As the river of culture has dug its way through American society in the last half of the twentieth century, we have noticed that far more items are dropped in than are retrieved and passed on. To belabor the metaphor slightly, most of our contributions are heavy and sink to the bottom, having a brief glint in the sun before passing below the murky surface. We are happily surprised to see a few of our favorite objects resurface decades later, likely salvaged by some enterprising researcher for VH-1 or journalist working on a "This Day in History" retrospective.

Those cultural artifacts that manage to float for years are few, and those that survive above water for more than a decade can be counted on one hand. As we approach the end of the century, one of these long-lasting artifacts is being passed on with embellishments for Americans in the next. The Star Wars trilogy has achieved this status. The films are beyond mere films, or fads, or dissertation subjects. The saga is now approaching the enviable yet dangerous status of scripture.

What qualitative differences exist between those who can cite St. Luke and those who have memorized St. Lucas? Not many. In fact for many youth, the cosmo-theology that Lucas has woven is richer, more compelling, and more real than the one they may have heard about in church.

Both sets of disciples are keenly aware of developments within "the church" (Vatican, Skywalker Ranch), and are prepared to respond instantly if need be to would-be interlopers. Both have profound appreciation for good and evil and the battles that must sometime be waged between them. Many devotees spend excessive amounts of time and energy festooning their bodies and homes with paraphernalia from their religions. And most certainly, they see in their respective testaments characters with whom they can relate; people who feel pain, temptation, and triumph. They emulate these heroes and adopt their ways of going about life.

Indeed, for a generation that has generally cast aside traditional religion, the adoration of Star Wars and its mythology may well represent the most relevant theology to many young people. If so, is this good or bad? From what I can see, the heroes of Star Wars, the Jedi Knights, who I describe below, are good enough to be heroes and role models for us all. In fact, the world would be a much better place with a few more Jedis in it.

The Jedi Knights are the centerpiece heroes in the Trilogy, notwithstanding outlyers such as Han Solo; heroic, yes, but not half as interesting. As revealed in Episode I: The Phantom Menace, the Jedi have existed for millennia, their ways and traditions passed down from master to apprentice. The Jedi have a heady job description: "guardians of peace in the galaxy." They also are the galaxy’s best artisans at manipulating and understanding the elusive all-encompassing, pan-theistic Force. In fact, the Jedi are powerless without the Force. It’s their battery. Remember the part in Empire when Yoda cashes in his chips? He didn’t stand up and have a Fred Sanford-style coronary; he just crumpled a little and faded away. His battery ran out. Same with Obi-Wan in Star Wars when he knows he can’t beat Darth Vader in the lightsaber battle. The Force lets you check out in style.

Since the Force is integral to being a Jedi, they must be trained to feel it, use it, and interface with it properly. This is accomplished by years of meditation and exercise. Throughout this training, young Jedi apprentices are taught lessons in self-control, and mindfulness. Self-control is important to a Jedi because the tremendous power of the Force can tempt weak Jedi to the Dark Side, using the Force for evil and selfish purposes. The Dark Side is understood to work through emotions, such as rage, hatred, greed, and fear. Once a Jedi is tempted to the Dark Side, he is doomed to a life of self-destruction and loneliness, as only more power and revenge will quench the emptiness within.

Mindfulness is an essential component of being a Jedi. The Force is understood to be in everything, around everything, and between everything. The universe exists because of the Force and the Force exists through the universe. The mindful Jedi is able to feel the energy of the Force, listen to it, and bend it to his will, if he has been properly trained. Since the Force resides largely in living things, the Jedi must have total, uncompromising respect for all life. He is an ecologist of the first order, recognizing the delicate web of life all around him.

The combination of mindfulness and self-control produces a philosophy of peace and benevolence that is expressed best in the Jedi code:

As guardians of peace in the galaxy and defenders of all life, Jedi must abide by this code, as well as other derivative teachings, which much like the Confucian codes, are almost absurdly simple, yet very difficult to practice in everyday life. Because Jedi learn the secrets of the Force in their training, which imparts knowledge of energy and control of other living beings, it is vital that young Jedi be first taught how to deal with power responsibly and to use it for the common good. Such power in the hands of the ill-trained would be tragic (see Darth Vader as evidence).

No doubt, clever readers are remembering numerous occasions from the films in which Jedi did not, to put it mildly, exemplify the highest principles of this calling. Luke shoving one after another of Jabba the Hutt’s minions into the open maw of the fanged, tentacled Sarlac, where they are "to be slowly digested over 1,000 years" is one example. Or the dozens of lightsaber battles in which Luke (and now the young Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon) dispatch armadas of attackers to the nether world in elegant but deadly fashion. Yes, the life of a Jedi is not absent a measure of violence. The context of and motivation for the turn to violence for the Jedi must be equally understood, however. The Jedi Code speaks to this delicate tension:

Today’s world, too, is often stained by violence; senseless, happy bloodbaths that strike terror in the hearts of parents and intrigue in the minds of adolescents. The carnage and human waste youth witness today in media products is most often without noble motivation. It is not, as the Jedi hold, a loathsome yet essential descent into animalism, but the descent for the sake of it. To see what it feels and looks like. It is a motivation driven by sensate needs alone. The corporate media who ride on waves of bloody dollars all the way to the bank are unconcerned about why Keanu Reeves wants to blow fist-sized holes in people’s chests, so long as it shows the gun, the blood, and the hole.

Kids of the 90s are not, have never been, encouraged to ask why this act of violence is justified. The question is no longer on the table. Even in the westerns of John Wayne, the cinematic assumption was that violence was the last tool chosen in the cowboy’s arsenal. When finally drawn, the gun was used remorsefully, the cowboy saddened that it had to come to this. Now, the purpose of many movies and video games is violence. Just as the plot in porn movies is the forgotten mish-mash that delivers the sex, so is the plot in games and movies the vehicle for butcher-shop gore-fests.

Absent heroes like the Lone Ranger and Robin Hood, (we still don’t know who young non-white and non-male kids looked up to), youth in the 21^st century will be forced to choose mass media role-models from the mediated menu they are given. Undoubtedly, the menu will skew toward the cruel over the clever, the smack-talker rather than the sweet-talker. But also on that menu, thanks to George Lucas, will be the Jedi, guardians of peace in the galaxy. At least until 2005, young people will be able see perhaps the last of the principled heroes, wise men seeking peace and justice, with respect for life forefront in their minds. Hopefully these modest warriors will still be considered cool then, and will be allowed to educate a whole new generation of Padawan learners who need them like never before.  

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