic, to Mass. I am not a pious person. But whenever I’m in the Philippines, I stand in the congregation with her, understanding that the vehicle that has guided her choice is her priest. Her Prophet.  In mythology, Joseph Campbell provides a framework for the Prophet archetype and how it fits into the Hero’s Journey. The Prophet is often a charismatic leader who speaks with divine authority. They are resolute in their conviction, bucking societal norms and, in turn, facing opposition to their proffered gospel. The Prophet asks for trust, loyalty, and eventually, absolute devotion from their followers and subsequently the Hero. When the Hero enters their orbit, they must either refuse or accept the Prophet’s Call to Adventure.    A number of Paul Thomas Anderson’s films, particularly The Master  (2012) and his most recent outing, One Battle After Another  (2025), exemplify modern adaptations of this framework. The Heroes of each story encounter a Prophet. And it’s up to each Hero to decide whether to follow this Prophet, and ultimately, choose their god. The Prophet asks for trust, loyalty, and eventually, absolute devotion from their followers and subsequently the Hero. The Master and the false prophet “Go to that landless latitude, and good luck. For if you figure a way to live without serving a master, any master, then let the rest of us know, will you? For you'd be the first person in the history of the world."    – Lancaster Dodd, The Master In The Master , Lancaster Dodd (Philip Seymour Hoffman), personifies the quintessential Prophet. He is the resolute leader of the Cause, a group that offers a path to perfection — a system meant to relieve humanity of its traumas and modern vices through connecting with past lives.   Our Hero, Freddie Quell (Joaquin Phoenix), is a wandering alcoholic battling the trauma of lost love amidst the aftermath of World War II. During his fumbling journey, Quell stumbles, literally, upon his Prophet. After a night of heavy drinking, he wakes up on a boat where he meets Dodd: “This your ship?” Quell asks through bloodshot eyes.  “I’m its commander, yes,” Dodd replies.   “Where’s it goin?” Our Hero’s curiosity reflects his willingness to consider the Prophet’s Call to Adventure. He joins Dodd’s legion, perhaps out of need, but whether he truly embraces Dodd’s teachings is unclear. He oftentimes seems reluctant or confused.  Quell does, however, unequivocally accept Dodd. Dodd provides Quell with purpose and direction. And even when he doesn’t understand the Cause or its teachings, Quell defends Dodd against every challenger — he provides beatdowns of an outside naysayer and a fellow Cause member who criticizes Dodd’s work.  In the context of the Hero’s journey, though, Dodd fails to convince Quell that his path and his god can save him. Quell reverts back to his directionless life. This failure suggests that the Prophet’s role, at least here, is not to lead the Hero to the Prophet’s god, but to enable the Hero to choose his own path and his own god.   One battle after another’s true prophet “No fear. Just like Tom fuckin' Cruise.”  – Sergio St. Carlo, One Battle After Another “ Sensei!” Our Hero in One Battle After Another  immediately embraces his Prophet, showing reverence via the continual uttering of the Sensei moniker. A burnt out revolutionary, Bob Ferguson (Leonard DiCaprio) finds himself on a frantic search to save his daughter from the sins of his past. He is as equally lost as the Master’s Freddie Quell and finds solace in Sergio St. Carlo (Benicio Del Toro), his daughter’s martial arts instructor.  St. Carlo hits the qualities of the Prophet in similar ways to Lancaster Dodd in The Master  – he is the de facto leader of a community. He is eccentric, wise, and stalwart in his demeanor. He leads a community that protects undocumented immigrants. His god is the belief in maintaining his people’s humanity in the face of a violent challenger, his own government. His god is protection, and he applies this philosophy to help Bob provide the same blanket to his daughter.  Ferguson’s acceptance of Sergio as his Prophet, the handing over of his fate to the Sensei’s philosophy of courage and fearlessness, proves vital to the success of his journey. Like the Mentor/Teacher archetype, Bob and Sergio eventually split, with Bob equipped with the fortitude (and shotgun) he needs to save his daughter.  Where St. Carlo succeeds and where Dodd fails is St. Carlo’s willingness to allow his Hero the opportunity to continue towards his own path. Dodd believes his way is the only way. When St. Carlo and Ferguson split, St. Carlo informs him that Ferguson is now going to be on his own — Ferguson balks, and St. Carlo physically has to throw Bob out of his car.  One Battle After Another ’s Prophet, then, succeeds in signifying what a true Prophet can do for its Hero: facilitate him on his journey, provide him with the groundwork he needs, and to allow him the space to follow his own path, on his journey to god. For Bob, god is the rescuing of his daughter, and with St. Carlo’s help, he sees this through to the film’s spectacular end. All roads lead to your own “You can't ask somebody to give The Reason, but you can find one for yourself; you decide what the meaning of your life is to be.”  – An Open Life: Joseph Campbell in Conversation with Michael Toms For Campbell,   The Prophet is merely a guide. Through his work and words, he suggests that this guide leads you only to where you need to be on your journey.  In The Master , Dodd as Prophet leads his Hero to a new beginning. Although Dodd’s philosophy did not save Quell, it did bring him to the true beginning of his adventure. Only upon Quell’s rejection of Dodd as Prophet does he finally embark on his journey, his path. Perhaps his god remains unknown, but his Call to Adventure is firmly answered.    By contrast, In One Battle After Another , St. Carlo leads Bob to his path but then lets go. The Hero answers the Call to Adventure without hesitation, and his Prophet takes him only so far as is necessary to let him choose where to go next.  Regardless of a Hero’s rejection or acceptance of their teachings, the Prophet ultimately leads his Hero to a critical juncture. The rest of their journey, how they choose their path or their god, is up to them.  MythBlast authored by: R.A. Noble is a writer and attorney based in Brooklyn, New York. He is the author of the chapbook  Asymptotes: On Closeness  and the short story  Post-Colonial Poop . His forthcoming novella Barbarians of Batangas will be published in November 2025 by Bad Words Press. His first short play co-written with the artist Kyle Wilhite entitled This Is How You Fall in Love , will debut November 2025 at Under St. Marks Theater in New York.  This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Prophet. Latest Podcast In this episode, we present audio from two rare televised lectures from Joseph Campbell’s early public-broadcast career — Dead Sea Scrolls and No God but God — originally aired on WNDT in New York in the early 1960s. In these archival recordings, Campbell traces humanity’s spiritual crossroads — from Paleolithic caves and Near Eastern temples to the Essene community at Qumran and the dawn of apocalyptic thought. He examines the Dead Sea Scrolls as the voice of a community bracing for the end of days, and explores how Greek philosophy, Persian dualism, Hebrew prophecy, and emerging Christian teachings collided and transformed one another. Broadcast decades before The Power of Myth, these talks capture Campbell in a more structured, scholarly television mode — yet still pulsing with the fire of myth, history, and spiritual imagination. A window into the mythic ferment before the birth of Western religious consciousness — and a glimpse of Campbell before he became a household name. Host Bradley Olson offers an introduction and commentary at the end of the lecture. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "You really can't follow a guru. You can't ask somebody to give The Reason, but you can find one for yourself; you decide what the meaning of your life is to be." -- Joseph Campbell An Open Life: Joseph Campbell in Conversation with Michael Toms , 110      Kundalini Yoga: Crown Chakra — Becoming One with the Beloved See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Arrival (2016) © Paramount Pictures The power of mythology is, among other things, its ability to serve as a platform for the creative spirit. It provides people with a sense of their origins, for example through its narratives around the roots and foundations of the cosmos and the world, and tales of a society’s emergence or demise. Myth expresses humanity’s courageous adventures to overcome the weight of the past through trials and tribulations that has led us to the present.  Another power of mythology is its role as a medium of foresight and creative thinking about the future. Many of the most resonating narratives in mythology have a focus on expressing society’s collective fears and aspirations for the future. In doing so, myths serve as an active charter, setting a forward-looking vision infused with trials and tribulations that unfold along the path, en route to transformation of the individual, the collective and the world. One way among others that mythology does this is via the use of prophets and prophesies — narratives around potential futures that embrace the power of foresight, usually generated from supernatural or otherworldly powers of insight. With society today experiencing far-reaching change, this future-facing aspect of mythology has risen in prominence in the body of modern mythmaking. This can be seen in film, for example, a main medium for envisaging planetary and societal futures. An excellent case in point is Arrival  (Villeneuve 2016), which uses mythological motifs as inspiration to rethink the future, glimpsing new forms of connectivity between people, planet and cosmos, and solutions to modern existential dilemmas. Arrival  focuses on the peaceful landing on Earth of the Heptapods . These are   a mysterious extra-terrestrial species who resemble a mix of cephalopods (octopi, squids, etc) and humans, reminiscent of the theriantropic half-animal, half-human figures that have played such a lead role in mythology historically.  