Character arcs in Great Purpose
I recently read a wonderful book called Take Off Your Pants! by Libbie Hawker about how to properly outline a story for development into a publishable work. Libbie says some profoundly insightful things in her guide. She states that too many writers confuse plot with story. In fact, the plot is simply a list of “stuff that happens”. The real story is how the characters transform or change during the plot, and whether or not that transformation is successful relative to their original goals. The character arcs are what makes a story interesting.
Recent output by Hollywood provides many examples of the confusion of plot and story. The Lovely Jane and I recently saw the movie Pressure starring Brendan Fraser and Andrew Scott, about the meteorologist responsible for forecasting the weather for the planned D-Day invasion. It’s a good film, but not a great one. The main issue I have with it is this: although it’s a faithful depiction of historical events, it unfolds as “First, this happened, and then this happened, and then that happened…”, and so forth. It’s somewhat interesting if you enjoy history, but the main limitation of the movie is that the characters simply do not change that much during the course of events. Andrew Scott plays James Stagg as a stressed, flawed man throughout — and at the end of the movie, he’s still a stressed, flawed man. There is little transformation or change. He does achieve his goal, minimizing the threat of bad weather on the invasion, but the lack of growth or development of his character limited the movie’s appeal. So, I have to give Pressure a B- grade. Engaging, but not outstanding.
Libbie Hawker recommends starting a character arc by defining their particular goal — the thing that they want — and then offset this against their particular limitation or flaw — the personal characteristics that prevent them from achieving their goal. (This is different from an antagonist, who is a rival attempting to achieve the same or similar goal in competition with the protagonist.) She then tells writers to identify how the character changes during the story, and the degree to which they actually achieve their goal.
It’s a brilliant concept, and when you think of your favorite stories, you find that this simple definition of good character arcs applies in every case. For example, I’m a huge fan of Andy Weir’s Project Hail Mary (both the book and the movie adaptation). In that novel, Ryland Grace’s goal is to save Earth. His flaw begins as a lack of memory, but it is eventually revealed to be something more profound: he is actually a coward. Through the plot, he attains his goal, but his real transformation is that he learns to be brave, motivated by true friendship. It’s a beautiful and simple tale, if you look at it in that light, and that is why it works so well.
I had not yet read Libbie’s book until after I’d finished Great Purpose. I applied her formula for a good character arcs retroactively to my story and found that I’d achieved what she prescribed, though I have to admit this was not done consciously on my part. I’m happy to accept the fortunate accidents, however.
So, for your consideration, here’s an analysis of arcs for the principal characters in Great Purpose. Let me know in a comment if you agree or disagree with any of the assertions here.
SPOILER ALERT! DON’T READ THE FOLLOWING IF YOU HAVE NOT YET READ GREAT PURPOSE - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!
Jack Ronan’s Character Arc in Great Purpose
At the Start: What He Wants
Jack begins the novel with a strong, long-standing conviction that he has been given a great purpose.
He understands this purpose primarily in terms of his unusual physical gifts, his football career, and the private experiences he has had of “the lady” since childhood. He wants to live out that calling fully — to use his strength and the mysterious favor he has received so that God is glorified and others can see it. In practical terms, this desire is bound up with athletic success, remaining faithful to the quiet instructions he has received, and carrying the weight of being set apart.
At the deepest level, what he wants is confirmation that his life (with its burdens and its gifts) means something, and that he is rightly ordered toward the purpose he believes has been given to him.
His Main Flaw
Jack’s central flaw is a subtle but persistent self-centered interpretation of vocation.
He genuinely believes the purpose is real and that it comes from beyond himself. Yet he consistently frames it as something he must carry, embody, and complete. The purpose revolves around his body, his performance, his endurance, and his role as the visible point of contact with the miraculous. Even his humility is still organized around the idea that he is the one chosen to bear it.
This flaw is not arrogance in the ordinary sense. It is a more hidden form of spiritual self-focus: the assumption that the meaning of the events is located in his continued centrality.
Secondary aspects of the flaw include:
Difficulty sharing the experience or allowing others into it
A tendency to equate faithfulness with personal endurance and physical cost
Resistance to the possibility that the purpose might be fulfilled by being handed on rather than retained
At the End: How Well He Achieves His Goal
Jack does achieve his goal, but only after the goal itself is transformed.
