What Makes a Hero? The Link Between Virtue and Innovation
In the previous essay we discussed the importance of narrative and myth, and how the world of spirit is affected thereby. In this essay, we will attempt to dissect the meaning of the heroic, its connection to creativity, and the influence each has on culture.
Why do we bother with the concept of the heroic? That’s a relatively simple question to answer: who wouldn’t want to be considered heroic? Even if we would not like to be heroic, it’s hard to imagine someone humble enough to refuse such a reputation. Even villains think they’re doing something heroic; they’re just mistaken about what heroism is. For the sake of this argument, we can think of heroic in the same terms as it has traditionally been considered: a person or action possessing colossal virtue or accomplishing great deeds.
Heroism is usually considered in relation to some struggle; there are great monsters or problems which arise, which can only be overcome by some equally exceptional (read: preferable) force. Most would agree it’s better to be at the mercy of a hero than a monster. Myths traditionally functioned as a means to convey heroes and their characteristic arcs–the evolution necessary for heroic personalities to manifest. Without this evolution, the hero will fail to become what is necessary to thwart the monster(s) in question. Representing heroes and heroic virtue in narrative makes them easier to imitate. Anytime a problem arises, and there’s a question of how to overcome it, the hero myth serves to inform a response, i.e. “We deal with this sort of problem in this sort of way.”
Heroic portrayals are culturally dependent. They change over time, with varying emphases.
Looking first to the Greek tradition, where we derive the term hḗrōs, we find this term most often denoting a demigod or a protector-type figure, often the center of cultic worship on account of their extraordinary capability. The Iliad’s Achilles provides an ample example of earlier conceptions of the heroic. Achilles is known for being the greatest Greek warrior during the Trojan War, nearly invincible in stature. He is not known for cleverness, but brutality. Despite his rabid defense of little else outside of personal honor, he is a hero in the eyes of the story because of his raw strength. Only a little later the Greek hero becomes more complex. Odysseus, the Greek hero of the Odyssey, while remaining a fierce opponent in battle, adds the virtue of cunning and moral complexity to the concept of the hero– neither of which Achilles possessed. Later still, Socrates comes along to outshine both, representing one not merely a warrior or strategist alone, but one wholly possessed by a desire for truth. His desire for truth is so pure and wholehearted, in fact, that he wills to die rather than abandon this virtue for the sake of self-preservation.
The three aforementioned find their Biblical analogues in Samson, David, and Christ. Samson is a brute, known for his unparalleled strength and ravenous desire. He takes a wife from an opposing tribe against the wishes of God, later paying the price for his short-sightedness. His wife betrays him to his enemies, and he is taken captive. His life ends in a self-sacrificial act, collapsing a temple on himself and countless Philistines. King David is less a brute, but no less capable in combat; in his youth he slays Goliath, a near-insurmountable enemy of Israel. Later he is raised up as a king, but not after escaping multiple attempts on his life committed by his predecessor to the throne, Saul. David, on account of his strategic wherewithal and dedication to God, is able to navigate the exceedingly dangerous political environment and is responsible for a golden age of the Kingdom of Jerusalem. Nevertheless, he succumbs to temptation in the form of a woman, slaying her husband and taking her as an illegitimate bride. This marks a downward spiral in his temporal reign, as the loss of virtue interrupts what was a flawless run. Finally Jesus Christ, the culmination of the Biblical story, is a sagacious man, perfect and wholly chaste in conduct; healing the sick, performing miracles, disrepudiating the hypocritical religious elites of His day in the Pharisees, leading the people to the Truth (which He Himself is the embodiment of), finally suffering crucifixion for His peerless righteousness.
In each of these examples, part of the fact of their heroism is the noteworthiness of the virtue they realized in their person–if they hadn’t been exceptional in terms of virtue, or innovative in their conduct, they likely would not have been the subject of legend, others having taken their place. Had they responded to adversity in the way common to men, they would have received no uncommon recognition. But because of their positive innovation in conduct, their stories are remembered. For example, Christ is continually placed into a moral catch-22 by the Pharisees and escapes through countless creatively genius responses. In one instance, the Pharisees have caught a woman in adultery and have brought her before Jesus and a crowd of others. In that day, the Law of Moses commanded that such a transgression should result in death, but the conservative enforcement had fallen out of fashion. The Pharisees took advantage of this moral ambiguity, and asked Jesus what ought to happen to her. If Jesus asked for her pardon, He’d seem to disregard the Law; but if He called for the Law’s enforcement, He would seem unmerciful by the standards of the time, thus undercutting His message of love. Perceiving their intent, Christ bent down and began to write something in the sand. It is written that He then stood and said “Whoever is without sin, let him cast the first stone.” Then, it is written, one by one the crowd dispersed. Who among us could claim such astuteness? There are countless other examples, but for the sake of brevity we will carry on.
