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The Hero's Journey: And Where Shall I Seek Help? Rev. L. Annie Foerster |
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Many years ago there were a series of television
commercials—if I recall, they were for some sort of headache remedy—in
which the main character was presented as having an annoying problem, as
well as a headache. There was
an offer for assistance from a minor character. Then, the punch line:
"I'd rather do it myself."
After taking the remedy, the main character became sweet and
loveable, accepted the help and the problem went away. They all lived
happily ever after. My family loved those commercials.
They were reminded of me—stubborn and bull-headed, never accepting help,
always wanting to "do it myself."
They would call me long distance to ask if I had seen the latest
version of the commercial. What irritated me most was they were
right. My method of dealing
with everything from minor problems to major crises was to remove myself
from polite company so that my friends and family need never suffer that I
was less than perfect. Of
course, I seldom got away fast enough, and some of my anger, fear, or
whatever emotion was driving me, leaked out and splashed on them in my
haste to depart. I was seen
as a crabby soloist for much of my life. Every soloist, including me,
eventually gets to a point in her life when she simply has to learn to ask
for help. Maybe one's
development could be harmed by asking too soon. Development theory, the
mapping of human development justifies my independence, if not my
crabbiness. The task of
childhood is to develop ego and individual personality.
The task of adolescence is to establish unique values and goals, to
become a separate and unique person, often in rebellion with others.
The task of early adulthood is to develop self-confidence and an
ability to cope with life. It
isn't until the development charts focus on middle adulthood that they
begin to mention companionship, cooperation, relationships.
I was right on track! Of course, it isn't that easy. When
one excels at any skill, it takes a mighty effort to change. All those
development charts have at the bottom a line of fine print that reads: The infant without love will believe himself unlovable and
find the world a fearful place. Meaning:
You can't do love by yourself. Or,
The child without teaching can become rigid.
Meaning: You can't learn without a teacher to help you. Or, The
adolescent without guidance can become self-destructive or revolt may
become chronic. Meaning:
There is no growth for any of us in this life if we don't allow others
into our lives to help. The stories we were told—the myths
we study—are abundant with helpers.
The mythic hero always accepts help, no matter how strange its
origin, no matter how bizarre its relationship. You remember Jack who accepted, rather
foolishly, some magic beans in exchange for a cow.
Fortunately the beans grew into a huge beanstalk that he was able
to climb into the ogre's realm. There
he found all the equipment and riches he needed for a better life.
But Jack could not have done it without the ogre's wife, who hid
him, advised him, and helped him escape.
What a strange companionship that was. Clever Aladdin was nothing without the
assistance of the genie who lived in the magic lamp.
Cinderella had her fairy godmother; Snow White met the seven
dwarves; Little Red Riding Hood was saved from her fate by a woodsman; and
Sleeping Beauty slept instead of died because of the thirteenth fairy who
softened the curse on her life. This morning I am exploring where we
might look for helpers in our lives based on reflections of the mythical
hero's journey. This is the
fourth in a series of such explorations. Two weeks ago I talked about the
trials we are likely to encounter, the tribulations we need to come to
transformation at various times in our lives.
Today I want to look at the idea that in our stories the hero is
not expected to bear the burden of the trials alone.
The hero's goodness, wisdom or righteousness result in the
offerings of help, and the help is key to the hero's success. Examine the helpers in your favorite
stories. Do you notice how often they are unlikely assistants? They appear
to be weaker, smaller, less capable than the hero.
They are animals, even insects, small in contrast to the hero's
size; or they are old in contrast to the hero's youth; poor in contrast to
the riches the hero seeks. In
many stories, the hero is required to recognize some hidden worth covered
by their disguises, before they are able, in friendship or in gratitude,
to offer their help. Acknowledgment
of the helper's potential precedes the event of assistance. The easiest assumption, the most
logical interpretation of these stories, is that we should be good and
kind to everyone, acknowledge the inherent worth and dignity of everyone,
and lay away friendships for when they are needed.
This is not a bad assumption.
If nothing else, it will keep us from earning the reputation of
crabbiness. And, we must admit, that there is, or will be, a time in our
lives when we cannot go the road alone.
We will have to learn to accept help graciously and with gratitude.
We will have to soothe our cranky egos and admit to imperfection,
loneliness and need. It would
be nice to have gathered friends before that need arises. But I don't think that is all the
stories are telling us. The
helpers we find on the hero's journey often share a connection to magic or
magical powers. They know
more than would be the case in the everyday world.
They have abilities the hero can't imagine needing when he or she
sets out on the journey. The
symbolism of this is profound. The
key to the identity of the helpers in our own lives is in the very
improbability of the mythological rescuers.
What if the message we are to gather from the myths is that we must
look in unusual places to find our help?
At the end of the stories, after accepting the helpers' services,
the hero still has final responsibility for solving the dilemma, taking
responsibility for the outcome, setting right the wrong.
