by Jeffrey Bell-Hanson

Having been a Star-Wars fan from the beginning, it was wonderful to see the latest installment in the saga during my holiday visit with family, in an Imax theater, and during this year when I have the luxury of time to reflect. When I saw Episode IV in its first run in 1977, like most others, I enjoyed it as a great yarn. It combined all the ingredients of the old swashbucklers, westerns, epic romances… You name it. George Lucas (and John Williams!) hit all the right notes because they knew their craft.

But they drew on more than cinematic history. Lucas built his epic story on themes with deep historic roots. Joseph Campbell, a fan of the original trilogy, described Luke Skywalker’s journey of discovery as the classic hero’s tale common to multiple mythological traditions. Greek, Hindu, Norse mythology and others all include stories that trace similar paths. Lucas also appealed to the Enlightenment values of respect for the natural world and the necessity of finding balance.

The depth of this conception has not gone unnoticed. It has even tempted some to look to the “Force” as a substitute for traditional theologies. And why not? It resonates with ancient ideas held in common among various religions from east to west and north to south. Lucas’s Jedi culture weaves together a respect for something like the spirit of Gaia, the disciplined enlightenment of the Samurai and the shamanic ways of many belief systems. Could we not regard Star Wars as a mythological platform for a new, globalized understanding of our relationship to the universe and to each other?

Previously in this blog I have lamented the seeming inability in our contemporary culture to transcend a zero-sum mentality. (See “The End of Zero-Sum” at beatinginair.com) Herein lies the essence of my inability to see the Star Wars myth as equal to this challenge.

The metaphor of dark and light works for me when I think about the natural world where matter and energy are conserved and constant, and things must balance. But it can only be a metaphor, because dark and light are not actually equal things to be held in balance. Light is energy. Dark is simply its absence. There can be degrees of light, which then create the illusion of degrees of darkness. Our grammar points out the difference in quality of these two things. One can speak of light as a thing, and therefore a noun. Dark is only an adjective. It needs a quantifier to become a thing, hence, “darkness.”

So it is for whatever lies beyond the veil of the observable universe. The balance of light and dark in the Jedi myth suggests that the dynamism—the spirit—behind the force is a manifestation of a physical property, measurable in midi-chlorians (Lucas’s name for mitochondria), and subject to the laws of conservation of matter and energy. My understanding, arguably based in my faith tradition, is that there stands something yet beyond the midi-chlorians. They are effect, not cause. The only name that makes sense to me for that something is love.

Love, unlike light, is not bound by the laws of physics. It doesn’t have to be absent from one side of the world to be present on the other. It needn’t be balanced by some opposing thing. What would be its opposite? Hate? I think not, because hate, like darkness, is not a thing by itself. It arises from misunderstanding, miscommunication, misplaced rage—all evidence of the absence of regard for others. But love, like light, can be multiplied, and its supply is infinite. Here, perhaps, is the true nature of immortality, and the source of our hope for transcendence.

I remain a dedicated Star Wars fan. Like many epic stories, it embodies valuable truths. That’s why it’s so much fun. Yet, like all human stories, it has its limits. It seems telling that Rey, like Luke before her, found only herself when she descended into the cave. (“For now we see in a mirror dimly…”)