“The energy created from the opposition is ‘given’ to both sides equally. So, when I held that baby bird in my hand, there was energy to go ahead and try to help it. But there is an equal amount of energy to go ahead and crush it. I tried to help the bird, so that energy went into various behaviors involved in helping it. But what happens to the other energy?
“Well, that depends on your attitude towards the wish that you didn’t fulfill. If you acknowledge it, face it, keep it available to the conscious mind, then the energy goes toward the general improvement of your psyche. You grow, in other words.
“But if you pretend that you never had that evil wish, if you deny and suppress it, the energy will go towards the development of a complex. A complex is a pattern of suppressed thoughts and feelings that cluster…around a theme provided by some archetype. If you deny ever having thought about crushing the little bird, you might put that idea into the form offered by the shadow (your ‘dark side’). (emphasis mine) Or if a man denies his emotional side, his emotionality might find its way into the anima archetype. And so on.
“Here’s where the problem comes: If you pretend all your life that you are only good, that you don’t even have the capacity to lie and cheat and steal and kill, then all the times when you do good, that other side of you goes into a complex around the shadow. That complex will begin to develop a life of its own, and it will haunt you. You might find yourself having nightmares in which you go around stomping on little baby birds!”
I don’t think I need quote Boeree further. The Jedi Council, in its steadfast refusal to acknowledge any negative human impulses, has created Darth Vader as much as Anakin Skywalker and Darth Sidious have. Think of the well-meaning but impossible tenets by which Anakin is expected to live: “the Jedi only think of others” and “learn not to grieve when loved ones die.” To cite my own review—narcissistic, yes, but also convenient:
“Jung’s basic guide to self-actualization is to come to terms with our dark side (shadow, anima, whatever). We must confront and understand all our negative impulses if we are to become mature, functional beings. [For example, it is not ‘normal,’ ‘healthy,’ or ‘morally good’ to kill irritating neighbors or sleep with ten thousand hot chicks at once while covered in maple syrup. But it is common to, at some level, desire these things, and we are healthier for acknowledging these evil impulses.]
“Yet what is [the Jedi’s] dread of ‘The Dark Side’ if not the fear of taking that adult step? The Sith are childish, selfish, and vengeful, but aren’t the Jedi equally childish in their refusal to admit to having any darker impulses? The one-on-one battles between good and evil in ‘Revenge’ may seem to stretch forever, but that’s because the battle between our inner impulses cannot be resolved. It’s fitting that Yoda and the anti-Yoda ([Emperor] Palpatine) fight to a stalemate. Good and evil can never truly conquer one another in this life. Luke does not vanquish darkness from the galaxy. He brings balance to The Force. He touches evil in ‘Return of the Jedi,’ but in his final victory he does not strike evil down, but throws his weapon away and accepts his fate.”
The Republic is a certainly a nice place, but it is too puritanically rigid for Anakin to explore his inner turmoil. Lucas has embodied this linguistically. Like “2001,” we begin “Star Wars” in a verbally repressed world. Anakin is not given the language, the tools, to manifest his rage. Or, seen another way, the big words of the prequels may at first appear more articulate, but because of limitations of language itself, Anakin is unable to vent his frustrations. He is caged not by a lack of language, but by a language overcome with formality and emotional detachment. He doesn’t have the words, and the Council won’t give them to him. Long repressed, his worst complex takes over.
Anakin’s complex is, of course, Darth Vader, and with the ascendancy of the Empire comes a rush of pent-up, negative emotions throughout the galaxy, leading to the verbal freedom of Episodes IV, V, and VI. Think of the terse dialogue near the beginning of “Episode IV” as Vader cuts to the chase as no one in the prequels ever does: “Tear this ship apart until you find those plans!” Consider the verbal brilliance and wit of Han Solo, who is forever acknowledging his cynicism and amorality. Everyone can say exactly what he or she means, no matter how gloomy or uncertain, without having to sound constipated.
It’s interesting to note that Yoda and Obi-Wan both continue their one-sided folly into Episodes IV, V, and VI. They both believe—incorrectly—that Anakin Skywalker is beyond redemption and dead, for all intents and purposes. It takes Luke, dope that he is, to see past the simplistic “good vs. evil” that exists in both the Empire and the Old Republic. Yoda and Obi-Wan are more human than the standard “wise old man” figure in that they can make mistakes. I actually would have preferred seeing more “arrogance and folly” on the part of the Jedi Council, to make their downfall seem more like hubris and less like one well-intentioned mistake after another.
(I also like the “any given Sunday” approach to winning swordfights in “Episode III:” Count Dooku (Christopher Lee) beats Obi-Wan but loses to Anakin, although Obi-Wan later defeats Anakin. Similarly, the Emperor and Yoda fight to a standstill, but Mace Windu (Samuel L. Jackson) seems all set to slay the Emperor until Anakin shows up and delivers a sucker punch, at which point it takes two Sith lords to defeat him. This also fulfills actor Samuel L.’s stated desire to “not die like a punk.”)
With the destruction of the Emperor in “Return of the Jedi” we have another of the archetypes Jung identified: death and re-birth, in this case, of the Republic. With the whole Vader-Sidious-Empire debacle, the Republic has finally, after 1,000 years, been made aware of its darkest impulses, which it tried to repress through a language that would not acknowledge their existence. It has risen from the ashes stronger—we hope—then it ever was. “Star Wars” has NEVER been about vanquishing evil, but about finding a balance in self-knowledge. This is why, as pop-corny as “Star Wars” is, it’s still more mature than that other trilogy, “The Lord of the Rings.” Despite claims at being a Christian metaphor, “LOTR’s” morality still says that evil is external and we can get rid of it by finding where it lives and killing it. “Star Wars,” on the other hand, sticks with original sin and calls it inescapable. “Star Wars” says that we can never fool ourselves into thinking we have banished our demons, and that admission and confession of the evil of which we are capable is the first step to a balanced existence. And The Son in “Return of the Jedi” forgives a gigantic pile of sins at the drop of a hat, and is there anything that filled with grace and Christ-like anywhere in “LOTR?”
All that being said, there are still some howlers in “Revenge of the Sith.”
Finished Monday, May 31st, 2005
Copyright © 2005 Friday & Saturday Night
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