Madeleine L’Engle on the antihero:
Children don’t like antiheroes. Neither do I. I don’t think many people do, despite the proliferation of novels in the past few decades with antiheroes for protagonists. I think we all want to be able to identify with a major character in a book – to live, suffer, dream, and grow through vicarious experience. I need to be able to admire the protagonist despite his faults and so be given a glimpse of my own potential. There have been a few young-adult novels written recently with antiheroes; from all reports they are not the books that are read and reread. We don’t want to feel less when we have finished a book; we want to feel that new possibilities of being have been opened to us. We don’t want to close a book with a sense that life is totally unfair and that there is no light in the darkness; we want to feel that we have been given illumination. (Walking on Water 132-33)
Questions: Is L’Engle right about this? How does the Snape phenomenon fit into this? Would the Snape craze be as intense and widespread if Snape had been the protagonist (the one through whom the story was told in the third person, limited omniscient)? How does what L’Engle says fit with the love of the gothic villain-hero?
I’m analyzing this a bit in my chapter on Snape, but I thought I’d turn it loose in the Pub’s patrons for a bit.
Joivre on 
Arabella Figg on 
Red Rocker on 
Tom on 
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{ 29 comments… read them below or add one }
Funny you should bring this up just now, Travis.
While driving this morning I started thinking of John Ryan. John Ryan, for those of you who have never seen the movie Crash, is a bigoted, red-neck, sexist cop played by Matt Dillon. We first meet him when he and his partner pull over a black couple in an expensive car, because he believes that the only way a black person could get a car like that is by stealing it. The car isn’t stolen, and the couple go on their way, but not before Ryan gropes the attractive woman, Christine, under the guise of frisking her. Her helpless husband watches with anger as his wife is victimized.
Ryan is the complete misanthrope – he hates almost everyone with equal contempt, although his strongest feelings are reserved against racial minorities. His own partner asks for a change because he is so disgusted with Ryan’s attitude and behaviour.
And then we see another side to Ryan. He lives with his father, who is in severe pain due to what has been misdiagnosed as a bladder infection, but is probably prostate cancer. We see Ryan helping his father to the bathroom, we watch the pain and helpless compassion on his face as he holds the old man’s shoulders.
And near the end of the movie, we watch as Christine gets into a car accident, and is pinned upside down in a burning car. And we watch as Ryan’s cruiser is first on the scene, and Ryan rushes to save her, trying to free her from her seat belt, while the flames edge closer to the gas tank, and Christine, still remembering the sexual assault, screams at him to get away from her, oblivious of the fact that they are both seconds from a fiery death.
I think that the antihero in fiction can bring us as close – and perhaps even closer – to an understanding of human nature, of life, of the things we need to do, and how difficult that can be, as the hero. I think that in many ways an antihero tells us more about life: life is unfair, people don’t always act well or do the right thing, but there is a core of goodness even in the most flawed human being, which can sometimes emerge and redeem him, and by extension, redeem all of mankind.
I am not religious, but the point begs to be made: Christ died to save not the saints, but the sinners.
Well, I’m not sure how accurate L’Engle’s comments are nowadays. Walking on Water was written back in 1982 which is pretty dated.
But for the most part I agree with her. Reyhan, in the comments above, is right in the sense that antiheroes may make more compelling protagonists & give us some insight into understanding human nature. But they are also more than likely very depressing to read about.
L’Engle is right in that I think most people when they read want to see a hero they can identify with as someone who is human but also one who can draw them up into something better. She says, “I need to be able to admire the protagonist despite his faults and so be given a glimpse of my own potential.”
She’s also right in saying, “We don’t want to feel less when we have finished a book; we want to feel that new possibilities of being have been opened to us. We don’t want to close a book with a sense that life is totally unfair and that there is no light in the darkness; we want to feel that we have been given illumination.”