The lead human character in the film, the linguist Dr. Louise Banks (Amy Adams), eventually deciphers their language, and through conversing with them is able to learn the purpose of their visit to Earth — to relay to humanity a prophecy that 3000 years from now the Heptapods will depend on our support for their survival. The full nature of their future existential crisis, how humanity could be in a position to get them through it, or indeed the full nature of the Human-Heptapod future relationship, is left to the imagination. But their prophetic message goes further. Characteristic of the classic prophet archetype, the Heptapods convey an unwelcome truth — that the reason they are showing up now is that the future of humanity itself will face an existential risk in the imminent future, and that humanity must change its trajectory if we and our cosmic neighbours are to avoid devastation or extinction. The nature of this crisis on future Earth is likewise not elaborated, with one left to infer possible causes, whether the spectre of further world wars, runaway ecological decline, etc. Arrival  combines a rich tapestry of symbolic language and imagery, together with the power of prophecy and future thinking to motivate those in the film and today’s real world human collective to act and change in the present. The following are three mythic insights which I took away from the film.  Singularity and consciousness The relation between time and consciousness has been an enduring topic of mythology across cultures and eras. As noted by Campbell repeatedly in The Power of Myth , “Eternity is that dimension of here and now that thinking in temporal terms cuts out” (84); “The concept of time shuts out eternity” (280); “The experience of eternity right here and now … is the function of life” (85). The film Arrival  does an amazing job of delving into this. In particular, it explores ways in which language shapes thought and perception, particularly around time and how we experience it. As noted above, the Heptapods come with a prophetic message about the future, both theirs and ours. But it is the nature of their language from where the breakthrough really happens.  The Heptapods communicate through a black ink-type material jettisoned from the tips of their tentacles, forming circle-based characters that float in the air like a dark grainy mist, for just a brief moment before disappearing. Each “logograph’ represents non-linear symbolic visualizations of concepts, rather than being mere characters in an alphabet. The circularity and singularity embedded in the Heptapod language reminded me of  (aum), which, as Campbell noted, represents the cycle of life with three sub-dimensions of the character — representing creation, sustenance and death — and a fourth dimension being the silence underlying the three, from where the cycle emerges and to where it returns. In expressing the sound of the character one connects with this reality and realization of singularity — that we are one with the cosmic fabric of life and timeless. Similarly, in providing humanity their logographic ways of thought and consciousness, the Heptapods enable humanity to see a new consciousness beyond time, a tool by which humanity would then be able in the future to cut through the bounds of time and the limits of anthro-consciousness.  In using this new cultural form of language, humanity is able to glimpse and experience events across time, with visions moving seamlessly between past, present and future not back and forth, but in a non-linear singularity of consciousness. Importantly, the gift shared was not a hard technology to decipher the cosmos, but the soft power of language and culture leading to a profound mind-shift. Arrival  shows the profound civilizational impact such a shift can bring.  Desire as a root cause At the onset of the film, on the way to the first meeting with the Heptapods, the linguist Dr. Banks has a discussion with others in her convoy about how language is the first thing drawn in any war. Specifically she imparts that in Sanskrit, one of the words for war is gavisti , which means desire for more cattle as well as desire for war, reflecting the times when Sanskrit was ascendent when assets like cattle were central to power.  This was a prequel in some ways to the challenge faced later in the film where they try to decipher one of the signs created by the Heptapods which they speculated would have translated as “weapon” but was later understood as “tool,” with the gift of this new language meant as a tool by which to unite humanity and better understand time as elaborated earlier above. This sequence embraces the archetypal role of prophet character types in disturbing the peace, with the Heptapods triggering a series of tensions and near conflicts among world powers, as they debated whether to respond by force or by dialogue. As humanity came to decode the message as meaning tool rather than weapon, the situation was thus defused. In this way, Arrival  also carries a message regarding the need to unite humanity and advance a dialogue among civilizations so as to bridge diverse cultural assumptions and worldviews on issues like desire and purpose, assumptions that often lead to conflict and even war. The gift of the tool for Dr. Banks and the rest of the world is to a glimpse a distinctively different way of being and embracing the multi-verse of cultural worldviews, here on Earth and beyond. As a result of the power of the transmitted tool to cut through the veil of time as elaborated above, Arrival  conveys a message of transformation, that in moving beyond duality and focusing on the singularity of existence, one realizes that life is not a means to an end but rather that the journey is the end itself, and that salvation lies beyond a base drive to fulfil desires and power. As seen in the storyline, when once the tool is used, humanity realizes this singularity, detached from desire and finding self-realization in the here and now. This is experienced in the film as both an individual insight, but importantly also as a collective realization. Arrival  conveys a message of transformation, that in moving beyond duality and focusing on the singularity of existence, one realizes that life is not a means to an end but rather that the journey is the end itself Ecological collective The final key message I took from Arrival  was the inter-connectivity and inter-dependency across species, expressed through the nature of our existential relationship with the Heptapods. In addition to our connectivity with species on other Earth-like planets that may be out there across the cosmos, it also strongly resonances with our existential plight here on Earth. The cephalopod-like nature of the Heptapods prompted for me analogies with the mysterious octopi and squid deep in our oceans, the study of whom has given dazzling new insights into our understanding of other forms of consciousness, beyond our narrow human sphere.By focusing on the future challenge of solidarity with neighbours across the universe, Arrival  also generates analogies to ethical dilemmas we face in the here and now — our role within and responsibility to the “ecological collective.” Do we leave the Heptapods to their own demise, or do we stand in solidarity? The same, of course, can be said today of our fellow Earth inhabitants here at home. The Heptapods embody and symbolize this message of cross-species dependency and shared destiny. In doing so, Arrival  provides glimpses into a new ecological compact, based on the responsibility of humanity to transform our ways of life and worldviews. Unlike many dystopian tales of the future, Arrival  provides a hopeful message of humanity’s ability to overcome our own insecurities and  grasp a broader reality, of the existential value inherent in ecosystems and the diversity species on Earth and beyond, and of the future epistemic position of Earth as but one sphere in a vast cosmic ecosystem. The collective journey Science fiction has emerged as a main medium for storytelling around mythic futures, foresight and transformation. Arrival  is a case in point, brilliantly using mythic constructs to weave past, present and future into a singularity of insight into the evolving nexus between individual, society, Earth and the cosmos. As always, a view to the stars and our cosmic horizon allows in Campbell’s words, “the imagination to go forth … a whole new realm for the imagination to open out and live its forms” ( billmoyers.com , “Ep. 1: Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth: The Hero’s Adventure”). The mythic imagination serves as a portal to the future, as humanity seeks a path through our planetary crisis. Building a collective future for people and planet is the “collective hero’s journey” of our time. MythBlast authored by: Kishan Khoday is a Fellow at the Joseph Campbell Foundation, serving in a pro-bono capacity to support research and analysis of the role of mythology in advancing goals of sustainability and resilience. A planetary scientist and international lawyer, Kishan has practiced with the United Nations for over 25 years, leading local cooperation with communities, governments and change makers to combat inequality, advance nature-based solutions and develop capacities for transformation change. Kishan has been a thought leader on the nexus of nature, culture and development, having traveled to over fifty countries and serving in UN country assignments across Asia and the Pacific, the Middle East and North Africa and the Caribbean. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Prophet. Latest Podcast In this episode, we explore how Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey finds fresh relevance in the lives of today’s high school seniors. Our guest, Robbie Blasser , has developed a powerful way to bring Campbell’s work directly into the classroom—helping students navigate the challenges of growth, change, and becoming. Robbie is an English and Religious Studies teacher at Bishop O'Dowd High School in Oakland, California. Holding Master’s degrees in both Social Philosophy and Teaching, along with a B.A. in Theater Arts, he brings an interdisciplinary approach to education. A lifelong lover of storytelling, Robbie first discovered Campbell’s ideas through Star Wars, and that early spark grew into a deep exploration of myth, mind, and pedagogy. In his classroom, Robbie encourages students to “see the whole board”—to recognize connections between literature, neuroscience, philosophy, and myth. This unique perspective led him to consider how the Hero’s Journey aligns with modern brain science, and how students can use this mythic framework not only to interpret stories but also to rewire their own behavioral patterns during times of transformation. In this conversation with JCF’s Michael Lambert, himself a veteran high school educator, they explore what it means to help students face the unknown, reshape their habits, and find courage at life’s thresholds. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "The Aristotelian katharsis is a “cleansing” of the mind of its practical fears and desires by an opening of the heart, through simultaneous experiences of humanistic pity and metaphysical terror, to the transpersonal sentiment of compassion." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 171      The Great Goddess See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

