An Essay on the Odyssey
The Odyssey, Derrida, and Shared Meaning: A brief essay on postmodernism, the power of story, and a hope for the future
Christopher Nolan's The Odyssey may end up being remembered for far more than its box office numbers.
Yes, it's one of the most ambitious films ever attempted. Nolan reportedly chose to shoot much of the movie on real locations across the Mediterranean rather than relying primarily on green screens and computer-generated worlds. Massive practical sets, authentic landscapes, and IMAX cameras were used to tell a story that has endured for nearly three thousand years. In an age when audiences have grown accustomed to digital spectacle, there seems to be something refreshing—even comforting—about watching something that feels tangible.
Perhaps that explains some of the excitement surrounding the film.
Or perhaps something deeper is happening.
I wonder if our culture is beginning to recover something that has been slowly stripped away over the last sixty years.
When We Lost the Story
In the 1960s, a French philosopher named Jacques Derrida began advancing ideas that would profoundly shape Western universities, literature, and eventually popular culture.
At the heart of his philosophy was the conviction that texts have no fixed meaning. The author's intention is not authoritative; meaning belongs to the reader. Every interpretation is equally valid because there is no final interpretation.
But Derrida didn't stop with literature.
His broader project became known as "deconstruction." The great stories that civilizations had built themselves upon—what philosophers call metanarratives—were viewed with deep suspicion. Christianity, Western history, objective morality, even the very idea of truth itself were treated as tools of power. According to this way of thinking, overarching stories were not liberating; they were oppressive.
So they needed to be dismantled.
Notice what is striking about deconstruction: it is extraordinarily good at taking things apart. It is far less interested in putting anything back together.
The goal was never to build a better house.
The goal was simply to convince everyone the old house had to come down.
Humanity Has Always Lived by Story
For thousands of years, civilizations have been shaped by shared stories.
The Greeks had Homer.
The Romans had Virgil.
The British had King Arthur.
Americans have Washington crossing the Delaware, Lincoln preserving the Union, and the courage of those who stormed Normandy.
The Jewish people told and retold the Exodus.
Parents sat around tables telling children where they came from, what they believed, who their heroes were, and why those stories mattered.
Scripture repeatedly commands Israel to do exactly this. “When your children ask...” tell them.
Build memorial stones. Celebrate Passover. Remember. Tell the story again.
God understood something modern culture often forgets:
People who lose their story eventually lose themselves.
Stories Shape Souls
Stories do far more than entertain. They define identity. They establish heroes. They communicate virtue.
When we lose our stories, we lose our heroes. We lose our identity. We lose our shared values. We lose our morality.
Postmodernists didn’t just chisel away at the edges of society. They stole our stories. And when you steal the story, you steal the soul.
When those stories disappear, something else inevitably fills the vacuum.
Shared values give way to personal preferences.
Objective truth gives way to subjective feelings.
Identity becomes self-created.
Morality becomes negotiable.
Everyone does what is right in his own eyes.
The results are all around us.
Ideas once considered self-evident become endlessly debatable. Biological realities become matters of personal perception. Children are introduced to ideologies before they are old enough to understand them. Increasingly, books, films, and television are not really telling stories at all. They are delivering ideological arguments wrapped inside fictional characters.
Why The Odyssey Matters
Perhaps that is why the return of The Odyssey feels significant. Not because Homer is Scripture or because ancient Greece had all the answers, but because it reminds us that human beings still hunger for great stories—stories with heroes, sacrifice, courage, and homecomings. Stories that assume there is such a thing as good and evil. Stories that invite us into something larger than ourselves.
Perhaps it is evidence that, after decades of deconstructing meaning, people are growing weary of living without one.
Tolkien’s Question
On the night of September 19, 1931, as J.R.R. Tolkien and Hugo Dyson walked with C.S. Lewis along Addison's Walk at Magdalen College, Oxford, they were discussing story. Lewis loved pagan myths but struggled to believe Christianity because he thought it was “just another myth.”
Tolkien challenged that assumption. His question to Lewis was essentially, “What if the stories are true?” Meaning, “What if the pagan myths are echoes pointing to the ultimate truth of Jesus.” True principles leading to the true person.
That is what every person has to answer for themselves.
Deep down, every person is asking the same questions.
- Is this story true?
- Is the hero real?
- Do I have a place in the story?
- Can I find my way home?
Maybe we are rediscovering what humanity has always known: We were made for story.
Not stories that merely entertain us.
Stories that tell us who we are.
Stories that call us upward.
Stories that lead us home.
And ultimately, every good story points us toward the greatest story ever told.









