Mapping The Great Journey: The Hero, Antihero, and Heroine’s Journeys

After our journey through the map of alchemy, we turn to the hero, antihero, and heroine’s journeys. While Joseph Campbell—and countless storytellers before and since him—illuminated the hero’s journey, we have heard little of the antihero and heroine’s journeys. Today, with a world in great disrepair and suffering from rampant unconscious leadership, this is especially tragic. I hope to begin to remedy that in the weeks to come. 

I would not start this trio of maps with the hero’s journey if it were not the beginning of both the antihero’s and contemporary heroine’s journeys. In the case of the antihero’s journey, we learn the story of the hero gone wrong. The treasure won becomes hoarded. It is a source of power and not a healing richness for the collective that it is meant to be. Turning in on himself, the antihero may have the illusion of success, but as in the story of the Emperor’s new clothes, anyone with eyes to see will recognize the failure. Soon enough, this initial success will fail him in return. 

The heroine’s journey, on the other hand, is the progression of the hero’s journey from the exterior (a saving of the world) to the interior (a saving of one’s true essence). Once the great worldly treasure is found, the heroine realizes that winning is not all it was cracked up to be. In her disillusionment, she begins a descent, unknowingly in search of deeper meaning. Previously rejected feminine qualities such as female companionship, healing ultimately lead her to repair the masculine/feminine split that was required as she undertook the worldly heroic journey. 

It has long been my belief that our first-world cultures are in a collective heroine’s journey. Because we do not teach and discuss this inner journey—even Joseph Campbell treated the heroine’s journey as obvious and so in need of no meaningful academic attention—we have little collective insight or direction to guide us. But many a heroine (in female, male or intersex bodies) who has taken this dark underworld journey has lived to tell the tale and is now beginning to tell it. We need only look to our ancient feminine mythologies to understand exactly what is happening—again. 

Ancient mythology offers us stories that universally point us toward essential truths and patterns. 

With these maps, the inherent limitations within what it means to be human can be transcended, but only after they have been seen, tested, and assimilated. As the saying goes, those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it. This history, of course, is not limited to what we read in culturally approved books or hear from a collectively sanctioned media (whatever side of the political debate it is leaning toward). Yes, it includes the historical patterns of the human condition that have been studied, measured, and scientifically proven. But it also must include the personal, subjective, and anecdotal aspects that are the only way to fully understand our world of inner experience. If we learn only what has made its way across cultural thresholds (even the field of psychology has a great many strictly controlled gatekeepers for the “protection” of us all), we have little way to collectively learn about the most essential and mysterious aspects of ourselves. Since many of these aspects include those things that bring meaning and purpose to our lives, we often go without and suffer greatly for it. Myths—those stories that point us toward the truer than true—are what we have to bridge that gap.

The hero’s journey, then, becomes the first of our three heroic maps. 

We credit much of our understanding of the hero’s journey to Joseph Campbell, who put it all into one great tome called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. He pieces together the details of the hero’s call, adventure, and return through the study of myths from all parts of the world and throughout all of recorded history. His research revealed that, while the details varied widely, the same basic story has been told, and is yet being told, again and again. Hence, we have the hero’s map to take us at least to this point in the evolution of humankind. 

Broken down into a classic cycle of very specific thresholds, this step-by-step scaffolding can be found behind some of our very favorite movies, from Star Wars to The Matrix to Pretty Woman to The Wizard of Oz. It’s not only movies, of course. I think of John Irving’s Cider House Rules, where orphan Homer Wells grows into, then abandons, then returns to the world and culture he came from. In a hidden place where outlawed abortions are understood to be good and unwanted children are kindly put to bed, our hero must leave to return, morally object to understand, and finally take his place in the order of things as a better man and doctor (even without credentials) than the one who came before him. Society needed a heroic Homer Wells, and the hero’s journey made him fit for the role.  

Like all great journeys, we start with something gone wrong. 

In alchemy, we call this fire. In the heroic journey, it is called the wasteland. The biggest difference is that alchemy usually points to a personal, specific fire—our relationship, business, or product cycle burning down. In the hero’s journey, what has gone wrong will surely be personal to us, but it will also and always point to something greater that is burning in the collective. We are called to heroically serve the world, not only ourselves. 

Today, our wastelands could be the health, economic and social fallout of COVID-19, a world pandemic that proves the hubris in thinking we have everything under control. It could be the rising (again) of the call to eradicate systemic racism and all its horrors (let us intend that we will finally change the old guard we call “police protection” for something better and more human—it is surely more than time). It could be big, like the collective perils of climate change, or smaller, like a dirty politician in a local race. 