The Miracle Worker (1962) © PlayFilm Productions When exploring archetypal figures, I find it useful to start with word origins, which offer a sense of the source of the image. For example, to teach  someone is etymologically to “show” them (from the prehistoric Indo-European root * deik : “show”).  Of course, showing someone how to do something is very different from just telling them. It’s all too common to assume teaching is merely an intellectual exercise. But   what does a teacher do when there are no words?   This is the conundrum facing Annie Sullivan (Anne Bancroft) in The Miracle Worker , the 1962 film that presents the real-life story of Miss Sullivan’s introduction to her one and only student, blind and deaf Helen Keller (played by a young Patty Duke).    The plot is familiar to many in the United States, where the screenplay has long been standard fare in junior high school literature classes:   Set in the 1880s, 19-month-old Helen Keller falls ill, losing her sight and hearing. As the child ages, unable to communicate beyond displays of raw emotion, her family contemplates committing her to an asylum for the mentally defective, so that she would at least be cared for throughout her life. Nevertheless, Helen’s mother, Kate, persuades her skeptical husband to write the Perkins Institute for the Blind, in the hope of finding an instructor who could reach their child.    Enter Annie Sullivan, a brusque, barely-sighted twenty-year-old graduate of Perkins with no prior experience. Sullivan, recognizing Helen’s potential, has her hands full battling the Keller’s low expectations for their daughter and Helen’s own resistance, expressed in dramatic tantrums, at being forced outside her comfort zone. Annie’s persistent efforts to teach the essence of communication to a child with no concept of language appear futile, until Helen experiences a dramatic breakthrough in one of the most iconic scenes in American cinema. Characteristics of the craft A good teacher is there to watch the young person and recognize what the possibilities are. (Joseph Campbell , The Power of Myth , 176) Annie Sullivan intuitively employs methods common to all master teachers. She observes Helen closely, paying attention to her moods, her actions, and how she engages her surroundings. When she sees that Helen is clever and acts with purpose, Annie works to convince the concerned parents that their pity and low expectations actually encourage and enable Helen’s self-defeating behavior. Annie Sullivan’s primary goal is to teach Helen language by using a manual alphabet, consisting of a unique hand sign for each letter, to spell words into the girl’s hand. When she gives Helen a slice of cake, she spells out C-A-K-E. Helen has no difficulty imitating these signs, but it’s just a game to her, absent meaning.  This initially seems a pointless exercise to the Kellers (“spelling to a fence post”). Asked why she does so, Annie points out that’s how children learn to speak: Any baby. Gibberish, grown-up gibberish, babytalk gibberish, do they understand one word of it to start? Somehow they begin to. If they hear it. I’m letting Helen hear it. ( The Miracle Worker : Act II)   I think of this as “show and spell.” With everything they do together––eating meals, stringing beads, climbing trees, hunting eggs––Annie spells out the names of objects for Helen.    Though Helen just doesn’t get it, the Kellers are nevertheless satisfied that she soon seems better behaved. Annie points out that there is a wide gulf between training Helen like training a dog, and teaching her how to communicate and understand. Impressive as Miss Sullivan’s persistence is, that breakthrough remains elusive. what does a teacher do when there are no words?  Archetypal elements  Screenwriter William Gibson employs a range of symbols that emphasize Annie’s key role in Helen’s life––starting with the image of a key (pun intended). When they first meet, Annie lets Helen unlock her suitcase. Minutes later, Helen throws a tantrum because she wants to play with the doll Annie gave her while Annie is trying to teach her to spell D-O-L-L. Dashing out of the bedroom in a rage, Helen slams the door and turns the key  in the lock. When no one can find where she has hidden the key, Annie must climb out the window and down a ladder. The next morning over breakfast, Helen wanders the table, sticking her hands in everybody else’s food; she throws a fit when Annie does not allow her to do the same. As tensions rise, Annie banishes everyone but Helen from the dining room, locks the door, and places that key in her pocket. Helen becomes frantic when she realizes she’s locked in with her tormentor; an epic, hours-long battle of wills ensues, at the end of which Helen has learned to eat her own food and fold her own napkin. Keys continue to surface, in tandem with Annie’s struggle to unlock Helen’s mind. At one point, Annie tells Kate that she had at least taught Helen how to spell “key” and “water” that morning, even if the child does not understand what they mean  . . . which connects the symbol of a key to an even more primordial Image.    Water and well  We first meet Helen playing by the well pump in the Kellers’ front yard. This pump helps orient her when feeling her way around the yard, and offers security: immediately after Helen locks Annie in the bedroom, she retreats to the well. Wells are a recurring theme in mythology, from the healing waters of the fairy well of Tubber Tintye in Celtic mythology, to a whole series of Biblical patriarchs who find their brides at a well (Rebekah, who marries Abraham’s son, Isaac; Rachel, the wife of Isaac’s son, Jacob; and Zipporah, who encounters Moses at the well of Midian).    Joseph Campbell expands on this theme, observing that the tale of Joseph, cast by his brothers into a dry well and sold into Egypt, symbolizes the passage of the children of Israel through water into bondage, who then, centuries later, emerge, again through water, with the parting of the Red Sea: Water always represents the realm below the field of manifestation, the place of the new energy, the new dynamism. It refers to the field of the unconscious, going down into that realm and coming back out of it. ( Thou Art That , 55) We learn from Kate that one of Helen’s first words was water––“wah wah”––but that awareness had dropped into the depths of the unconscious when her daughter lost hearing and sight. Hard to miss the resonance on an archetypal level when, after locking her teacher in the bedroom, Helen intentionally drops the key into the well. Breaking through Annie’s focus is on unlocking the potential that has been lost down that metaphorical well, a seemingly futile task. When Helen regresses and throws a major tantrum that includes tossing contents of a water pitcher into Annie’s face, Annie hauls her outside to the well to refill the vessel. While Helen holds the pitcher, Annie works the pump with one hand and, with the other, spells W-A-T-E-R into Helen’s free hand. Helen abruptly freezes, connecting what all those other times Annie spelled W-A-T-E-R have in common with this emotionally charged moment, and . . . epiphany! The pitcher shatters as Helen thrusts both hands under the pump and struggles to say “wah wah” as she spells W-A-T-E-R with her fingers. When Annie affirms Helen’s sudden satori, the child’s excitement is irrepressible. She pounds on the ground, caresses the pump, raps on the step, and touches a tree as Annie spells out their names. Calling out “She knows!” to Helen’s parents, Annie spells M-O-T-H-E-R and P-A-P-A as they sweep Helen into their embrace.    Then, pausing, Helen gently pulls away, turns toward Annie, and points, asking a silent question. Annie responds with T-E-A-C-H-E-R. Overcome with emotion at this breakthrough, Annie sits down at the well as Helen turns back to her parents. She pats her mother’s apron pocket until Kate pulls out the key her daughter knows she keeps there. Kate, who has been learning fingerspelling from Annie, is momentarily puzzled, until Helen spells out T-E-A-C-H-E-R. Once more approaching Annie at the well, Helen offers her teacher the key. At last, Annie has unlocked the door that kept Helen imprisoned in her own mind.  Beyond the events depicted in the film, the rest, as they say, is history. Helen continued her education, with Annie at her side, eventually graduating from Harvard University’s Radcliffe College to become the first deaf and blind person to earn a degree. One of the most famous Americans of her time, Helen Keller authored fourteen books, advocated for people with disabilities, fought for women’s suffrage and worker’s rights, supported the NAACP, and, in 1920, co-founded the American Civil Liberties Union––accomplishments that would have been out of reach without Annie Sullivan.   Though not every moment in the classroom today is quite so fraught with drama, teachers who closely observe their students, “show” rather than just “tell,” focus their pupils’ attention on unlocking the potential hidden in their own depths, and, most of all, persevere, are miracle workers in their own right.    For another take on the Teacher archetype, please read this two-minute selection from my Joseph Campbell Foundation colleague Bradley Olson on The Teacher as Midwife .   MythBlast authored by: Stephen Gerringer has been a Working Associate at the Joseph Campbell Foundation (JCF) since 2004. His post-college career trajectory interrupted when a major health crisis prompted a deep inward turn, Stephen “dropped out” and spent most of the next decade on the road, thumbing his away across the country on his own hero quest. Stephen did eventually “drop back in,” accepting a position teaching English and Literature in junior high school. Stephen is the author of Myth and Modern Living: A Practical Campbell Compendium , as well as editor of Myth and Meaning: Conversations on Mythology and Life , a volume compiled from little-known print and audio interviews with Joseph Campbell. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Teacher. Latest Podcast In this bonus episode, The Psychological Implications of Mythology (Part 2 ), we continue Joseph Campbell’s exploration of depth psychology—moving from Freud and Adler into the profound insights of Carl Jung. Campbell examines how myth reflects the inner structure of the psyche, tracing the journey from childhood dependency to the mature process Jung called individuation. Along the way, he explores puberty rites, the tension between eros and power, and the ways mythic symbols reveal our lifelong quest for wholeness and integration. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "That’s all you need––an Ariadne thread . . . That’s not always easy to find. But it’s nice to have someone who can give you a clue. That’s the teacher’s job, to help you find your Ariadne thread." -- Joseph Campbell The Power of Myth with Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers , 185      Nature and the Human Mind See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