Yeah, sure, some people may like wallowing in the dark depths of human nature & bemoaning the fact that life sucks, then you die. But I can get that feeling & impression all the time just by living in the real world. Like L’Engle I want to finish the book or movie with a little bit of hope & some illumination.
I’m not sure antiheroes can truly help us do that. Yes, as Reyhan notes, they can give us glimpses but those are only glimpses & they’re generally overshadowed by the overwhelming badness or unpleasantness of the antihero & his dark fate.
So, while antiheroes like Snape or John Ryan or the character Michael Chiklis plays on The Shield may make fascinating characters & we may empathize with them & pity them & have hope for their redemption, yet they are not people we admire or seek to emulate. They’re generally not people we extol as role models for our children.
Sure, Harry tells Albus about Snape’s bravery. But he’s calling him to emulate Snape’s bravery & not his antihero qualities.
Just some thoughts. I’m sure I’ll have more.
I wish she’d been more specific about the characters she’s referencing as anti-heroes. It helps me if I can think about indivdual characters when trying to figure out whether I agree or not. I’ve not seen Crash, but from reyhan’s description, I have a fairly good idea of it, at least of the character.
It is interesting to read or see a story about someone like Snape. What happened to make him so bitter? Why does he act the way he does? Could things have been different for him had the circumstances changed? What will it take for the good in him to shine through and will he ever find redemption? Will he ever forgive himself for his sins?
But to have Snape as the main character, and the only main character whose thoughts we see, I think would have been very sad and depressing and without much hope. Yes, that gives us insights into the darker side of human nature, but not everyone is so dark. And I think part of what draws women to such characters, in stories and in real life, is that they are certain they will be the one who can save this poor tortured man. It’s the good they see in themselves that makes the anti-hero compelling, rather than just the bad that they see.
I have to agree with L’Engle on her point that I want to read a story where the protaganist gives me hope that, even though I have faults, there is hope for me as well. In the end, I want a story that is uplifting, even if the hero goes through some dark times, rather than a story with a dark hero who has some good things about his character despite his overall nastiness.
I read the first of A Series of Unfortunate Events, and even though the children were good, I found the story so dark that I couldn’t stand it. I won’t read any of the rest and didn’t see the movie. The overall message was of such hopelessness that I really hated that book. Maybe it was supposed to be satire and I know a lot of people liked it and thought it was funny. But child neglect and child abuse were just not things that I could laugh about–it was creepy to have no adult heroes to be on the side of the children. That actually was the series of books that came to mind when I was reading L’Engle’s comments, but obviously she meant something else if she wrote that in 1982. In any story there needs to be the balance of good and bad characters. Then having a character that is an anti-hero makes it more interesting, but to only have the bad as the central character is something that I just find too dark and disturbing.
Pat
revgeorge,
You write:
‘Yeah, sure, some people may like wallowing in the dark depths of human nature & bemoaning the fact that life sucks, then you die. But I can get that feeling & impression all the time just by living in the real world.’
Understanding that life sucks and people are flawed, where can we best get some sense of meaning, some illumination, and some kind of hope to take us beyond that?
Through the adventures of a noble hero, who embodies human virtues – courage, determination, compassion, honesty – battles adversity, and shows through example that love and goodness triumph over hatred and evil? Or through the adventures of a flawed antihero, who must fight his own nature and struggle to find what the good is, and pull out a single noble act from a life-time of sin and selfishness?
Of course that’s an exaggeration. No hero is that flawless. Not the believable ones, anyway. Even Harry, despite the facts that he seems born good, has many flaws. And there are few antiheroes who are that flawed. We would not admire them if they were that unredeemed.
And I think that leads to an important point: there is a balance of strength and weakness, noble and ignoble and goodness and evil, in all credible protagonists. Too much on the light side, the character becomes bland and unbelievable; too much on the dark side, the character becomes a caricature villain, or an object of pity and revulsion. Sort of like Voldemort ascendant and Tom Riddle at King’s Cross.
