In the previous post, Mythical, Magical, Mystical, I wrote that the mystic type of person—the type that is “in love with the Absolute” and is always seeking to find a way to union with that Absolute—includes people who have both realized that goal as well as those who are actively seeking that realization. I also wrote that both cases align well to different internal character arcs in fiction, as we now explore in this and the next two posts.
Plot and character arcs
Stories are built on two types of arcs or progressions: plot arcs and character arcs.1
Plot arcs are the progression of outer events or story problems (situations) leading to conflict and climax in relation to the outer story goal: the fulfillment of a heroic quest, the consummation of a romance, the avoidance of some heinous consequence, and so on. Within any given genre, plot arcs often follow well-established patterns (tropes) that reflect genre-specific expectations and allow readers to relax into how the story goal is achieved rather than worrying about whether it’s achieved.
In some genres, such as action thrillers and mysteries, stories are centered on how the hero or heroine solve various problems to reach the story goal. Like James Bond and Sherlock Holmes, these protagonists apply their existing skills and know-how to solve the problems; their inner growth isn’t at all important because that’s not what the story is about. Such characters, then, are said to follow a static character arc.
In other genres, protagonists cannot solve their problems by clinging to their old ways of thinking and behaving: they have to change or surrender whatever flawed beliefs or internal obstacles they possess.2 Dynamic character arcs, then, are the progression of a character’s inner state in relation to the primary lesson—the healed belief or story point—that must be learned before achieving the story goal is possible.
A protagonist who overcomes the flawed belief and achieves the story goal follows a positive character arc. One who doesn’t overcome that belief and thus fails to achieve the goal follows a negative character arc.
This lesson or story point, by the way, is the primary message that the author is communicating to readers through the story. It’s what the story is “about” in terms of values in our real world where authors and readers exist, rather than something that applies to only the make-believe world of the story. In other words, the story point is where the real world and the fictional world intersect to communicate meaning, if that’s the authors intent. Stories that lack a point, such as those with static protagonists, are usually designed to be entertaining rather than instructive, which is why they employ static arc characters.
Let’s now see how these different arcs might find expression where mysticism is concerned, that is, where the story goal is related to the mystic’s goal of union or at least taking a step on the path to that goal.
Mysticism and static arc characters
Static arc characters are again those who don’t undergo any or much change through the course of a story. Where mysticism is concerned, then, static arc characters are those ones who’ve already realized mystical union with the sought-after Absolute or are close to that realization. As such they don’t really have a present story to tell where their own journey is concerned.
When such a character is a protagonist, the story is typically about the drama that unfolds around them as they try to fulfill some external mission or simply stay true to their inner truth. For the mystic type of character, this essentially means building a spiritual superhero story around the character of a saint, as with Franz Werfel’s biographical novel, The Song of Bernadette (Saint Bernadette Soubirous). In the context of mystical realism, though, such characters may not be particularly relatable to most ordinary readers, but that’s another topic in itself.3
Static arc characters, then, more often appear as teachers, mentors, or advisors to the protagonist. The mentor has already learned the story point and can therefore help the protagonist in that direction. For example, Aslan in C. S. Lewis’ The Chronicles of Narnia, who clearly represents Christ, appears in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader to nurture the character Eustace Scrubb through a process of redemption.
In stories involving mystical realism, however, I think authors need to be more careful or more subtle: including a Christ-like teacher or mentor in every story would likely feel overdone and become tiresome. A more relatable static character is a mentor or teacher who is a little farther along the path than the protagonist even if they themselves haven’t reached the final destination, like Gandalf in Lord of the Rings and Dumbledore in Harry Potter. Such characters are relatable precisely because they are still flawed, but in different ways from the protagonist (and ways that aren’t necessarily related to the story point).
Neither Gandalf nor Dumbledore are particularly mystic because they don’t demonstrate a devotion to an Absolute. A better example, then, is the character of Simon Peter in The Robe by Lloyd Douglas. The protagonist of the story, Marcellus Gallio, is the tribune who oversees Jesus’ crucifixion and wins the latter’s robe by casting lots (as the Bible relates in Matthew 27:35). After he’s driven half-mad with remorse and then healed by the Robe, Marcellus sets out to learn everything he can about Jesus from those who knew him. In the process he comes to share the faith of the nascent Christian movement and, by holding true to that faith, is martyred at the end of the book. By so demonstrating the victory of his devotion, he could be classified as a saint.
At the point (toward the end of Chapter 19) where he meets Peter, Marcellus is yet haunted by his role in Jesus’ death, a fact that he’s kept concealed throughout his journey. Coming to terms with that deed is thus a necessary step for him on the path to complete faith. Douglas thus chooses that moment for Marcellus to meet Peter, because Peter also had to come to terms with his own grievous sin on the night of the crucifixion.
Here’s how it plays out, starting with Marcellus’ first impression:
Marcellus saw him coming, a long way off, marching militantly with head up and a swinging stride that betokened a confident mind. The man had leadership, reflected the admiring watcher.