School of Rock (2003) © Paramount Pictures Education is the art of enticing the soul to emerge from its cocoon, from its coil of potentiality and its cave of hiding. Education is not the piling on of learning, information, data, facts, skills, or abilities … but is rather a making visible what is hidden as a seed. Thomas Moore, The Education of the Heart “Who makes Achilles a new set of armor?” “What Olympian gods and goddesses side with the Trojans?” “Who is Hector’s son?” The questions flew rapidly, one after another, in my seventh-grade English classroom as semester exam preparation progressed. The answers were exactly the type of information that the students would be expected to know for their upcoming test. Except, rather than I quizzing them, the students were quizzing me! I presented them with a challenge: pepper me with any questions they wanted regarding the plot of The Iliad ; any question I got wrong meant the entire class got an extra credit point on the upcoming exam. Of course, their questions progressed from easy to hard, and yes, I answered incorrectly a few times (on purpose? I’ll never tell!). But for a solid chunk of time in the classroom, the power structure was inverted, and twenty “teachers” quizzed the “student” at the front…all while themselves investigating, hearing, and internalizing all the bits of information they needed to review, as well as thoroughly enjoying every moment. This is one of my proudest moments as a trickster-teacher, an archetype blend that comes to me quite naturally. Many of my lessons contained what I label a “spinach-in-the-ice-cream” approach: some element of sweetness on the surface that belied the nutritional goodness of the information being imparted. In 2003, when I decided to switch from a career in information technology to middle school teaching, I watched (and loved) School of Rock . Although its influence on me was completely unconscious, I later realized that Dewey Finn (Jack Black) embodies the spirit of this combination, and I would like to explore how this mixture works as well in the film as it did in my own experience. From slacker to shapeshifter, from pretense to passion Perennially lazy Dewey Finn, kicked out of his band and desperate for rent money, intercepts a call meant for his roommate, Ned Schneebly, offering a long-term substitute teaching job at a prestigious private school. This is when Dewey’s trickster forms a plan: to pretend to be Ned and gain the needed income. Generally unambitious about doing “real work,” he appears at the school as “Mr. S.” and initially intends just to be a glorified babysitter for the fifth graders. When he hears his students in band class, however, his plan evolves—he will teach them to become his  group for an upcoming (and lucrative) battle of the bands. Here begins Dewey’s journey into the teacher archetype, and its hallmarks are abundant. He quickly grasps the various musical and non-musical talents of all his class members and guides them into the roles that fit each perfectly. Knowing that the students have never done anything like this before, he infuses his teaching with a confidence-boosting belief in their ability to grow into their roles. He fosters a collaborative sense of unified purpose, creating a sort of “collective heroes’ journey” for the class, a concept that my Joseph Campbell Foundation colleague John Bucher has explored .  Breaking the rules, watering the hidden seed Of course, the trickster continues to be at play through Dewey. He has shapeshifted into a middle school teacher and convinces both the students and the uptight principal (Joan Cusack) that he is indeed “legitimate.” Moreover, his actions—testing and subverting a rigid system—very much aligns with trickster behavior: “If you wanna rock, you gotta break the rules” is one of his mantras. This matches one of Joseph Campbell’s articulations  of the trickster function: “[the trickster] represents the power of the dynamic of the total psyche to overthrow programs.” Besides overthrowing the curriculum, Dewey contravenes the school’s practice of a rigid and joyless approach to education. Maximizing creativity and individuality, Dewey’s ethos of rock-as-rebellion provides relief from the school’s stuffy culture, all while still providing education of a different sort and skills beyond a normative curriculum. Dewey’s trickster brings balance to the program, and therefore the totality of the psyche. “If you wanna rock, you gotta break the rules” One of the most poignant examples of Dewey’s teacher archetype in action comes with the arc of a student named Zack (Joey Gaydos, Jr.). The film introduces Zack as a shy guitarist, fearful of the rock genre because of his overbearing father’s insistence that he only play classical music. Dewey’s mentorship and encouragement help lift Zack’s vision of who he is deep within: not just an excellent rock guitarist but also a songwriter. In Zack’s case, as with all the students, Dewey follows what Campbell offers as the best teaching practice: “A good teacher is there to watch the young person and recognize what the possibilities are—then to give advice, not commands” ( The Power of Myth , 176). In short: Dewey Finn embodies the teacher archetype through inspiration, not domination .  (For the opposite scenario, please read Lejla Panjeta’s MythBlast  on Harry Potter ’s Dolores Umbridge). Redemption through rebellion Although I won’t give any spoilers, of course you might guess that the trickster has a reckoning, as his intrusion into the deservedly-protected space of children is disturbing on one level (this brilliant trailer  portraying the film as horror highlights its potentially dark underside). Suffice it to say that the overwhelmingly positive lessons that Dewey imparts are not for naught. His trickery ultimately serves a beneficial purpose, and he himself experiences an awakening to his own teacher archetype, hidden within, buried underneath his persona of slacker rock star. In fact, all the parties involved—Dewey, the students, their parents, and the school—receive an education along the lines of what Thomas Moore indicated in my opening quote: an emerging of hidden potential. And in the spirit of Moore’s use of the word enticing  to make this happen, the trickster is just the right archetype to facilitate that blossoming. So, who knows? Perhaps my trickster-teacher enticed students to uncover and nurture in themselves what was once only a seed. MythBlast authored by: Scott Neumeister, PhD  is a literary scholar, author, TEDx speaker, mythic pathfinder and Editor of the MythBlast series from Tampa, Florida, where he earned his PhD in English from the University of South Florida in 2018. His specialization in multiethnic American literature and mythology comes after careers as an information technology systems engineer and a teacher of English and mythology at the middle school and college levels. Scott coauthored Let Love Lead: On a Course to Freedom with Gary L. Lemons and Susie Hoeller, and he has served as a facilitator for the Joseph Campbell Foundation’s Myth and Meaning book club at Literati. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Teacher. Latest Podcast In this episode, we explore how Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s Journey finds fresh relevance in the lives of today’s high school seniors. Our guest, Robbie Blasser , has developed a powerful way to bring Campbell’s work directly into the classroom—helping students navigate the challenges of growth, change, and becoming. Robbie is an English and Religious Studies teacher at Bishop O'Dowd High School in Oakland, California. Holding Master’s degrees in both Social Philosophy and Teaching, along with a B.A. in Theater Arts, he brings an interdisciplinary approach to education. A lifelong lover of storytelling, Robbie first discovered Campbell’s ideas through Star Wars, and that early spark grew into a deep exploration of myth, mind, and pedagogy. In his classroom, Robbie encourages students to “see the whole board”—to recognize connections between literature, neuroscience, philosophy, and myth. This unique perspective led him to consider how the Hero’s Journey aligns with modern brain science, and how students can use this mythic framework not only to interpret stories but also to rewire their own behavioral patterns during times of transformation. In this conversation with JCF’s Michael Lambert, himself a veteran high school educator, they explore what it means to help students face the unknown, reshape their habits, and find courage at life’s thresholds. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "Different teachers may suggest exercises, but they may not be the ones to work for you. All a teacher can do is suggest. He is like a lighthouse that says, “There are rocks over here, steer clear. There is a channel, however, out there.” -- Joseph Campbell The Power of Myth with Joseph Campbell and Bill Moyers , 185      Sacred Place See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix   (2007) © Warner Brothers Pictures High school. Wednesday. All the students wear pink sweaters, shirts, trousers, and skirts. Come any other day to our school, and you'll see the depressing black color on hormonal, buzzing teenagers who didn't get much sleep the previous night. But come Wednesday, we all wear pink with big smiles on our faces. Our chemistry professor is dressed entirely in pink and purple: clothing, shoes, stockings, bags, glasses, pencils, notebooks, nails, hairpins…teaching how to fix poison while smiling. Those not in pink or purple are immediately called to the front, and no matter what knowledge they show, it results in a catastrophic fail. I survived Wednesdays in high school, not realizing that I’d encounter similar authoritarian figures at university, in offices, and later at parents’ meetings. This breed of teacher is ever-present and everlasting.  Joseph Campbell, master of the perpetuating ideas and patterns in myths, reminds us that every hero must meet a mentor on their journey. The mentor teaches, guides, and bestows gifts. Some great examples from movies are Gandalf ( The Lord of the Rings ), Dumbledore ( Harry Potter ), Obi-Wan Kenobi ( Star Wars ), Mr. Miyagi ( Karate Kid ), John Keating ( Dead Poets Society ), Sean Maguire ( Good Will Hunting ), or Katherine Wilson ( Mona Lisa Smile ). Hollywood loves a good professor — the one who ignores the rules, throws away tradition, tosses curriculum into the recycle bin, and unlocks the great potential of their students. A saying: “I cannot teach anyone anything; I can only make them think,” commonly attributed to Socrates, is a building block on which American culture is created. But where there is the Wise Old Man or Woman, there is also their shadow, a Dark Mentor figure similar to the Villain Threshold Guardian. With Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix  (2007), we have a common denominator for this archetype: Dolores Umbridge. The shadow of the mentor Dolores Jane Umbridge, played brilliantly by Imelda Staunton in her nauseatingly sweet pink sweaters and her horrifying smile, may well be the most despised character in the Harry Potter series. Beneath her twisted archetype of the Mentor lies something far more unsettling and unfortunately familiar. She is the dark elixir of every institutional trauma, every bureaucratic abuse of power, and every teacher who ever said, “Because I said so.” She is not just a bad educator. Her Mentor archetype has run wild; that sacred guide of young minds has morphed into a petty despot, armed with quills, rules, and a terrifying love of order and blind obedience.   