What Mysteries Avatar Revealed to Me

One of the most enjoyable things I did over the break was watch the Avatar trilogy with my son, Conor. We rewatched the first two films in anticipation of seeing the third epic in the theater—yes, all three hours and fifteen minutes of it, in all its glory.

If you’ve seen the films, you know this is yet another example of James Cameron at his best. But Avatar may well be his opus.

Why?

Because it is a festival of archetypes—storylines that feel deeply familiar and, frankly, deeply needed right now. In a world saturated by a 24/7 news cycle reminding us how fractured and fragile things feel, Avatar offers something rare: hope for a brighter future.

Archetypes? What are those? Isn’t this just another basic story of good triumphing over evil?

That’s certainly one archetype—but only one of many.

Archetypes have been present since the dawn of storytelling. Joseph Campbell, in his work on mythology, explains that myths are “public dreams” and dreams are “private myths.” In other words, these stories endure because they speak to something universal within us—patterns of human experience that transcend time, culture, and place.

Think about one of the most influential stories ever told: the human life of Jesus Christ. Why does it resonate so deeply, even two thousand years later? It is a story of hope, of challenging the status quo, of love—between parents and children, friends and followers—of sacrifice, redemption, and miracles. Variations of that same story have been told and retold for over 2,000 years.

The same is true of the parables found in the Old Testament and the Quran. Their staying power lies not only in religious belief, but in their connection to archetypes that existed long before Judaism, Christianity, or Islam—primal stories embedded in the human psyche.

In modern times, think about The Lord of the Rings trilogy, or the trilogy of trilogies that is Star Wars. Why do these stories—and Avatar—have such “stickiness”? There is something in them that resonates with our human nature. We see ourselves in these narratives and recognize the same unanswered questions we wrestle with in our own lives:

• The prodigal child returning home
  
• The angst of youth and coming of age
  
• Strained relationships with parents
  
• Humanity’s thirst for knowledge—both productive and dangerous
  
• Power and its ability to corrupt
  
• The balance between good and evil
  
• Ancient wisdom in tension with modern technology
  
• Nature versus industrialization
  
• The search for immortality
  
• Faith in a higher power versus proof of an afterlife
  
• Whether peace is possible or conflict is inevitable
  
• Destiny versus free will
  
• The journey of self-discovery
  
• Evolution versus preservation of tradition
  
• Gender balance and tension
  
• Love and attraction
  
• Embracing difference versus tribalism and xenophobia
  
• Whether humanity is truly the superior species on the planet and in the universe
  
• Endings as beginnings and the cycle of life
  
• Hope enduring even in the bleakest moments
  
• Youth becoming caretakers of the older generation
  
• Wanting to give our children a better future than we had
  
• The absent parent and the struggle not to repeat past mistakes
  
• The corrosive, soul-eating power of hate
  
• And the redemptive power of forgiveness

No wonder Avatar: Fire and Ash runs over three hours—and spans more than nine hours across the trilogy. There is simply so much to tell. It is a lifetime of archetypes distilled into a story told in less than half a day.

We love stories like Avatar, Star Wars, and The Lord of the Rings because they tell our stories. Our failures and triumphs. Our fears and our hopes. Our pain and our joy. Our past and our future. While our lives may not unfold on distant planets, in outer space, or in mythical lands like Middle-earth, we recognize ourselves in the characters. They are, in many ways, us.

In that sense, films like Avatar function almost like therapy. They give us permission to feel what we feel by reminding us that we are not alone. Even fictional characters struggle with the same fundamental questions of identity, belonging, purpose, and love. And somehow, knowing that makes us feel a little lighter.

We are living in a time when connection feels fragile. Many of us are groping in the dark, trying to find our way without quite seeing the light. For me, that light came—unexpectedly—from a movie projector, flashing across a screen in the form of Avatar: Fire and Ash.

I highly recommend watching it—not just for the spectacle, but for what it quietly reminds us of about ourselves.