If I can’t believe in a character, his actions and his fate have no impact on me. There is no possibility of illumination, let alone hope, if I don’t see in him some reflection of how people really are.
So I prefer my heroes flawed. I prefer heroes whose biggest struggles are with themselves, who ultimately win the war against the darkness within, whose message is: life sucks and you die, but that is not all there is, and before death gets you you can do one single good thing to prove:
‘Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.’
reyhan, I think you’re missing L’Engle & my points. Neither one of us are saying we don’t want heroes without any depth or human flaws. L’Engle says she needs to be able admire the hero despite his faults. She doesn’t say a hero should have no faults. Nor do I.
And the thing is, as you yourself say, we prefer heroes. Antiheroes only become truly worthy of being admired & seen as noble when they overcome their antiheroness & follow their noble, heroic instincts. Snape as antihero only works when his heroic qualities are finally revealed.
I think L’Engle is speaking of the trend of dark heroes who never really end up being heroic, although the results of their actions may sometimes be good. Antiheroes who never show us that glimpse of redemption or who win the war against their dark side. The story just ends up dark & brooding & without hope. I think that’s what she’s talking about. But unless we can find out which books or antiheroes she’s referring to, I’m not sure we can make definitive statements on the matter.
But I think we’re in pretty much complete agreement, although we may be coming at it from different rationales.
revgeorge,
Agree with you absolutely on both points: the need for at least a glimpse of redemption, and the need to know what exactly L’Engle is talking about in order to make definitive statements on the matter.
I Googled anti-hero and the list of candidates captures so many variations on good and evil that I think the term is too vague to be of much use. For example, the list includes Alex from Burgess’ A Clockwork Orange, Lucifer from Milton’s Paradise Lost, Hannibal Lecter, Shylock, Scarlett O’Hara, Raskolnikov, Gollum, and our very own Severus Snape.
Many of the characters on that list don’t even attempt to struggle against their dark side, and by my lights would qualify as totally committed to the dark side and out-and-out villains.
So I’m confused. What is an anti-hero? Is it the presence of ignoble qualities? An affinity for the dark side? If there is no struggle against the dark side or a final, selfless heroic act, would that person be considered an anti-hero?
I am on safer ground when I say that I like the character of Severus Snape. I like the struggle in him between the bitterness, resentment and longing for power 0n the one hand, and his love for Lily and his dismay at having brought about her death and his resolve to redeem himself. I like the way the good in him triumphs over the evil.
And I think that it would have been a very different story if it had been told from his perspective. Not a story suitable for children, I think, nor a story which children would have liked very much. But I for one would have found it a very interesting story.
L’Engle’s point is entirely dependent on the reader’s wants, I think. The thing is, Reyhan and revgeorge, I think both of you are right, and that’s probably why stories are generally built around both character types, and they usually make those characters somehow interdependent on each other.
Neither Han nor Luke can achieve their ends without depending on each other.
Harry cannot achieve his purpose without Snape’s help; neither can Snape find “absolution” unless Harry knows what his virtues and faults.
Milton composed Paradise Lost with this whole issue in mind. Satan is a much more interesting, compelling, and maybe sympathetic character than either God or Jesus.
The problem from the quote above is the one Pat points out: what does L’Engle consider an antihero to be? Who is she thinking of? Is an antihero the same as a flawed hero? It’s important to understand that the literary definition of “antihero” does not automatically mean a dark, brooding, world-weary rapscallion. Antiheroes are defined by A Handbook to Literature as “graceless, inept, sometimes stupid, sometimes dishonest” (33). Under this terminology, Leslie Nielsen’s portrayal of Frank Drebin from the Naked Gun movies would qualify. More literary examples would include Tristram Shandy from Laurence Sterne’s Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Esq., or Candide from Voltaire’s novel. These comical antiheroes are all antecedents to the early depictions of Neville in HP.