If Dumbledore (Michael Gambon) is the mentor leading young Harry (Daniel Radcliffe) toward self-knowledge, then Umbridge is the anti-mentor. She offers no knowledge, only obedience. Her lessons are devoid of curiosity. She instructs students not to think, but to obey. She is an indoctrinator of obedience; she is a propagandist with pink laced trimmings. Her inflated ego is attached to a persona, the false self-crafted image to impress the world. Umbridge hides her tyranny under kitten plates and pink pencils. Her unconscious seethes with sadistic impulses, projected onto students under the noble guise of discipline. Umbridge's teaching style eliminates dialogue and suppresses creativity and curiosity. She is the classic repressor, evil in a pink cardigan. Knowledge is dangerous in her world, particularly the kind that encourages independent thought. There’s an Orwellian flavor to her methods. If Big Brother had a favorite niece, it would be Dolores. Umbridge is a symbol of the administrative mind: obedient, unimaginative, and utterly devoid of empathy. Aldous Huxley warned us in Brave New World  that the future will come with smiles and sedatives. Umbridge delivers — she smiles as she carves rules onto children's hands and tortures them with forbidden veritaserum. The true terror is that she believes she is helping. The real monsters wear pink Dolores Umbridge fits the criteria for what some psychologists call the “Dark Triad”: narcissism, Machiavellianism, and psychopathy. She sees herself as the savior of Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic. She manipulates her way to power using flattery and fear. She is mundanely evil —n ot like Voldemort, who is of the realm of fantasy. She’s the vice-principal who calls our parents because our socks were the wrong shade of gray or pink. She embodies Hannah Arendt’s “ banality of evil ,” not a grand villain, but a petty bureaucrat with too much power and too little soul. She doesn’t fear chaos. She fears thought. Neil deGrasse Tyson describes education as the lighting of a fuse, igniting curiosity in the vast unknown. Instead, Dolores Umbridge would blow the fuse and punish you for possessing the match. Tyson might argue that children are born scientists who ask why, and Umbridge’s classroom is where that instinct dies. She is filling the vessel and not rekindling the flame. Chomsky’s concept  of “manufacturing consent” and “selection of obedience” applies to her classroom. She is the ultimate manifestation of what Vogler calls the “mentor who seeks to control the hero,” a teacher who blocks growth while pretending to nurture it. Her classroom is not a place of transformation but stagnation; it's Northrop Frye’s  winter cycle —a psychopathic grid with frozen rules and passive-aggressive floral patterns. There’s a certain irony that Harry Potter’s  most terrifying villain isn’t Voldemort, who literally has no nose, but Umbridge, who wears pink brooches and speaks in a sugary lilt. Why? Because we must have met her. Not in the Forbidden Forest, but in staff meetings, government offices, and schools. We’ve seen that tight-lipped smile after being told: “That is the policy.” Umbridge is what happens when authority forgets its purpose. A true teacher, as Socrates, Tyson, and Campbell remind us, does not impose ideas but guides and liberates minds. Umbridge binds them. The Teacher archetype should embody vision, empathy, challenge, and transformation. At its worst, it becomes a rigid apparatus of the dictatorship, stifling the very spirit it was meant to uplift. Dolores Umbridge reminds us that the Teacher is not automatically a force for good. It is a role that carries enormous potential for both illumination and oppression. Campbell would say that every hero must slay a dragon. In Harry Potter , that dragon wears pink and writes detentions.  The Teacher archetype should embody vision, empathy, challenge, and transformation. At its worst, it becomes a rigid apparatus of the dictatorship, stifling the very spirit it was meant to uplift. If your professor loves the rules more than the reason or creativity; the order more than the ideas and thinking; the sound of her/his voice more than your questions — you may not be in a classroom. You may be in prison…with Dolores, the guardian of the status quo. The real professors challenge the status quo. Keating inspires with verse, Watson with art history, Sean with grief-handling, and Mr. Miyagi with self-control. They are professors seeking not facts, but awakening to passion and possibility. They remind us that the true Teacher doesn’t give answers, but rather asks the questions, and occasionally, they do it while standing on a desk. Umbridge would have a nervous breakdown in Keating's carpe diem  classroom. Dolores represents what happens when the sacred trust of the teacher is twisted into surveillance, punishment, and power play. She is the gatekeeper of mediocrity and the jailer of imagination, with a smile. Dolores Umbridge is the shadow of pedagogy, and she exists and persists in every education system all around the world. Like a monster myth brought to life.  MythBlast authored by: Dr. Lejla Panjeta  is a Professor of Film Studies and Visual Communication. She was a professor and guest lecturer in many international and Bosnian universities. She also directed and produced in theatre, worked in film production, and authored documentary films. She curated university exhibitions and film projects. She won awards for her artistic and academic works. She is the author and editor of books on film studies, art, and communication. Her recent publication was the bilingual illustrated encyclopedic guide – Filmbook, made for everyone from 8 to 108 years old. Her research interests are in the fields of aesthetics, propaganda, communication, visual arts, cultural and film studies, and mythology. https://independent.academia.edu/LejlaPanjeta This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Teacher. Latest Podcast In this episode of Pathways called “ Early Europe and the Celtic Tradition ,” we travel back to Joseph Campbell’s 1970 lecture at Sarah Lawrence College, where he traces the mythic roots of Europe - from Paleolithic cave art and goddess-centered societies to the rise of Celtic and Arthurian legend. He explores how the meeting of matriarchal and patriarchal traditions shaped the spiritual imagination of the West. Campbell reveals how the ancient reverence for the Goddess evolved alongside the emergence of the heroic ideal, weaving together mythic threads that still inform our stories of love, power, and transformation today. Host Bradley Olson offers an introduction and commentary at the end of the lecture. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "You know, the virtue manager is the real curse of the modern world, I think––the one who's got righteousness on his side and knows that everyone else is to be corrected." -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning , 111 The Dynamic of Life See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

The Karate Kid (2010) © Sony Pictures At fifteen, I was consumed by anxiety over my upcoming CBSE  board examinations, life choices, an undecided career. I had retreated into a kind of hibernation, isolating myself from the world to study relentlessly, driven by the belief that this would define my future career and professional path. One day, sensing my tension, my father decided to spend time with me to help me unwind and also to rekindle my confidence in mathematics. Taking the lead, he guided me through the subject, turning a moment of pressure into one of reassurance and motivation. We sat down with popcorn and milkshakes to watch something unexpected. All these years, I had only watched 60s and 70s Hindi cinema with my father. For the first time, we watched an English film together, The Karate Kid  (2010). It opened a new portal of understanding how to recognize the guiding light and the hand that draws you closer to your potential through sometimes brutal confrontations to work through our prudent folly that marks the journey as a seeker and learner. It wasn’t just about the examination butterflies anymore — it sparked a fascination of uncovering the “something missing” in my challenges of psychological knowing. Lesson one: Say what you need to say with a heart wide open… At twelve, Dre (Jaden Smith) experiences a devastating loss and has to move from Detroit to China with his mother following his father’s demise. He struggles to fit in at his new school, grappling with the new surroundings and trying to understand what home truly means. Along with these drastic changes, he faces the additional challenge of being bullied by a skilled martial arts student and his peers at school. This hardship becomes an opportunity in disguise, as Mr. Han (Jackie Chan)—a maintenance worker and kung fu master—steps in as his mentor, teaching him discipline, inner strength, and the true meaning of triumph, respect, and the way of life.  