Whatever the wasteland, we as heroes are being called up by a greater force for a greater good. This is a natural evolution that has taken place generation X after generation Y. As humans, we are growing—thank the heavens. I would even go so far as to say it is our collective evolution in action. Something old and less conscious is always dying while something new and more conscious is always egging us on. Because of this, I repeat that the hero cannot be in this only for himself and his own greatness and good fortune. That leads straight to the antihero's journey—and if that is going to be the case, why not stay home and save the trouble? 

But who is most likely to succeed? Mythology gives us a hint in the tale of three princes. 

Often the stories that reveal the hero’s journey have been told in the form of the mythological king (society and the old ways) who has become weakened and infirm, threatening the kingdom. Consider the evil Republic’s attack on the good Resistance in Star Wars, as one example. Upon the realization that something is wrong or under threat, the king’s sons and daughters—we will collectively call them princes in this masculine, outward-facing journey—are called upon to rise up and save the kingdom. The hero-as-prince must forge a new way forward so that when the journey is successful, the kingdom and culture at large is made whole again. 

The story of three princes goes something like this: The king is ill, the kingdom at risk, and there is rumor of a new medicine in some far-off place that might offer a cure. Three princes, each a little younger than the other, are ready and willing to take on the quest. As first son, the eldest prince is entitled, arrogant, and sure of himself. He takes his best steed and heads out. In his rush and certainty, he kicks aside the magical troll at the bridge—the one holding the three special gifts that will ensure a successful journey. If only the first prince believed in magic! He gallops directly into the first trap and dies. 

When he does not return, the king and kingdom grow worse, and so the second prince rides out. He doesn’t know what he is doing, but he has seen how his big brother went out so full of confidence and he does his best to imitate. In doing so, he also ignores the magical troll at the bridge and dies in like fashion. 

Once again, with no return, the duty falls to the youngest prince. Too bad he is the least likely to succeed, the most likely to be detained by a friendly chat with a troll, and really, probably too stupid to make it out of the gate. But who else is there to send? Thankfully, this third prince knows that he does not know much, and so when a magical troll offers help, he is all ears and gratitude. This one will succeed. 

I share this story because all three princes are within us. The sure, arrogant, entitled one that will die on the first pass of the journey. The unsure imitator who, not trusting himself, will follow suit in the second pass. And then the friendly fool who is humble and open to any help that is offered. Now that we know which one succeeds, we can decide if we want the first two deaths before a win, or to start out humble—the choice is always ours. 

Before we ride off, however, we must look at the call to adventure closely and ask two vital questions: Is it our call, and is it our time? 

Whenever I work with a leader who is considering a new venture (aka heroic journey), these are the two clarifying questions I always present. We are looking for a deep clarity and unequivocal YES on both counts. YES it is my call. YES it is my time. 

It sounds easy, but if the opportunity lacks situational urgency, often it takes time to get that clarity. There are many internal questions, situational implications, and previous failed attempts or other “mistakes” from other journeys. These create deep questions and blocks to clarity. On the other hand, many reluctant heroes have had the metaphorical phone ringing off the hook for years, maybe even decades. If so, this is not about clarifying the call, but ending what is referred to as a Refusal of the Call. Shamans will tell you that the refusal of the call to become what you know you are meant to become will make you sick of body, mind, and soul. It’s no small thing to remedy that and get back on track. 

To distinguish a call from a fantasy or illusion, we must understand what a call is and what it is not. The call is not likely to be a golden opportunity that shows up overnight. It’s not a sweet deal or a cozy corner office. Because a true call will require us to become something more than what we are at the start of the journey, the call is always going to look like a challenge—even an impossible one. It is meant to be bigger than us in order to transform every part of us. And so it often appears as irrational and illogical. Sometimes it makes us ill just to think about it. We step back and think we’d be crazy to follow, which is true. Unless we can’t not follow, which may also be true. So this is our first clue: If we can’t not do something, there’s a pretty good chance it’s a call. 

Here are a few questions I like to ask myself and those I mentor: Is the idea of your call in some way viscerally impacting? Does it kick you in the gut or make you feel like you are falling in love with an idea? Does it wake you up at night feeling as frightened as you are excited? Have you had the sense of it in the back of your mind for what seems like forever, and does it keep coming back no matter how much you try to dismiss it? Are you getting signals or synchronicities and think: Is someone trying to tell me something? Can you imagine your life having meaning and purpose without this journey, or does it somehow fall more flat? Do you find yourself not telling others, or explaining your “idea” in terms that hedge the risks you know you will have to take, in order to keep it safe or even sacred to you? If you hear yourself whispering to yourself, I don’t know, we might get hurt, you are likely onto something. 

