Lessons of the Wolfman
Since it is Halloween-time, or as I understand it, it is now called “spooky season,” I have been thinking about movie monsters. Specifically the old Universal Studios monsters like Count Dracula, Frankenstein’s Monster, and Wolfman. This year my machinations have centered on the old monsters as opposed to the newer ones like Michael Myers, Freddy Krueger, or Jigsaw most likely because I forced my kids to watch one of my favorite classic horror-comedies, Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. I’ll spare you their reactions, and move on to a question many find interesting: why are we fascinated by monsters?
There is a field of “monster theory” that takes this question seriously. It also asks a more fundamental question, “what is a monster?” The field of study is like any other—it is varied and complicated, and it is a mistake to over-generalize. Yet, I can at least assert some basic ideas for my seasonal machinations. Here are some noteworthy items we may note about monsters:
-In antiquity monsters were often signs of something worth noting: epochal change, a warning, fates being balanced, etc.
-Monsters were often composite creatures: a creature made of disparate other creatures, half man and half animal, etc.
-Monsters are symbols. They are personified fears or are at least the embodiment of universal human fears.
-We create the monsters we need to help us navigate our fear, understand our world, make sense of suffering, and so on.
Lately, I have not been sleeping well. Apparently, one of my medications has the penchant for waking me from my slumbers at around 3 am every night. Along with waking up, this medicine sends a jolt of energy through my body and tells my brain, “get to work!” When this nocturnal interruption occurred last night, I got up to do a bit of writing and in the background I decided to play the 1941 Lon Chaney Jr. classic The Wolfman.
Aside from the anthropological evidence of cultural stories of shape-shifting like lycanthropy and other forms, I wondered as I half-way watched this old film—why do we tell stories like the wolfman? Upon first blush, it seems like werewolf stories raise a caution flag concerning the sort of monster that any human can become when they give themselves over to their anger or other unmitigated passions. I have heard famed director John Carpenter say several times and in various settings that there are two kinds of monsters:
The monster outside of us: ghosts, aliens, something supernatural.
The monster inside of us: deranged killer, malicious madman, my own self!
Characters like The Wolfman, David Kessler in An American Werewolf in London, and perhaps the Victorian character Mr Hyde all exist because they reflect human fears concerning anger, passion, lust/sexual desire, and the loss of self-control. We can be monstrous, as a species. One way to read these stories is to think about them in terms of social/personal subservience to the id without the ego’s mediation between it and the superego. Some commentators have even noted that many werewolf movies like The Wolfman were simple metaphors for puberty which is a time of human development that appears more tied to the id than perhaps other periods in development. This general read seems to be fair and reasonable—part of the human experience is learning to control oneself, make choices, and think with a social brain.
But as we continue to tell stories and as we continue to engage new ideas and anxieties throughout the generations, I think that the self-centered, id focused, loss of executive function in favor of immediate desire takes on a new concern. We live in a self-focused age, and perhaps it is more pronounced than in previous eras. It is commonplace to note with Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor that our age is best known as the age of authenticity. This means that the high watermark of this age is that individuals have the ability to self-express, define themselves, and seek their bliss. I can hear the voices and mottos ring aloud in my mind right now, “you do you,” “be yourself,” and “I was born this way!” The younger generations, I am told, are now the most labelled generations in all of human history (think of: sex, gender, sexuality, religion, politics, affiliations and more). And above all, it seems, we prize authenticity; indeed we want authentic leaders. I find it incredible how many people forgive a leader’s bad actions because, “well at least they are authentic…” What does that even mean?
I too, treasure authenticity. I want to live honestly. I seek integrity of my inner and outer world. I hope that my leaders are real and relatable to my life. But, if that is the high water mark for how we evaluate everything, then how is it much better than other forms of living obedient to me, myself, and I? How does the search for authenticity not lead me down the monstrous path of self-interest at all costs? Recently, I read a lovely piece by Luke Bretherton on the recent conversion of public intellectuals. I appreciate one simple point he reminded readers of in his piece, and it has to do with our age’s chief goal of authenticity. Bretherton notes,
As an aside, within this theology of conversion there is no “authentic” form of Christianity. Authenticity is a deeply modern sentiment alien to Christianity. Christianity is about being faithful, not authentic. All forms of Christianity—if they are being faithful—are subject to ongoing dynamics of continuity and change as they embody the paradoxical movement of restoration and new birth.
As I sat trying to write at 3 am last night, watching The Wolfman, while simultaneously wondering about monsters and what they say to us today, I thought: maybe the fear that werewolves touch on, in our current context, is a cautionary note about patterning ourselves solely on our wishes, self-definitions, chosen labels, service to our “inner truth” etc. at the expense of something more. What is that something more? For Bretherton it is faithfulness. In terms of life-change another term may be employed: conversion. Conversion is where we do not make up our identity, but it is given in grace. Authenticity is learning to live out that renewed identity habitually through virtue formation. Perhaps an antidote to the fear of the wolfman is a Christian one…conversion to a life of faithfulness…and perhaps if one devotes themselves well enough, others may even feel it is authentic?