In The Hero with a Thousand Faces , Joseph Campbell talks of the role of the archetypal preceptor, which is to welcome the seeker into a new adventure. It is to help him to realize his call and to encourage him to take the leap, tied with the trust and guidance of truth and wisdom of the teacher (50). Mr. Han rescues Dre from the bullies, and from that moment onward begins the adventure of bringing balance, flow, and transformation to Dre’s psychic energy—his Chi—through the discipline of Kung Fu. Sometimes, certain events in life and the people involved are not for the purpose they appear to serve; instead, they operate beyond the visible reach of the conscious ego. Watching the movie at home with my father was not merely a moment of relaxation; it also prompted reflection and decisions on pivotal life choices, such as pursuing psychology in the 11th and 12th grades and beyond—a discipline to which I have devoted myself deeply and committed my higher academic inquiry to as well. Lesson two: No weakness, No pain, No mercy… Mr. Han, a true Kung Fu master, sees, beyond the limited purpose of Dre wanting to fight the bullies, a potential to take him all the way to what Kung Fu truly signifies: to open him to a higher purpose. His precepts begin with “You think with your eyes, so you are easy to fool,”  unlike the bully’s teacher, who believes that mastery means defeating an opponent in all circumstances—showing strength without weakness, pain, or mercy. Mr. Han teaches a different approach: the correct attitude, respect, and the true strength of the art. In this, he mirrors Lord Krishna’s guidance of Arjuna in the Mahabharata : mentoring in strategy, teaching how to fulfill dharma (duty), and serving as his charioteer in war. He embodies the   Archetypal Teacher ,  leading the student to his own higher inner ground of perseverance, clarity, and awakening, helping him fully receive himself. This aspect mirrors the mentoring  Wise Old Man  of the myths and tales assisting the hero in trials and the travels of inner adventures of psyche. He appears with tricks and wise teachings, as Campbell describes, symbolized in the form of a magical shining sword that will kill the dragon-terror —inner impatience and struggles—to heal, conquer and endure through the enchanted adventurous night for the awakening day. The teacher’s aim is not to give the tools right away for the student to reach the treasures of the journey; it is rather to help the learner to empty the mind of an unsettling ego, allowing strength to develop by gaining the courage to face good and bad challenges during this adventure of self-understanding. Weakness, pain, and mercy all need to be experienced, and Mr. Han facilitates it for Dre.  Lesson three: Xiao Dre, attitude…. In alchemy, Carl Jung explained that any transformation felt, experienced, discovered, and understood in visible, physical, outward forms—in substances, objects, or matter—was a mirror of the inner world in flux. These outward forms become known ways of knocking on the door of the mystery of living consciousness, oftentimes mediated through gurus or guides. Between the disciple and the object undergoing transformation, a sacred dialogue takes shape (Jung, Collected Works of C.G. Jung. Volume 9/1 , 133). This shift is beautifully reflected in the meaningful yet frustrating exercise of Dre’s putting the jacket on and taking it off, called Xiao Dre (Little Dre) by Mr. Han, as one of the first steps in learning Kung Fu. Finding the exercise annoying and pointless, Dre one day hides his jacket before entering training, thinking Mr. Han would finally give him some other task so he could truly learn something. Sadly, Mr. Han insists he continues the same task. Overcome with anger, Dre shouts that Han doesn’t know Kung Fu and is wasting his time. But when Mr. Han suddenly demonstrates tactics and strategies of Kung Fu using the simple moves of wearing and removing the jacket, Dre is awestruck. In that moment, he understands the need for the right attitude of a student. A seeker must approach the path with reverence, focus, and openness. The right teacher awakens this attitude and gently brings forth surrender to the learning process. Lesson four: Dre - “I’m Thirty, Mr. Han”; Mr. Han - “The water is on top of the mountain…” “How teach again, however, what has been taught correctly and incorrectly learned a thousand thousand times, throughout the millennia of mankind's prudent folly? That is the hero's ultimate difficult task” (Campbell, Hero , 202). One ultimate goal of the hero’s journey is to become a teacher or guide for one’s own people, imparting the knowledge of the perils faced and the treasures gained along the way. That, indeed, is the greatest treasure of all. When Dre is training in Kung Fu for an open Kung Fu competition initially to face his bullies but ultimately to gain lifelong lessons, Mr. Han takes him to the Dragon Well. It is a long, tedious, and strenuous climb up the mountain, at the top of which Dre could drink water. There, Han shows him Kung Fu masters demonstrating the use of chi (energy) in ways that seem nothing short of miraculous. This is all meant to awaken Dre to the true purpose of the discipline and the profound magic of the art. The lesson manifests fully in the final stage of the competition, when Dre’s opponent deliberately breaks the rules to injure him and prevent his victory. Despite being injured, Dre still wants to continue. When Han asks why he is so determined, Dre says it is because he doesn’t want to live in fear; he wants to free himself from it. This, he realizes, is a learning of a lifetime: the true spirit of the art, as passed down by the masters. This is the heroic treasure, the teachings received through inner wisdom.  Lesson five: I am the jacket… Ending with Dre’s journey, I begin ours with an exercise of embodying the jacket.  Visualizing with the jacket on, the teachings and symbolic psychic sources that serve in our journey, helping us dialogue with our inner guide/ guru  to channel our insights, potentials and decisions. With the jacket off, let go of or recognize your resistances, struggles or unwanted aspects.  Teachers, Keep on teachin' Preachers, Keep on preachin', World, keep on turnin', 'Cause it won't be too long. Oh, no Lovers, Keep on lovin' While believers Keep on believin'. Sleepers, Just stop sleepin' 'Cause it won't be too long. Oh, no! Stevie Wonder, “Higher Ground” Innervisions (1973) MythBlast authored by: Priyanka Gupta is a recent PhD graduate in Psychology with a specialization in Jungian psychology and mythology from the University of Delhi, India (2023). Her doctoral thesis explored the hero archetype, delving into the Campbellian structure of the hero's journey through the distinctive prism of Hindu mythology and Native American mythology. As a researcher, she's captivated by the interplay of the meaning of symbols, life, and religions, drawing inspiration and contemplating on the perspectives laid out by Joseph Campbell and prominent Jungian thinkers. Beyond academia and research, she's a writing enthusiast and a passionate painter. Her diverse interests converge in a desire to share new perspectives and ideas, propelling me towards a future in teaching and knowledge. This MythBlast was inspired by Myth & Meaning and the archetype of The Teacher. Latest Podcast In this episode of The Podcast with a Thousand Faces, we’re joined by Dr. Stephen Larsen , psychologist, mythologist, author, and longtime student and friend of Joseph Campbell. Together with his wife Robin, Stephen co-authored Joseph Campbell: A Fire in the Mind, the definitive biography of Campbell. As close personal friends of Campbell for over two decades, the Larsens were uniquely positioned to offer an intimate, multidimensional portrait of the man behind the myths. Their book, written with exclusive access to Campbell’s journals, papers, and inner circle, brings both the public and private facets of his life vividly to light. Stephen served on the founding board of the Joseph Campbell Foundation and co-founded the Center for Symbolic Studies, where he has spent decades exploring the intersection of myth, psychology, and human transformation. Trained by Edward Whitmont, Stanislav Grof, and Campbell himself, Stephen has also been a pioneering figure in the field of neurofeedback and consciousness research. In this conversation with JCF’s John Bucher, Stephen reflects on his relationship with Campbell, the writing of A Fire in the Mind, and why mythology still matters—perhaps more than ever—in a world aching for meaning. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "When these mythological images (which are in our tradition glued into historical events that never occurred) are presented again by the Oriental teacher as referring to the psyche, one finds there the connection with something that was built in when you were young—namely the symbol—and the flow of communication between conscious and unconscious domains is reestablished. " -- Joseph Campbell Myth and Meaning: Conversations on Mythology and Life , 102 Follow Your Bliss See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

“The Magician in Film” is our topic this month, and between Harry Potter , The Lord of the Rings , and Marvel’s Dr. Strange , we’ve seen a lot of them on screen over the last few years. This set me to wondering how these versions stack up against what the “Magician” means, myth-wise and not just movie-wise. Symbolically speaking, the Magician, or Magus, (typically in the guise of an ancient Wise One) initiates a transformational, alchemical process in the world or, more to our purposes here, in the psyche of someone on their pilgrimage to a more “heroic” or authentic life. They do this by articulating the Word, the Logos,  that manifests those alchemical processes in the world, or in the consciousness of everyday life — and sometimes even in the form of “the word made flesh.” That summarizes it pretty well. We’re not just talking about Abracadabra  here although, in a terrifying way, Voldemort’s using the Cruciatus Curse on Harry (by “crucifying” him…too obvious?) certainly causes an alchemical transformation. There are happier versions, of course. My first thought for this month was to return to the figure of Willy Wonka, especially Gene Wilder's, who transforms the bitterness of life into chocolate gold. You can probably sort out a dozen or so on your own, but as I got to thinking about magicians I've known in the movies, my mind kept going back to my  first movie magician: Merlin in the cartoon version of The Sword In The Stone . Today, it’s a small world (mythology) after all That particularly cute version of Merlin-as-Magus got me thinking about “Disneyized’ versions of magicians, legends, myths, and symbols in general; this, in turn, got me wondering what happens when we myth-understand these figures, when a metaphor like Merlin gets co-opted as mere entertainment, as a commodity: an attractively flickering puppet show that reduces us from participants in our lives to an audience of consumers.  Consider the difference between the mythologically meaningful “Magician” we’re talking about from showbiz “magicians,” the Penn and Tellers of the world who perform amazing sleight of hand tricks and delightful illusions that provide an audience with the happy satisfaction of being safely fooled or surprised.  “Safely” is the key word here: it means enjoying the spell they cast without having to undergo the kind of life altering ordeals (and anxieties!) found in initiations of the sort required for an alchemical transformation of the psyche. It’s way easier, and more fun, to watch somebody else go through all that. Looking through the prism of showbiz magic versus mythologically meaningful magic provides some interesting details in the otherwise blinding electric Edison sideshow of “The Movies.” Like this: what happens when mythology is turned into an industry? What happens when myths, or mythic figures, are turned into commodities?  Merlin is a good example of what I mean. Here’s an AI generated version of “Merlin,” one I asked for in order to duck Disney’s copyright.  