By the final chapters, especially in the hospital after the stadium miracle, he comes to understand that the purpose was never primarily about him remaining the active, central carrier. The visions, the strength, the heart condition, and the public sign were real, yet their deeper aim was to begin something that would outlast him — particularly to reach Sarah and, through her and the others, to continue outward. His role was to be the spark, not the ongoing fire.
In accepting that “it is finished” for him in the active sense, Jack finally fulfills the deeper intention of the purpose he was given. He moves from trying to carry the meaning to releasing it. The novel’s closing movement shows him at rest, no longer striving to hold the center, and trusting that the story now belongs to others.
Assessment of achievement: He succeeds at a higher level than he originally understood. The thing he wanted (to fulfill his great purpose) is granted, but only once he surrenders the version of that purpose that kept him at the center. His arc is therefore one of purification and release rather than simple accomplishment.
In classic terms: Jack begins wanting to be the purpose. He ends by allowing the purpose to move beyond him. That shift is the heart of his character development.
Sarah Kline’s Character Arc in Great Purpose
At the Start: What She Wants
Sarah begins the novel as a seeker.
She wants evidence of the divine — something larger and more living than what she has so far found within the boundaries of her Jewish upbringing. This desire is only partly conscious. On the surface she is a serious student and aspiring journalist who has come to a Catholic university on scholarship. Beneath that practical decision lies a restless hunger: a hope that here, among Marian traditions and the possibility of modern miracles, she might encounter a sign that the sacred is still active in the world.
She also wants to remain a good daughter and to preserve the inheritance of her family and people. These two longings — for a more direct experience of God and for loyalty to her heritage — exist in tension from the beginning.
Her Main Flaw
Sarah’s central flaw is a divided and partly instrumental posture toward the very thing she seeks.
She approaches the sacred as a researcher and observer. Even when she is genuinely moved, she keeps a layer of professional or intellectual distance. This shows most clearly in her early relationship with Jack: she is drawn to him and to the chapel experiences, yet she also treats him, at least initially, as potential material for a story. She wants the truth, but she wants it on terms that still allow her to remain in control — to study it, frame it, and not be fully claimed by it.
A related aspect of the flaw is her difficulty imagining continuity between her Jewish identity and any movement toward Christian faith. She experiences the pull she feels as a possible betrayal rather than as a deepening or fulfillment. This makes her slow to commit and quick to protect herself from the full cost of what she is encountering.
At the End: How Well She Achieves Her Goal
Sarah achieves what she wanted, but not in the form she expected, and not without significant loss.
By the final movement of the novel she has moved from observer to witness. She experiences the stadium events in a way that is no longer merely investigative. Her reading of Psalm 22 becomes a moment of genuine recognition rather than academic interest. She accepts a costly personal faith, knowing it creates a rupture with her parents and with the straightforward continuation of her inherited religious life.
Jack’s final charge to her — that she is now the one who must carry the story and the questions forward — confirms the transformation. The thing she sought (a living encounter with the divine) has been given. The journalistic frame has been broken; she is no longer primarily collecting a story but living inside one.
Assessment of achievement: She succeeds at the deepest level of her original desire. She wanted evidence that God is real and active; she receives it. Yet the fulfillment requires her to surrender the detached stance that was her protection and to accept a faith that is both gift and burden. Her arc is one of being drawn from curiosity into costly belonging.
In short: Sarah begins wanting a sign she can study. She ends by becoming a witness who must live what she has seen.
Father Karl Becker’s Character Arc in Great Purpose
At the Start: What He Wants
Becker wants to protect.
He wants to shield the young people under his care, the wider community, and the Church itself from the damage caused by false signs, spiritual delusion, and religious sensationalism. His earlier experience investigating a fraudulent weeping statue has taught him how quickly genuine hunger for the sacred can be exploited, and how much harm follows when that deception is exposed.
At the beginning of Great Purpose he approaches Jack, the chapel gatherings, and the rumors of extraordinary experiences with a clear priority: exercise caution, test claims rigorously, and prevent another cycle of excitement followed by disillusionment. He wants truthfulness and pastoral safety more than he wants wonder.