Douglas then demonstrates that Peter (at least the character in his story) is still carrying a weight of his own:
As The Big Fisherman neared the grassy knoll, however, his steps slowed and his shoulders slumped. He stopped and passed an unsteady hand over his massive forehead.
We wouldn’t expect such gestures from a mentor who has already reached a state of inner perfection. Instead, Douglas shows us that Peter, though farther along the path than Marcellus, is no superman. Indeed, the next lines give the impression that Peter doesn’t even believe himself to be a worthy mentor at all:
Marcellus rose and advanced to meet him as he mounted the slight elevation with plodding feet. Peter extended his huge hand, but did not speak. They sat down on the grass near the deep pits where the crosses had stood, and for a long time they remained in silence.
At length, Peter roused from his painful meditation and glanced at Marcellus with heavy eyes, which drifted back to the ground.
Peter then begins a confession, one that earlier scenes hint that he has perhaps not yet made to anyone else:
“I was not here that day,” rumbled the deep, throaty voice. “I did not stand by him in the hour of his anguish.” Peter drew a deep sigh.
Marcellus did not know what to say, or whether he was expected to say anything. The big Galilean sat ruefully studying the palms of his hands with a dejection so profound that any attempt to relieve it would have been an impertinence.
Peter eventually realizes that he does have something to offer to Marcellus:
Now he regarded Marcellus with critical interest, as if noting him for the first time.
“Your Greek slave told me you were interested in the story of Jesus,” he said, soberly. “And it has come to me that you were of friendly service yesterday, when our brave Stephen was taken away. Benyosef thought he heard you profess the faith of a Christian. Is that true, Marcellus Gallio?”
“I am convinced, sir,” said Marcellus, “that Jesus is divine. I believe that he is alive, and of great power. But I have much to learn about him.”
“You have already gone far with your faith, my friend!” said Peter, warmly. “As a Roman, your manner of living has been quite remote from the way of life that Jesus taught. Doubtless you have done much evil, for which you should repent if you would know the fullness of his grace.”
At this point, Peter could claim a greater sanctity than Marcellus, perhaps shaking off his own self-doubt to put on a show. But instead, he completes his confession:
“But I could not ask you to repent until I had told you of the wrongs which I have done. Whatever sins you may have committed, they cannot compare to the disloyalty for which I have been forgiven. He was my dearest friend—and, on the day that he needed me, I swore that I had never known him.”
Peter put his huge hands over his eyes and bowed his head.
By acknowledging his own fault, Peter tells Marcellus, in effect, “I am not so far above you. Please, trust me as a brother and a friend. Whatever you’ve done, I will not judge. I offer you my complete compassion and understanding.” If we imagine the two of them on a staircase, Peter is just one step above, reaching down and offering his hand to lift Marcellus up, inviting him to be open and truthful:
After a long moment he looked up.
“Now”—he said—“tell me how much you know about Jesus.”
In response, Marcellus finally unburdens his heart and makes a great leap on his spiritual journey:
Marcellus did not immediately reply, and when he did so, his words were barely audible. He heard himself saying, as if someone else were speaking:
“I crucified him.”
A fully perfected mentor could offer the same hand, of course, as they can freely ascend and descend the spiritual staircase, so to speak. If that’s all this scene needed to accomplish, then Marcellus could have had an experience with Christ directly, like Eustace has with Aslan. By playing out his confession with Peter, however, Douglas brings Marcellus into kinship with the apostles, thereby strengthening his character and making his later martyrdom equally meaningful to that of Peter. Indeed, Marcellus is martyred before Peter!
Coming up in part 2
As we’ve covered static character arcs here, Part 2 will look at mysticism in relation to the positive character arcs. Part 3 will look at negative arcs.
In the meantime, what spiritual or mystical stories have you found with static arc characters? I imagine you have, because stories centered on the lives of great spiritual figures like Jesus, Buddha, Krishna, Muhammad, or any other saint will have something of this flavor. Have you also read stories with characters more like Peter in The Robe, who is on his or her own journey but only a step or two ahead of the protagonist? I’d love to hear about them in the comments along with any other thoughts about this subject.
Although “arc” is the standard term, it’s a bit of a misnomer because “arc” implies a smooth curve along a predictable trajectory. Plot and character progressions are often anything but smooth: they can be jagged and even disjointed. Yet amidst the noise there is usually a discernable trend over the course of the story that is smoother, like a trendline added to a plot of noisy, discrete data. In that sense the word “arc” refers to that trendline across the ups and downs from scene to scene.
I’m using the terminology from the Golden May Editing’s free yet very insightful 7-day email course called The Magic of Character Arcs. I’m very grateful to Emily Golden and Rachael May for being so generous with this course as well as their Story Magic podcast and highly recommend both.
The Song of Bernadette is, in fact, one of my favorite novels and does, I believe, portray mystical realism in a way that I think can be personally inspiring to most readers, as I plan to cover in future posts.