Cute, right? what happens when mythology is turned into an industry? Rumplestiltskin: now brought to you by the Bawndo Corporation And maybe this is a perfect example: the Disney version of Merlin is owned by The Disney Corporation. It’s a product designed for the purpose of entertainment-derived   profit. At the end of the day, the purpose of movies, whatever the artistic merit, is to make money and the story lines – more often than not these days derived from traditional mythological themes (I’m looking at you, Star Wars ) – are designed as entertainments to separate us from our wallets and, only incidentally, as initiations into a more authentic life. Movies spin straw, or whatever else is at hand, into gold — but not the metaphorical gold myths are supposed to provide. Nope. Literal gold. Lucre.  And so, and this is a bummer I confess, the function of magicians in film is not always to transform our souls, but to bolster studio profit margins. What we’re seeing (as the Frankfurt School did in the last century) is that our most important mythologies have been co-opted, swamped, overwritten, infected, and redefined by the money-making-impulse, a paradigmatic disorder that has redefined all values as economic ones.  Campbell expressed this clearly at the end of The Hero With A Thousand Faces   when he says,  [T]he democratic ideal of the self-determining individual, the invention of the power-driven machine, and the development of the scientific method of research have so transformed human life that the long-inherited, timeless universe of symbols has collapsed … The social unit is not a carrier of religious content, but an economic-political organization. Its ideals are not those of the hieratic pantomime, making visible on earth the forms of heaven, but of the secular state, in hard and unremitting competition for material supremacy and resources. (333-334) Alchemy: it ain’t what it used to be This is exactly what Nietzsche had in mind with his phrase, transvaluation of all values. In his case, this meant noticing the initial symptoms of the process by which our civilization’s mythological immune system was blasted into nothing by the advent of science. Bounded in a nutshell, that means replacing meaningful narrative with cold-blooded explanations. Once that bit of humanity was erased, he thought, we’d been left open and empty, ready for whatever set of stem cells or borrowed bone marrow might first take root to reprogram our relationship to the world. And arguably that’s what happened. The timing was perfect: the Gilded Age in which greed was removed from the list of capital sins, and capital itself became the measure of all things. And so the Media itself, not unlike Medea, is now the Magus speaking the word of our aeon: that Word is the Golden Calf, and the word has been made flesh. Yikes! Sorry about that, but thanks for musing along! MythBlast authored by: Mark C.E. Peterson, Ph.D .  is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy and Religious Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Washington County and past president of the International Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture (ISSRNC.org). Philosopher, gadfly, poet, cook, writing along the watermargins of nature, myth, and culture. A practitioner of taijiquan and kundalini yoga for over 40 years, Dr. Peterson is also a happy member of the Ukulele World Congress. This MythBlast was inspired by The Hero With a Thousand Faces and the archetype of The Magician. Latest Podcast In this episode of The Podcast with a Thousand Faces, we’re joined by Dr. Stephen Larsen , psychologist, mythologist, author, and longtime student and friend of Joseph Campbell. Together with his wife Robin, Stephen co-authored Joseph Campbell: A Fire in the Mind, the definitive biography of Campbell. As close personal friends of Campbell for over two decades, the Larsens were uniquely positioned to offer an intimate, multidimensional portrait of the man behind the myths. Their book, written with exclusive access to Campbell’s journals, papers, and inner circle, brings both the public and private facets of his life vividly to light. Stephen served on the founding board of the Joseph Campbell Foundation and co-founded the Center for Symbolic Studies, where he has spent decades exploring the intersection of myth, psychology, and human transformation. Trained by Edward Whitmont, Stanislav Grof, and Campbell himself, Stephen has also been a pioneering figure in the field of neurofeedback and consciousness research. In this conversation with JCF’s John Bucher, Stephen reflects on his relationship with Campbell, the writing of A Fire in the Mind, and why mythology still matters—perhaps more than ever—in a world aching for meaning. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "If what you are following, however, is your own true adventure, if it is something appropriate to your deep spiritual need or readiness, then magical guides will appear to help you." -- Joseph Campbell A Joseph Campbell Companion: Reflections on the Art of Living , 78 Myth and Ritual - Q&A See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Still from Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory (1971) Years ago I was lucky enough to get to know that anthropologist and Native American faith keeper, Dr. Bill Hawk. I’d had a run of bad luck and was complaining to Bill about it. He perked up and said “sounds like Coyote.” I knew that Coyote was a central trickster figure in Native American mythology. “Well, damn it, Bill,” I asked. “What do I do about it?” He smiled and said, “Don’t feed him.” Pretty classic stuff. Strangely enough, that took care of my bad luck–but what if the Trickster is feeding you ? And what if they’re feeding you something delicious? Like chocolate. You might have noticed an abundance of Trickster figures out there lately, from traditional versions like Loki to the anti-hero’s own anti-hero, Deadpool. These figures perform an important mythological function: they embody the disruptions that fracture “the normal course of events.” Their stories put us into relation with the occasional cataclysmic events which, for good or ill, break us loose from well-established, but often fossilized, socially sanctioned norms. Now, socially sanctioned norms do provide the useful service of keeping the world running, but they can also shackle us to a version of the world that no longer exists: a world that changed while we were “busy making other plans.” Considering the increasing chaos in our current social/cultural/political situation–as traditional moral and political structures erode and we find our society experiencing a kind of extinction burst in reaction to these inevitable changes–we shouldn’t be surprised to find these Tricksters appearing in our popular media culture, in the stories we tell about ourselves. I already mentioned a couple of obvious examples. However, while I was sorting through my Rolodex (do they still make those?) of likely Tricksters, I kept hearing the voice of Gene Wilder, the original Willy Wonka in the 1971 film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory , in his sarcastic monotone, warning the kids: “Stop. Don’t. Come back.” Trick or treat Wonka is not an immediately obvious Trickster, but consider: he’s a mysterious figure who hands out Golden Tickets , inviting some lucky guests inside his Mysterious Factory to win the most desirable of all treasures:  the best chocolate in the world! Now that’s a call to adventure if there ever was and includes, appropriately, both promise and threat that a great treasure can be yours if you survive the ordeals to come .  Like any Trickster figure, Wonka is characterized by mischief, misdirection, and apparent cruelty, and, in the context of the hero’s adventure, Tricksters seem to embody the entire process of Initiation. They provide tests and temptations that typically involve exacerbating, or feeding (ahem), and exposing weakness in your character: weaknesses like gluttony, greed, pride, or vanity, say. But a Trickster isn’t your typical Initiator. As a rule, when you’re neck deep in an initiatory process, you know you’re being tested. In normal life, for instance, you might sigh, “Great, another freaking growth experience”…but at least you know you’re going through it. When the Trickster is at work, you don’t always know you were being tested until it’s too late. Willy Wonka, for instance, never just walks up to Charlie Bucket and says: “Charlie, you must learn the ways of the Force.” The initiations are, well…tricky. When the Trickster is at work, you don’t always know you were being tested until it’s too late. Charlie survives all this, but each of the other Golden Ticket holders suffers a poetically and spectacularly appropriate failure as Wonka feeds, and then reveals, their character flaws. Roald Dahl, the original author, signals these flaws in the names of the kids he cooked up for this mythstery  play. They are deliberately and consciously symbolic. Here’s a quick recap of the failed adventures, in order of excision: Augustus Gloop is the kid who can't stop stuffing his face. He’s the first one to go when he falls into and is carried away by the chocolate river. It might be useful to notice how much the language itself tells us: he’s carried away by his favorite weakness. Violet Beauregarde has the perfect nose-in-the-air name for a snotty, compulsively competitive and obnoxious world-record gum-chewer. She meets her end by snatching and chewing up an experimental blueberry gum which turns her into a giant blueberry. Veruca Salt is the quintessential spoiled brat who only “found” a Golden Ticket because her father bought a gazillion candy bars and lucked into the right one. She wants everything she sees–and is accustomed to getting everything she wants. Different productions use different approaches to her failure, but all work out about the same: in the book and the 2015 adaptation, she meets her end in Wonka’s Nut Testing room where specially trained squirrels sort good nuts from bad nuts. She demands her father buy her one of the squirrels, and when Wonka refuses to sell, she tries to grab one herself. The squirrels determine she’s a “Bad Nut” and throw her down a garbage chute. (And here, a moment of etymological musing: her name, like the others, is hilariously appropriate since ‘verruca’ is Latin for ‘wart’ and ‘salt’... well, at the end of the day, she wasn’t worth her salt. Even the squirrels figured that out.) And finally there’s “little” Mike Teavee, who embodies the kind of vidiocy  we might associate with the entitled distractedness found in today’s doom-scrolling, phone-addicted children (and adults). His fate, literally stepping into the media he’s obsessed with and being shrunk to fit inside a TV screen, is also poetically associated with his name. In each case, their failure follows directly from their own unreflective compulsions and desires and one of the classic techniques you find in the Trickster’s bag of tricks involves simply giving people what they want–at which point they discover they’ve wanted the wrong things. In this case, one rich with metaphor, they all wanted the candy more than the factory. Something to think about. Trick and  treat All of which leaves wonderful little Charlie Bucket. He’s the only good kid in the bunch and displayed the virtues needed to pass the Trickster’s tests: humility and kindness. Like the other children, however, Charlie too is surprised by the initiation he’s undergone–amazed to be found worthy to inherit the true prize of the Golden Ticket, surviving the sticky, candy coated–and Tricky–initiations of a life’s adventure. Thanks for musing along! MythBlast authored by: Mark C.E. Peterson, Ph.D .  