His Main Flaw
Becker’s central flaw is that his prudence has become defensive.
The earlier fraud did not make him faithless, but it narrowed his posture. He is quicker to see the dangers of false miracles than the possibility of true ones. His skepticism, originally a form of responsibility, risks hardening into a settled expectation that extraordinary claims will prove empty or harmful.
This flaw shows itself as a reluctance to be surprised by grace. He is prepared to investigate, correct, and protect, but less prepared to recognize and support a genuine work of God if one appears. In trying to keep others from being deceived, he has made it harder for himself to remain open.
At the End: How Well He Achieves His Goal
Becker achieves a deeper and more costly version of what he wanted.
By the time of the stadium events he is no longer merely the wary guardian standing at a distance. He becomes a witness. The novel indicates that he experiences the reality of what occurs in a way that unsettles him “in a good way,” disrupting the protective certainty he had built after the earlier fraud. His old framework — that such phenomena are to be treated primarily as dangers — is broken open.
He does not abandon prudence. He remains careful, measured, and aware of how easily spiritual experiences can be misused. But his caution is now held together with a recovered capacity for awe and a willingness to accompany what he cannot fully control or explain. He continues to serve Jack and the others, yet from a humbler position: no longer the man who must prevent the miraculous from causing harm, but the priest who must help people live faithfully with what has been given.
Assessment of achievement: He succeeds by having his original goal purified. He wanted to protect people from spiritual harm; he still does. What changes is his understanding of what that protection requires. True pastoral care, the novel suggests, includes not only guarding against deception but also remaining available to the possibility that God may still act in ways that exceed institutional caution. Becker ends as a more complete priest than he began — still vigilant, but no longer closed.
In short: Becker begins wanting to keep the sacred from being falsified. He ends by having to make room for the possibility that the sacred has, in fact, drawn near.
Coach Pat Tanner’s Character Arc in Great Purpose
At the Start: What He Wants
Tanner wants respect — for himself as a coach and, more importantly, for the Marian Knights as a program.
He has taken over a small Catholic university team that is not taken seriously by the larger football world. His clear, driving goal is to change that. He wants opponents to feel fear and respect when they see the Knights on the schedule. He is prepared to impose hard work, pain, discipline, and high standards to turn the team into a genuine competitor. Winning is the measurable path to that respect, and he pursues it with focus and intensity.
At this stage his ambition is professional and competitive rather than spiritual.
His Main Flaw
Tanner’s central flaw is a pragmatic reduction of everything to performance.
He is not hostile to faith. He tolerates and eventually accommodates the team’s growing practice of prayer because it appears to help cohesion and focus. But he primarily values what is useful to the program. Spiritual realities are secondary; they matter insofar as they contribute to toughness, unity, and winning.
This leaves him slow to recognize that something beyond coaching, scheme, or motivation may be at work. His intensity and results-orientation, while effective, keep him from seeing the players’ interior lives—or Jack’s burden—as anything more than factors in team performance.
At the End: How Well He Achieves His Goal
Tanner achieves his original goal, but its meaning is significantly altered.
By the end of the novel the Knights have risen far beyond expectations and claim a championship. The respect he wanted has been won in the most public way possible. Yet the path to that success, and especially the final events surrounding Jack and the stadium, cannot be explained by ordinary coaching. Tanner is forced to confront that forces beyond his control and understanding have been decisive.
In the hospital and in his final exchanges with Jack, he shows a changed posture. He no longer treats the team’s prayer as merely useful. He affirms that it must continue. He carries a rosary. He speaks of the faith that took root among the players as something real that should be handed on. The championship remains a genuine accomplishment, but Tanner now sees it as bound up with a reality larger than program-building.
Assessment of achievement: He succeeds on the terms he set at the beginning — the team earns respect and a title — while being changed in the process. His arc is not a rejection of competitive drive, but an enlargement of it. He begins by wanting a respected football program; he ends by accepting that the most important thing that happened to his team cannot be reduced to football.
In short: Tanner starts wanting to build a winner. He ends having built one, only to discover that the deeper victory was never fully his to coach.