In my opinion, L’Engle’s usage of the term is too narrow. The purpose of the protagonist in a piece of fiction depends entirely on too many factors to set up a hierarchy in which one character type outclasses the other, even if only in popularity. If a reader wants some form of nobility and transcendence from a character (revgeorge), then the classical hero is the way to go. If another is more interested in probing the depths of the human experience (Reyhan), antiheroes often prove far more compelling.
And, let’s keep in mind that like all literary terms, heroes and antiheroes are rarely ever simply or purely one or the other. Odysseus is a classical hero, but by today’s standards he’s a pretty self-centered jerk. L’Engle’s quote sets up a false dilemma here, though I’m not sure if that’s her purpose.
Sympathy for the devil, Dave?
See, here’s the problem. I don’t necessarily prefer a classical hero over an antihero. I think both can give compelling stories that are worth reading. But I, too, like Reyhan, am wondering exactly what an antihero is. I saw the same list & it does seem to include a wide range of less than savory characters but who don’t necessarily seem to fit on the same list.
An antihero, just by definition of the word, would seem to be one opposed to a hero. Lacking heroic qualities or the opposite of heroic qualities. A true villain who likes being a villain & opposes goodness. Not one who shows heroic qualities.
What the term antihero seems to have come to meant, though, is a flawed villain. A villain whose flaws are that they are capable of showing heroic virtues! A villain who has doubts or who struggles against their own evil inclinations. And in doing so shows noble characteristics.
A villain like that can be empathized with, pitied, understood, & even forgiven to some extent & also the possibility of redemption is open to them. To go back to a conversation we had a long time ago, the boy who steals to feed his starving sister. We can empathize with such a boy & feel pity for him & desire to help him out but we don’t condone his stealing.
And so Snape is a fascinating character & we can emphathize with him & understand him & feel for him but we do so because of his heroic qualities & not his villainy, his pettiness, his cruelty towards student, his hatred of Harry et al.
And this is why I like Snape’s character, too, even though he’s unpleasant to read sometimes. Same way with OOTP. It’s one of my favorites out of the series but it is jarring & difficult to read but that’s because it’s meant to be that way.
And here’s the nice thing about literature, & also movies, we’re not stuck with one genre or one type of character or plot. We’ve got lots to choose from. When I feel like a nice heroic story, I can read one. When I want something more intense & more brooding I can read one. When I want something serious or funny, I can choose what to read. And then I can also choose all the various shades in between.
You’re right as well, Dave, that literary conventions are rarely if ever cut & dried. They’re good for helping us categorize things & help keep them in order & formulate theories & what not, but often times people & stories & genres can fall into different categories.
I think John Granger said that’s why some academics have problems with Harry Potter & tend to dismiss it because it can’t be neatly categorized. Harry Potter encompasses a wide range of genres into its story.
And also a story or character are not necessarily the sum of its literary parts. It’s an unique story with unique characters even if they are based off of common archetypes.
Just categorizing some of the Potter characters, Harry is the hero, Ron the sidekick, Hermione the brains, Dumbledore is wise old mentor, Voldemort is villain, almost cartoonish super villain, & Snape is a Byronic hero.
All well & good & all necessary categorizations but also only just starting points in the discussion of the story & the characters. And each character is different & unique & has a depth to them although they may be playing stock roles.
Here’s another comparison. In Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy is hero, Xander is sidekick, Willow is the brains, Giles is the wise old mentor, the Master (1st season) is the villain, & Angel is Byronic hero. But they’re also unique characters with their own stories & certainly different than their respective counter parts in Harry Potter although as part of the story they still perform the same roles as their counterparts.
And also just because a character is primarily playing one role doesn’t mean they can’t possess other qualities. Ergo, Ron & Xander are sidekicks but they’re also brave & heroic & occasionally have great ideas. Hermione & Willow are the brains, but they also have other qualities. Heck, Willow even turns into the villain in one story arc. So, categorizations like antihero are just places to start.