The heroic task, then, could be rightly considered creative, in so far as it is innovative and does what had previously been considered impossible.
However, the terms “innovator” and “creative” were not quite the compliments we consider them today. Today we consider anything new de facto good, throwing ourselves prostrate at the altar of progress. But primitive life constrained the actions of individuals very heavily, and not without purpose: taboo, superstition, and magical thinking regulated primitive man down to the tiniest modes of conduct. Such superstition is even alive today, albeit less consciously.
Before so much as a single tree could be felled, the spirit of the tree required propitiation, lest curses be heaped on the uncautious lumberer. Royal persons like kings (prototypical heroes) stood watchfully guarded as individuals on whose careful conduct the regular occurrence of sunrise, rainfall, and fertility depended. Even the toenails of a layperson needed ritualized disposal, lest they fall into the hands of a witch or mage. Creative wantonness had very little place in the conduct of the savage.
But why would everyday conduct be construed in magical terms? Because magic is best understood, even today, as a science attempting to codify the effects of the will and willing, which are very difficult to discern, even now. “If I do this, that will happen” is a rather scientific mode of thinking. Even a modern skeptic like David Hume will admit causality is largely unseen. To innovate– to do things differently than they had been done before–places one into a mode of existence intensely charged with ambivalent magical potentiality. Anything could happen! If undertaking heroic action necessarily means to act in a way that is noteworthy, responding to a very serious problem in a way partially or completely solvent, you can imagine this easily being construed in terms of creative problem-solving, and not least magic. The hero, then, and the creative share a great deal in common. Namely, they inject a certain energy into a culture otherwise stagnant, and allow for a revivification of virtue therein.
But what if our action makes the problem worse? Or worse yet–what if our casting out demons causes others to associate us with them? This is akin to the accusation Christ received by the Pharisees: “It is only by Beelzebul, the prince of demons, that this fellow drives out demons.” What we find in most stories is a certain ambivalence necessary to assume the creative powers of the hero. The hero willingly assumes that very power which causes them to be either loved or hated by the masses. Cain and Abel are an example of the jealousy that can arise from someone whose conduct is too heroic for the sight of others, casting a contrast against their second-rate sacrifices. Because of their greatness, the hero and the creative draw the ire of those they overshadow. Bitter individuals cast them as the cause of the current order in which they (the embittered) feel alienated, resulting in the embittered scapegoating and ultimately sacrificing the creative/hero.
To play a pivotal role in establishing order (read: holding at bay chaos) places the creative/hero at the intersection of everything– at the focal point of culture– which is a potentially very lucrative and also dangerous space to occupy. When all the focus is on you, as explained above, you draw both admiration and envy. How often do we see figures widely adored and also criticized to an equal degree? In my experience as a marketer, we almost always had to calm down clients after exceptionally successful ad campaigns. Why? They had received more attention for their brand than ever before, most of which resulted in positive feedback and an increase in revenue; but also inevitably an increase in jeering, criticism, and hatred. Ironically, a microdose of crowd hatred ate up all the otherwise positive feedback, at least for the psychologically vulnerable client.
The heroic and creative individual, then, are synonymous in their ability to affect change in the world, and to do what others find inconceivable. They are rewarded in so far as they succeed in solving the problem or slaying the monster, redistributing its marrow for collective sustenance. In order to actualize creativity and/or heroism, they have to both identify with the tradition or culture which produced them, while simultaneously transcending it. Uprooted from the tradition, they will fail to even replicate the minimum requisite virtue to surpass former accomplishments. Conversely, if they are too reliant on former achievements and modes of conduct, they inevitably fail to produce anything new or noteworthy. By straddling these two, they receive the benefits of both. By bringing new modes of operating into reality, they afford others the opportunity to imitate their displays of virtue. Once something is shown to be possible, others are happy to do what is proven to succeed. When everyone is able to imitate what is ultimately virtuous, prosperity ensues.