This, too, might be a clue to where we seek help.
It appears that the either/or dichotomy—do it myself or seek
help—isn’t indicated. What our stories reflect is both/and. We have to trust
helpers and we have to trust ourselves.
We have to learn to accept the invisible, mysterious, unexplainable
helpers that appear in our lives like magic. I have already hinted at such a helper
in my own journey. Here is
the confession. The stories
from the dream journal were my own. Because
I did not reject their magic when they appeared before me, they were able
to help me through a road of trial by pointing out some hidden problems I
had not seen. The
embarrassing irony of this is that about six months before these dreams
occurred, I had given a sermon, based on logic and reason, as to why
depending upon your dreams for practical insight is futile and ridiculous.
My own dreams risked betraying my public self in order to provide
me with an important private message. The symbols of these two dreams, which
are their magical aspects in the sense that they are not tangible, nor
even useful to anyone but the dreamer, showed me truths that at some level
I already knew. They pointed
out in a dramatic manner what I needed in order to slay the demons of that
particular day. Gently, but
firmly, they told me that I was out of control; that while I might be
fooling others, I wasn't fooling myself.
Encouragingly they told me that there was hope in rebirth and
transformation, but that I must be patient.
They helped. But I had to let them help. Often in our stories and myths there
are other potential heroes—brothers or sisters of the hero; or
stepbrothers and stepsisters—who have the same opportunity to befriend
the helpers, but fail to recognize them as such.
They disdain the beggar woman who gives the hero good advice; they
threaten to slay the beautiful bird who, saved by the hero, later picks
the lock to the castle where the treasure lies.
Who are these bumbling anti-heros?
They are manifestations of the hero who is bound to
failure—manifestation of ourselves when we do not accept help.
They are the side of us who is consumed by fear, who reject help,
who prefer their own ego image over any suggestion of helplessness.
Here we are reminded that the greater part of heroism is humility. We are surrounded today by a plethora
of books and seminars about synchronicity, intuition, and spiritual
guides, as well as dreams. These
are the invisible, magical helpers that we are encouraged to embrace. You can disdain them with rational explanations.
You can accept them out of hope or desperation.
Sooner or later we see that they are part of that symbolic realm of
helpers suggested by the heroic myths.
People who have known or witnessed such help are prone to tell of
their experiences, even as they suspect they will be misunderstood. I belong to that group. I know I
cannot share my experiences with you at the same level as I can say,
"See that sunset;" or "Feel this cloth."
But I can tell you how I felt and what was the result of my
"magical" experience. Perhaps
you will remember it when you are faced with only magic and there is no
place else to turn. Once, during my regular practice of
meditation, in the deeply-relaxed state I can sometimes achieve, I met an
old woman. I did not meet her
in the same sense as I would meet a person in the physical world, but I
know no other way to describe her acquaintance.
She was old in the very symbolic sense that she was much older than
I; my intuition of her was wisdom. Her
message for me was constancy, integrity and patience.
There were no instructions, no encouragements to action—just the
tri-part message. At the same
sitting I met a young man, fair of face and pleasant to look upon.
My intuition of him was liveliness.
His message was joy, enthusiasm and optimism. I knew—never mind
discussion of how we know what we know—I knew, rather than believed,
that this old woman and this young man were parts of myself I needed to
acknowledge. I knew that
their council would be available to me whenever I needed to call upon it. The
joy of that knowledge cannot be adequately described. It sustains me.
It helps me on my journey. I
am never alone. Psychologist Jean Shinoda Bolen
writes, "If a person follows the heroic principle of integrity and
faith, when caught in a conflict, the potentiality of some unexpected
inner help is quite real. An
intuition, a dream, a creative solution, an instinctual 'gut-level'
response or a change in attitude arises to aid the situation." At some similar level, the myth of the
hero's journey is quite real as well.
If we are willing to listen, if we are willing to seek help, to
accept help, help is available all around us—from the friends outside
ourselves to the friends within. We
must learn to cultivate the mind and spirit that is willing to ask for
help, that recognizes help, and that accepts help.
That is the hero's way. I have been talking about the
individual hero. I have
suggested that you make it part of your spiritual practice to think of
yourself as a hero, to tell your life stories with you as the hero,
however large or small the trials and the successes of your life may be.
But I want to add at this point in our current struggles with
reality that the hero is not always an individual.
Groups, families and communities do take the hero's journey, must
face the hero's trials, can transform and be transformed.
And though our fears in this journey might be individual, their
affect is accumulative, and we can trust that the help will arise from
within the community. You, as a community, are embarking on
a new heroic journey with your five-year Strategic Plan.
This is an exciting venture and not without its fears and trials.
As you meet to discuss it, be heroic.
Meet the fears that come from disagreement head on; cross the
threshold of the unknown, embrace the seemingly insurmountable tasks.
And know, just looking around you, that helpers abound: you have
one another and your own still small voices.
Bon voyage! |