Quite like Travis to throw out a quote out of context & let us fight it out over it while he soaks up notes for his book.
revgeorge, I think we’re on the same page, for the most part. As for why academics sometimes dismiss HP:
My experience has been the exact opposite — the academics I know that dismiss HP think it’s too simplistic and too easily categorized, that Rowling adheres too strictly to the genres she borrows from. It’s also one of the reasons academics tend to disparage genre fiction in favor of “literary” fiction (often without really thinking about what the term “literary” means to them or anyone else).
We academics like to problematize categories — better yet, find the ways in which categories problematize themselves.
Dave,
Perhaps I misunderstood what John was saying then about the academics. Most likely, it was what you’ve experienced. I mostly misremembered how he put it. Thanks.
Quite like Travis to throw out a quote out of context & let us fight it out over it while he soaks up notes for his book.
Ha! Yes, revgeorge, I’m making you all write my book for me, mwahaha
I hesitated to post any of my tracks from the book, and almost didn’t hit “publish” on this. Actually, the manuscript is due in two days, this part is already thought out, and yes, my response is touched on here (by reyhan, in the first comment).
Pat, very interesting link to “A Series of Unfortunate Events.” That series does have an anti-hero feel, even if it doesn’t have an anti-hero. It’s almost an anti-hero text. I enjoyed the series while I read it (I made it through all 13), but I’ve felt no real draw to read it again.
Great, great discussion. You guys rock.
L’Engle says that children don’t like antiheroes.
Here are some recent antiheroes whom children would be acquainted with for your consideration: Han Solo, Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader, Severus Snape, Edmund Pevensie, Eustace Scrubb, Shrek, Nemo’s father, Marlin (with a sigh of regret for the fact that few kids today have heard of the original Nemo, a classic antihero if ever there was one), the Grinch, and Captain Jack Sparrow.
I can’t do a representative survey, but with the exception of Eustace (whom he hasn’t encountered yet), I don’t think that there’s one name on that list which my 7 year old doesn’t like. A lot.
Mind you, when he talks about these characters, there is always the recognition of their dark side, some reflection about why they did the bad (or less than admirable) things they did, and an explanation of how and why they turned over to the good side.
A 7 year-old’s understanding of Anakin Skywalker’s character arc, if you like, sounds like this: Anakin Skywalker became Darth Vader because he didn’t want his wife to die, but he killed the Emperor because he loved his son, Luke, and he was really good underneath all along.
But perhaps L’Engle is talking about some other fictional characters.
I also wish L’Engle had given some clear examples. I love L’Engle. I went from her not being part of my analysis to being absolutely fundamental to it. I think she misses something with this comment, or at least we’re missing something because she didn’t define her term well – or at all.
I think I’ve got it. Not what L’Engle means by the term, but how I understand it.
For me, the crucial defining aspect of an antihero is the core of goodness in a flawed human being which leads him (or her, but alas, in fiction, it’s more often him) to commit a heroic act.
I realize we are all flawed. But we are not all heroes. An antihero is one in whom the spark of goodness overcomes the flaws and weaknesses. His heart is almost like an arena for the universal struggle between good and evil. And the good wins.
That is why I love antiheroes.
Perhaps we’re labouring under the wrong word, “like.” When we use ‘like’ we generally mean we feel affectionately toward something or it elicits a good feeling or response in us. Like, I like ice cream or I like Ike. Or I like so & so, he’s so nice.
Perhaps L’Engle uses the wrong word. Speaking of how we would normally use ‘like’, no, I wouldn’t like Snape or Anakin or a host of other people. And I certainly wouldn’t like what they do or become. But I would like their character & how they’re written or portrayed.
And here’s where I think we’re getting distracted by L’Engle a bit when she says children don’t like antiheroes. I think she means children don’t like antiheroes who aren’t redeemed or who don’t become better people.