Joseph Campbell says that “you must enter the forest of adventure at the point that is darkest, for if there is a way or a path, it is someone else's.” If you are not a little afraid, you are not likely entering a forest, and you probably have not found the point that is darkest. I’d wait. 

To complicate things, Campbell also admonished us to follow our bliss. Bliss isn’t pleasure or even happy-go-lucky ignorance. It isn’t personal prosperity or the high we get from escaping reality. It’s deeper, truer, and meaningful to the core. If your call is daunting, and yet the very thought of it brings you to a place of irrational bliss, well, that’s as good a place to start as any. 

Once we are clear it is our call, we have another important question: Is it our time? 

This question is not meant to help us stall, reconsider, or hash over our fears yet another time in detail and ad infinitum. It is meant to clarify the call. In the U.S., the time to act on Black Lives Matter is now. It’s not a new call for the world, but it may be a new call for you or a call that has been waiting for you to see it. Perhaps you have ideas of how you could lead. Perhaps you have suddenly seen your education is lacking and the call is to shore up what you don’t know, however uncomfortable that might be. Collectively, the time has arisen. At least from the vantage point of those I work with, nearly everyone can see this call's timing is now—a writing-on-the-wall of true opportunity to participate in critically needed social change. Very often, our call is not culturally recognized and collectively supported. Even so, we can feel it viscerally from within when it rises up to say Now. 

While the Refusal of the Call is so common it has a name, and reluctance is assumed by anyone in their right mind, the rushing of the call is just as fateful. It almost always means it’s nothing more than a concocted fantasy and pipe dream. Acting too fast, we are just as likely to be blinded by our passion as to be prepared for the very long journey ahead. Knowing our call and our time together is the critical one-two punch I always put to the test. The advice is simple but not easy: Get quiet, get clear, and ask the two questions. If you do so in earnest, you’ll know. 

And once you know and act, you are on the journey. You have crossed the first of three thresholds and can expect the magic that Campbell promises: “When you follow your bliss, the universe will open doors where there were only walls.”

For those who lead… 

Understanding and supporting the heroic journeys being taken by those we lead is one of the most critical things we can do to enhance our work. For example, participating in the heroic journeys of others is how I have learned to follow my personal bliss. As I live my story, I help others to live theirs, and this makes me happy, fulfilled, and delighted to follow my own heroic journey. Below you will find a few ways that you might lead yourself and others to this kind of bliss. 

• Tell your stories. The heroic journeys you have undertaken are inspiring to others. You don’t have to call yourself a hero, but share the why and how of your journey. Share the call, the timing, and even the reluctance. These stories ignite an inner recognition that spurs others to greatness. You may not have a full-blown Rocky Balboa, Harry Potter or Hans Solo story to share, but you must have something if you are a leader of any kind. There may even be a “three princes” story in your life. Be generous with these stories, as they are a part of your “return” (more on that in a future issue) and what makes a journey truly successful. 
• Be willing to be inspiring. Ever leave an epic movie thinking that you, too, could do epic things? Of course. That’s the point of the movie. In days of old, these stories were told around the campfire. Now the lights are dimmed in a movie theatre or entered through the portal we call a book. That’s nice, but a firsthand account goes so much further. When we tell the stories of how doors open where there were once only walls, we ignite courage in others. 
• “We must be willing to get rid of the life we planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us,” says Joseph Campbell. When we help others let go of what does not serve their own heroic journeys, we naturally encourage new growth. This is often the bulk of my work as a mentor. It is also my own work on myself—every single day. 
• Ask yourself the two important questions. Look at the most heroic thing you can do today and in the next year and then ask, “Is this my time, and is this my call?” Get used to asking this often as part of staying aware and open to the calls that are yours. You might also ask if you are in any way refusing a call you know is yours. If you are not sure about your own heroic journey, hire a mentor or coach (this is the work they are born for) or ask a friend to help. It is all the more helpful if they have a little of the troll-at-the-bridge in them. No hero goes it alone, whatever our current culture might indicate.

I'm Robin Rice, a senior advisor in conscious leadership for individuals and organizations. I lead, mentor and teach at the intersection of work, personal relationships, and social impact. I invite you to connect with me here on LinkedIn or through my website at RobinRice.com.

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