The Church of Jedi reports that more than a thousand people a day are signing up to its online community, thanks to hype surrounding the release of Star Wars: the Force Awakens. Daniel Jones, one of Jediism’s founders, told The Daily Telegraph: “We’ve been rushed off our feet!”
All very impressive for something that started out as a prank. In 2001, when the British census asked people to declare their religion for the first time, 390,000 people said they were Jedis to irritate the bureaucrats. Today the jape has evolved into a quasi-religious philosophy that involves a 10-part course in harnessing the power of the Force. The Force is the energy that binds everything together; the mind has to be “cleaned” before it can be good, and faith in God is optional. Crucially, Jedis believe that while Jediism is displayed accurately in the Star Wars movies, the films themselves are not based on real events. So they’re not completely bananas.
The cultural influence of Star Wars proves that myth still has a role to play in hi-tech societies. George Lucas, the creator of Star Wars, was heavily influenced by Jungian ideas surrounding archetypes. He wanted to create a film that rose above the materialism, doubt and angst of the 1970s and tap into ancient symbols of heroism. Star Wars: A New Hope (1977) declares that its events occur “A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away”. So it’s not really science fiction at all. It’s fantasy, and a fantasy replete with all the old clichés of a beautiful princess, brave prince and wicked black knight.
Into that mix, Lucas threw elements of theology. The Jedis meditate (Buddhism) and have an obsession with balance (Taoism). They also say “May the Force be with you” a lot, which could be Dominus tecum (Christianity) or As-salamu alaykum (Islam). Common to most religions is the dramatic tension of a choice to be made between good and evil. Luke Skywalker is tainted by the original sin of being Darth Vader’s son. He could join the Dark Side and rule the galaxy alongside daddy but, happily, he chooses to follow the light instead.
All of this theology is assailed by doubt. When Vader tells his colleagues during a heated board meeting that the Death Star is “insignificant compared to the power of the Force”, a smart-alec officer replies: “Your sad devotion to that ancient religion has not helped you conjure up the stolen data tapes!” Vader throttles him with voodoo, saying: “I find your lack of faith disturbing.”
The Force ought to seem antiquated and out of place among all the ray guns and battle computers. On the contrary, it’s superior to them all – and Lucas seems to be telling the audience that the choice we face between heartless secularism and the limitless possibility of myth is a no-brainer.
That message is easy to find elsewhere. In the Star Trek movies, the oppressively logical Mr Spock (half human, half god-like being) dies at the end of Wrath of Khan and is reborn in The Search for Spock. The modern Doctor Who TV series, meanwhile, ridicules Christianity but its central character is just Jesus with a double heartbeat. He returns from the dead, performs miracles and saves mankind from its sins. It’s highly unlikely that the show’s liberal writers intend to do the Lord’s work for Him – rather it’s a sign that Christianity, no matter how much it is decried, has had a permanent impact upon the Western mind. People want entertainment that transcends the everyday. Yet when our atheistic, materialist society tries to invent new worlds, it subconsciously reproduces old religious themes.
So the popularity of Star Wars – a series of movies in which essentially the same thing happens to the same group of people each time – isn’t rooted in its originality but in its ancient familiarity. It’s as if George Lucas sat down with the Oxford University Classics department and asked them to write him a blockbuster. Its success shows that even as society seems to have shrugged off its faith in what Richard Dawkins has dismissed as the “Flying Spaghetti Monster”, we still all need to believe in something that reflects old, comforting ideas of God.
Jediism, meanwhile, is busily writing its own commandments. Daniel Jones has taken the name Morda Hehol and in 2009 was ejected from a Tesco store in Bangor for refusing to remove his Jedi hood. Morda cried discrimination, saying that it was an integral part of his faith. But Tesco pulled him up on his theology. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Yoda and Luke Skywalker all appeared hoodless without ever going over to the Dark Side,” they said. “And we are only aware of the Emperor as one who never removed his hood. If Jedi walk around our stores with their hoods on, they’ll miss lots of special offers.”
Tim Stanley is a historian, Daily Telegraph columnist and contributing editor of the Catholic Herald
Areas of Catholic Herald business are still recovering post-pandemic.
However, we are reaching out to the Catholic community and readership, that has been so loyal to the Catholic Herald. Please join us on our 135 year mission by supporting us.
We are raising £250,000 to safeguard the Herald as a world-leading voice in Catholic journalism and teaching.
We have been a bold and influential voice in the church since 1888, standing up for traditional Catholic culture and values. Please consider donating.