Han Solo when we first meet him is not a likable person. He gradually becomes one, though, as he shows such human characteristics as loyalty & bravery & finally concern & love for someone other than himself.
Anakin, too, in such a way. Anakin does all his horrible deeds out of a supposed love for Padme. He loves her, yes, but it’s a selfish, possessive love driven by his own desires. And as such he does horrible things. I don’t think your son, Reyhan, likes the Anakin who butchers the Jedi children as part of his plan to save Padme’s life. But he does like the Anakin who saves his son by finally showing sacrificial love.
In the first case, Anakin is willing to sacrifice everything & everybody for Padme but it’s not really for Padme, it’s for him, for him to keep on possessing her, which is exactly what ends up losing her. In the second case, he is willing to sacrifice himself.
And, with all respect to your son, who at 7 I’m sure can’t handle too many abstract concepts, but Anakin doesn’t stay good underneath. He’s evil & he does evil things. But he’s not irredeemable. He can be saved. He can find the good he once had.
Maybe they put it a better way in the OOTP movie when Sirius says the world isn’t divided up between Death Eaters & good people. We’ve both got light & dark in us. I’ll leave it at that & not get into a discussion over original sin.
reyhan,
I would agree with your understanding of the term antihero in the way you put it above. I think it’s spot on.
We’re still struggling to define the term, but I wonder…can an “anti-hero” for whom there is no hint of redemption really be an antihero? Wouldn’t s/he be just a villain?
I wonder if L’Engle is using the term to refer to these villain-heroes whose bad traits are never considered bad within the text itself. In other words: “This story’s hero is an ass. Deal with it. He’ll save the day.” You know, no real tragic element. The villain-aspect justified by the heroic act, rather than redeemed by it.
reyhan, after reading one of your comments in your first post & comparing it to one of L’Engle’s. I’m not sure you’re that far apart from each other.
You said, “I think that the antihero in fiction can bring us as close – and perhaps even closer – to an understanding of human nature, of life, of the things we need to do, and how difficult that can be, as the hero. I think that in many ways an antihero tells us more about life: life is unfair, people don’t always act well or do the right thing, but there is a core of goodness even in the most flawed human being, which can sometimes emerge and redeem him, and by extension, redeem all of mankind.”
She said, “We don’t want to feel less when we have finished a book; we want to feel that new possibilities of being have been opened to us. We don’t want to close a book with a sense that life is totally unfair and that there is no light in the darkness; we want to feel that we have been given illumination.”
Aren’t you both essentially saying the same thing, but with a little different emphasis on either end? I think the problem we’re having, as previously noted, is that we don’t know exactly what L’Engle means by antihero.
Which is almost like what you were talking about, Travis, when you commented that A Series of Unfortunate Events was like an anti-hero text.
Or an anti-hero world view. Which would be what? A world without good or evil? A world where redempition is not essential, or even important, because it doesn’t matter if you’re good or evil?
Hmm.
BTW, revgeorge, the idea of someone who does evil but then does good , the idea that that person in heart was always good, appears to have some power in explaining why people change for the better. Shadd Maruna, a sociologist, found that criminals who “made good” had what he termed a redemption script. Part of the script was the knowledge that despite the bad things they did, the person inside was always good.
reyhan, not that I wanted to get into this, but Scripturally speaking the human heart is termed evil from birth, & even before birth, because of the fall into sin. But that’s not to say there isn’t a redemptive pattern & script which can call individuals back to a human civility. That’s because it’s an echo of the great redemptive pattern which comes from outside of us.
I think also that good & evil are not helpful necessarily to our discussion because they too can have a broad range of meaning kind of like the word ‘like.’ But I’ll state that if we wanted to follow this discussion further, we’d disagree & Travis would tell us to cool it.
revgeorge,
I meant redemption with a small “r”, good with a small “g” and evil with a small “e”.
I’m not crazy enough to discuss Original Sin with a Lutheran, on a blog run by a Calvinist.
he he he.