is Emeritus Professor of Philosophy and Religious Studies at the University of Wisconsin-Washington County and past president of the International Society for the Study of Religion, Nature, and Culture (ISSRNC.org). Philosopher, gadfly, poet, cook, writing along the watermargins of nature, myth, and culture. A practitioner of taijiquan and kundalini yoga for over 40 years, Dr. Peterson is also a happy member of the Ukulele World Congress. This MythBlast was inspired by Creative Mythology and the archetype of The Trickster . Latest Podcast Enuma Okoro , is a Nigerian-American author, essayist, curator and lecturer. She is a weekend columnist for The Financial Times where she writes the column, “The Art of Life,” about art, culture and how we live. And is the curator of the 2024 group exhibition, “The Flesh of the Earth,” at Hauser & Wirth gallery in Chelsea, New York. Her broader research and writing interests reflect how the intersection of the arts and critical theory, philosophy and contemplative spirituality, and ecology and non-traditional knowledge systems can speak to the human condition and interrogate how we live with ourselves and others. Her fiction and poetry are published in anthologies, and her nonfiction essays and articles have been featured in The New York Times, The Financial Times, Aeon, Vogue, The Erotic Review, The Cut, The Atlantic Monthly, Harper’s Bazaar, NYU Washington Review, The Guardian, The Washington Post, and more. Her Substack, "A Little Heart to Heart" is a labyrinth towards interiority, exploring the fine line between the sacred and the ordinary in our daily lives. Find it at Enuma.substack.com and learn more about Enuma at www.enumaokoro.com . In this conversation, we explore Enuma’s journey, the ways myth, art, and storytelling shape us, and how we can use them as tools to reimagine both our personal and collective realities. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "An initiation is a shock. Birth is a shock. Rebirth is a shock. All that is transformative must be experienced as if for the first time." -- Joseph Campbell An Open Life: Joseph Campbell in Conversation with Michael Toms , 39 Adventure into Depths - Q&A Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter

Sinners (2025) Warner Brothers Pictures The Magician is often portrayed as a single person who can tap into the unconscious, but what if magic is the power that comes from a people? Can magic be innate, ancestral and cultural?  In An Open Life: Joseph Campbell in Conversation with Michael Toms , Campbell says: The term “collective unconscious,” or general unconscious, is used in recognition of the fact that there is a common humanity built into our nervous system out of which our imagination works . (122) What better way to examine our collective humanity than an action-packed vampire horror film? If you haven't watched Ryan Coogler's 2025 film Sinners ,  be warned, there are spoilers ahead .  The horror film set a box office record earlier this year, and in my opinion, is a close to perfect film. However, as I left the theatre, I remember feeling woozy and strange. Something in me had activated. Something in me had changed.  Something in me had remembered.  The alchemy of the blues Set in Clarksdale, Mississippi, in 1932, the film tells the story of the SmokeStack twins, Smoke and Stack, played by Michael B. Jordan, and their return home after a stint working with gangs in Chicago. Picking up their cousin, Sammie (Miles Caton), along the way, the twins decide to open a juke joint, a place for the black community to drink, dance, and lay down their worries in the post-Reconstruction South.  Music has always been an integral part of African American culture, serving as a way to alchemize pain, express joy, and hold on to our culture. Music as alchemy. Music as magic. As they're driving to the juke, elder musician Delta Slim is recounting the tragic lynching of his friend to Stack and Sammie. He starts to moan in lament. The sound of grief emanates from his body, but then, his moans turn to hums, and he starts beating out a rhythm on the dashboard with his hand, and you realize he's turning his grief into the blues.  We witness alchemy in real time. I was overwhelmed by the realization that those who came before me had to find ways to create magic within themselves to cope with the pain of a world that was built by them, but not for them.  Have I been thinking of my ancestors only as people who endured instead of alchemists who transformed pain into magic? The power of a people The priest, saying Mass with his back to the congregation, is performing a miracle at his altar, much like that of the alchemist, bringing God himself into presence in the bread and wine, out of the nowhere into the here: and it matters not, to either God, the priest, the bread, or the wine, whether any congregation is present or not. The miracle takes place, and that is what the Mass, the opus, the act, is all about. (366) Joseph Campbell, The Masks of God, Vol. IV: Creative Mythology The juke is open, and Sammie steps up to his altar, the stage, and plays a song that becomes the centerpiece of the entire film. "I Lied to You" is the opus  Campbell speaks of. Sammie isn’t singing the blues; he is conjuring, channeling the ancestors of the past and the generations of the future through music. The audience sees Bootsy Collins-esque performers from the 1970s, ancient Zaoulie dancers from Côte d'Ivoire, and Peking opera dancers from China dancing with the crowd of the juke. Sammie's miracle  culminates with the music reaching such a crescendo that it "burns the house down" and attracts the attention of our vampire antagonists, led by Remmick (Jack O'Connell). Remmick, a vampire from Pre-Colonial Ireland, is drawn to the music because, in a way, it reminds him of his own. It reminds him of the culture he had before colonialism tried to rip it from him. Understanding the power of that connection to music, Remmick becomes laser-focused on turning Sammie into a vampire. In my opinion, Remmick doesn’t want Sammie; he desires his connection to his people, his culture, to the "collective unconscious" Campbell speaks of. Remmick was severed from his connection, twice — through colonialism and becoming a vampire. He understands, even with all his abilities as a centuries-old vampire, that he wants the magic of the collective; he wanted connection and community.  It's no coincidence that when he eventually turns most of the people from the juke into vampires, they begin a traditional Irish dance.  Knowing Even with all the vampires, musicians, and preachers in Sinners , perhaps no one embodies the Magician more than Annie (Wunmi Mosaku). A former lover of Smoke, Annie is a practitioner of Hoodoo. When Smoke returns to town, he is dismissive of her spiritual practice. If Hoodoo worked, he asks, why didn't it save their child? Annie simply says, "I don't know" with grief but acceptance.  All the magic in the world can't change what has already happened. When the vampires approach the juke, Annie is the first one to suspect that they are not who they seem. She knows, but she throws bones, a form of divination, as a way of confirming. She throws once, and a look of knowing comes over her face; she throws again. The die is cast. When Annie is bitten, she makes Smoke kill her to "free her soul" rather than be trapped in the body of the undead.  Inherently, Annie understands that the Magician's gift is to transform, but that there's power in not allowing oneself to be transformed. Her magic is hers, she came in with it, and she’s leaving with it. It comes from her, it will stay with her. Even in the afterlife. Conjure "Blues wasn't forced on us like that religion. Nah, son, we brought that with us from home. It's magic what we do. It's sacred... and big." Delta Slim (Delroy Lindo) In Hoodoo, the word conjure  is used more than magic .  To conjure is to summon, to bring forth — and with that definition, it means the magic already exists.  Sinners  reminds us that magic isn't something made up; it's something to conjure and bring forth. Magic is all who came before and will come after us. Magic is trusting that inner knowing. Magic is our people, our culture, and our shared collective humanity. It's just asking us to remember them, to honor them and invite them in. magic isn't something made up; it's something to conjure and bring forth. MythBlast authored by: Torri Yates-Orr is an Emmy-nominated public historian passionate about making history and mythology engaging, accessible, and informative. From exploring her genealogy to receiving a degree in Africana Studies from the University of Tennessee, the history was always her first love. Combining her skill set in production with her love of the past, she started creating history and mythology lessons for social media . Her "On This Day in History" series has over two million views. She's the content curator for the MythBlast newsletter for The JCF and co-host of the Skeleton Keys podcast . This MythBlast was inspired by The Hero With a Thousand Faces and the archetype of The Magician. Latest Podcast In this bonus episode, Joseph Campbell speaks about the psychological implications of mythology. Recorded at the Cooper Union Forum in 1963, this lecture is part one of a two-part series. Campbell explores how myth functions as a system of “energy-releasing signs,” drawing on examples from animal instinct, human development, and psychological theory. He connects myth to the imprinting of archetypal images on the psyche, and discusses how Freud and Jung interpreted these imprints in terms of wish, prohibition, neurosis, and symbolic transformation. Listen Here This Week's Highlights "The term “collective unconscious,” or general unconscious, is used in recognition of the fact that there is a common humanity built into our nervous system out of which our imagination works." -- Joseph Campbell An Open Life: Joseph Campbell in Conversation with Michael Toms , 122 The Center Of The World See More Videos Subscribe to the MythBlast Newsletter