"King Arthur" and the role of myth

LAST MONTH I SPENT nine days in Tintagel, England, where on the cliff faces of Cornwall the ruins of an ancient castle stand, purported by Lord Alfred Tennyson to have been the birthplace of King Arthur. Historians have disproved this, claiming that the man on whom the legend of Arthur was built probably lived in the Dark Ages before the castle was built. But there is no question that the landscape -- shrouded in fog, full of majesty and danger -- captures something of the story of Arthur. I finally understand how, in John Boorman's excellent 1981 film "Excalibur," Merlin would create a mist thick enough for Arthur's father to gallop upon.

Of course, the town of Tintagel has not remained unaltered by its contact with the Arthurian legend. You can eat food named after his knights, buy plastic grey Excalibur swords, stay in a hotel built to look like Camelot. We tried to stay away from all that hoopla, but it made me consider how myths can reveal something about us. A legend that was once about the very best in the British people -- nobility, equality, chivalry, beauty, peace, faith -- is now just a story, something to make money on. The treatment of myth reflects the times.

In 1981, Boorman dove fully into the myth, buoyed perhaps by "Star Wars" reawakening the public to the idea of swords and sorcery as an inspirational force. "Excalibur" is unapologetic about its magic, its depiction of evil, its view of the world as a spiritual battleground. The 1967 musical "Camelot" is on the opposite end of the spectrum, very realistic, very personal; evil in this case isn't plotting and attacking from the outside but corrupting the kingdom of Camelot from within -- a sharp 1960s social parallel.

So what does "King Arthur" tell us about today? Plenty. Even though it wants to return us to that "true" Dark-Age Arthur, to get at the facts behind the legend, our historical knowledge is so sparse that the screenwriter had to fill in the cracks with imagination. The result is a movie steeped in modern (and quite American) sensibilities: The church is depicted as corrupt and unfeeling, but Arthur's faith in God is affirmed because it gives him personal strength. Guinevere is a fierce fighter and strong woman; the macho, tough-as-nails Bors finds he has a tender heart. The rest of the knights are reluctant warriors, not relishing danger but willing to follow their leader anywhere. Arthur believes in the freedom and free will of all people, although he is willing to slaughter those who don't agree with him. In short, the movie is every bit as admirable and frustrating, noble and deceitful, lovely and horrible as life in America is today.

But the most telling aspect of the film is the basic premise of stripping away legend and seeking facts. Facts seem to be all-important today. Journalists are supposed to be objective and factual when it's impossible not to show some perspective in word choice or prioritizing stories. Teachers are supposed to stick to facts and not opinion in the classroom, but teach from textbooks filled with specific viewpoints on American history, the English language, and even scientific theories. The church, too, is struggling with this, as a fact-minded society has created groups that toss out all historically questionable portions of the Bible (such as the Jesus Seminar), and groups who believe every single word of the Bible happened as a journalist would write it down (despite four gospel accounts that don't match up word for word).

The idea seems to be this: If we can just dig our way to the facts, then we'll know what we can reliably base our beliefs on. If we know what Jesus really said, what Arthur really did, how America really took shape -- then we can know what beliefs to live by. But the truth is, bare facts can never communicate the love, hope, joy, beauty, and grace that make belief possible. We do not marry someone because we make a list of all they've accomplished and said. We do not love our children because of their resumé. We do not choose a particular hobby so we can be proficient in it. We do all these things for love. Who knows where that passion comes from? Who knows why we find joy in certain people and certain things? The best we can do is construct a story of our lives that seems to make sense, to harmonize all that we do and all that we are. That's what a myth is: not the absense of truth but the capture of inobservable truth.