I no longer feel the need to theologically debate original sin. Now that I belong to a parents’ co-op in my community, I say only this: Pelagius never babysat toddlers.
I like that quote, Travis!
Eeyore et al.: I’m not very familiar with A Series of Unfortunate Events, and I’ve never ead the original Pullman series, but I did happen to see The Golden Compass a while back. Talk about an antihero text, with no adult heroes! My biggest complaint about the film as stand-alone work is that Lyra is escaping and rebelling, but we never get a clear idea of what she’s fighting FOR or escaping TOWARD–just the corruption she’s fleeing. It’s really bleak…and not the best storytelling in the world, I might add.
@RenaBlack,
I think your complaint about *The Golden Compass* movie is right on, but that complaint does not apply to the book. I absolutely loved the *The Golden Compass* book; it’s one of my favorite fantasy stories. An excellent piece of storytelling, it does so many things right.
I actually did not enjoy the two final books in the *His Dark Materials* trilogy. They do have some good material — one scene in the third one nearly broke my heart) — but for the most part I think the books become too “preach-y” (if that’s the right word to apply to Pullman) and the story too convoluted.
Randy, a friend of mine said the same thing about Pullman’s trilogy. I really do like the first book quite a bit; I have not moved on to the others yet.
On another note, I was just looking around your site and noticed that you made some changes in direction for the site after having read Pathways to Bliss. I draw on some sections of that book for my own book. Lots of fascinating stuff in there.
SeaJay mentioned Karen Armstrong, who has a lot of good things to say about fundamentalism. Her book The Battle For God is subtitled “A History of Fundamentalism”. (I imagine her thoughts in The Bible: A Biography are just a sample of what’s in this book.) She wrestles with using the term “fundamentalist” because of all the baggage it carries, but ultimately decides it is the best one.
She references two modes of thinking described by the Greeks: mythos, the mythical and mystical way of thinking; and logos, the rational and pragrammatic way of thinking. In premodern times, both modes of thinking were deemed important for discovering truth — logos helped us hunt, farm, and use technology, while mythos provided meaning and a spiritual framework in which to understand these activities.
In the modern world, though, mythos has been discredited; rational, scientific thought has been elevated as the only way of discoverig truth. This has posed a real crisis for religion. One response to this crisis was to seek to make faith rational and scientific; Armstrong calls this approach “fundamentalism”. Fundamentalism takes the mythos of a religious tradition and treats it like logos.
She also discusses the Scopes Trial, which Travis mentioned above. Before that the chief enemy of fundamentalists was Higher Criticism, but then it shifted to evolution.
Even though the fundamentalists could not articulate their views well, Armstrong believes that mythos provides us something that logos cannot:
She explains that art (not religion) is often the way that many modern people experience the mythical mode of thinking.
More than just a detailed history of fundamentalism, The Battle For God provides (especially in the first four “introductory” chapters) an approachable general intellectual history of the last few hundred years that can help us understand the importance of Harry Potter, mythopoeic literature, and art in general to us today.
[Whoops! I meant to post the previous comment to Podcast #50, in which Travis mentioned fundamentalism!]
Yes, Pathways to Bliss has some excellent stuff in it. It really opened my mind to the psychological power of art (including literature), both for the artist and for the one experiencing it. Before reading that book, I now realize I just assumed that art was good and valuable — after all, that’s what the “culture snobs” tell us. But I think most people (including me) don’t know why it’s valuable. Fantasy literature often gets criticized by these “culture snobs”, and I appreciate the effort Travis and others are doing to show that works like Harry Potter and The Lord of the Rings are in fact true and valuable art. I’m really looking forward to Travis’ book!
I just started Campbell’s The Masks of God series, the fourth volume of which (Creative Mythology) explores artists as myth-makers in our modern day. I think this will be helpful in my new quest to understand just what it is that makes art, mythology and fantasy in particular, so valuable.