The world is full of people who really, sincerely want to be heroes. This is important.
It’s hard for me to explain exactly what I mean by “hero” here. Heroism is a big messy memeplex, with lots of constituent parts, some of which directly contradict each other. Doesn’t matter. I’m trying to gesture at the whole goddamn thing. We know it when we see it.
There are a lot of people who want to cultivate their virtues, and attain individual excellence. Who want to save the day. Who want to struggle against great obstacles, and contend with worthy opponents. Who want to live out exciting, dramatic stories that seem worth the telling. Who want to feel that they are worthy of being compared with the fictions that they most idolize.
As far as I’m concerned, this is a good and gladdening thing. Heroism is admirable. The world is a better place, in a terminal-values-being-fulfilled kind of way, when people cultivate their virtues and become excellent. The world is more beautiful when people seek to live out beautiful narratives. It’s even true that, by dint of their heroism, heroes occasionally manage to do some concrete good for people other than themselves.
Yet the dream usually goes unfulfilled. It is hard, in this world that we have built, to live as a hero.
In many ways, of course, it has to be hard. If you want to be excellent, there’s really no way around the fact that this means being meaningfully better than other people in some way, which requires both talent and back-breaking work. If you want to take on great obstacles and worthy opponents, well, a lot of the time they’re going to beat the crap out of you. If you want to live out a gripping story, you’re going to experience the sorrows and the terrors inherent in that. These things can’t be faked, not without reducing them to meaninglessness.
But we make it a lot harder than it has to be. We maintain social norms that equate the aspiration-to-heroism with pretension; we mock anyone who tries to construct his life as being narratively special. We focus obsessively on the very highest levels of fame and accomplishment in every field, such that everything outside that little elite circle feels unreal and unworthy. We tear down each other’s heroic ideals, waging culture-war on those who are seeking to build themselves up according to models that are different from our own.
Most importantly of all: we espouse cultural models in which heroism requires crisis. As a rule, outside the context of certain super-high-level competitions, we are willing to place the hero’s crown only upon the brow of someone who has conquered a genuine external threat. It doesn’t count unless the world forces you into your heroism, right? Otherwise it’s just vainglory and self-aggrandizement. Pretty much every hero in our cultural canon takes up his station out of necessity, in reaction to some grave threat.
This is a very bad thing.
It causes loads and loads of narcissistic injury. People want to be heroes, but the circumstances don’t seem to allow for it — they see nothing heroic for themselves to do, no way to properly employ any virtues that they might cultivate — so they give up on their desired self-images in despair, and become depressed or cynical or small-souled. (They also give up on cultivating their virtues, so in addition to everything else they make the world worse by failing to achieve their potential.)
Worse yet, it drives people to perpetuate crises where they don’t need to exist. The nationalist conservative demands that the foreign enemy be an existentialist threat; how else could we demonstrate our heroism in war? The social-justice liberal demands that identitarian oppression be an pervasive, all-encompassing menace; how else could be demonstrate our heroism in discourse? The fundamentalist Christian wants the poor to be with us always, so that we can be heroically charitable. The bomb-throwing anarchist wants the state not to implement useful policies, so that we can be heroically revolutionary. (Batman ensures that the villainously insane will always escape from Arkham Asylum, so that he can be heroically superheroic.) Even the ordinary workingman stands opposed to basic income, or anything similar, because he fears to lose the small shreds of heroism that he can wring from the struggle to provide for his family. Those who are desperate to be heroes develop a symbiotic relationship with their favorite crises, and thus the crises come to serve a valuable psychological function, which makes them vastly harder to solve.
It doesn’t have to be that way. Heroism doesn’t have to grow out of crisis, it doesn’t have to be a reluctant reaction to some Tremendous External Danger, not if we choose to recognize it in other contexts. Nor does it have to require the kind of achievement that remakes the whole world. All it requires is virtue, and personal excellence, and struggle, and a willingness to recognize glory in those things. If someone is in fact possessed of great ability and great quality of character, if he has done interestingly difficult things and made interestingly difficult choices, then I for one see no incongruity in treating him like any hero of legend. Even if the world has not conspired to push him onto center stage.
There is no reason that a group of people who are willing to cultivate themselves, and to contend with one another, cannot attain a true and meaningful heroism through their own voluntarily-undertaken interactions.
Or, put another way: if you’re willing to work hard at it, you can LARP your way into being a hero, and still have it be real.
I am considering writing a book.
(An extended heroic narrative of some sort, anyway. At the moment, I’m actually feeling pretty tempted to try and do it as an epic poem, although it sounds hellishly difficult. I’ve never worked in that particular medium before; it might be a fun challenge. And many of our most fundamental ideas about heroism come from Homer and Virgil, so if I’m explicitly trying to explore what it means to be a hero, perhaps it would be fitting to try and follow in their footsteps.)
(In any case, poetry or prose, it seems likely to be self-consciously stylized and old-fashioned. If prose, I may try to model it on the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, or maybe on something like a Viking saga.)
If it ever comes to exist, it will be the story of an age of heroes. It will depict men and women performing great deeds, striving with one another in contests and duels, building and losing and winning empires. They will speak passionately of the many different ideals that they espouse, of their conflicting theories of the world. They will be joined by great loves and riven by great hatreds. They will undertake great betrayals, and cleave to one another in acts of surpassing loyalty. Their stories — if I can do them justice — will be as grand, as big and bright and glorious, as the stories of Arthur or Achilles or Alexander.
It will take place in some modern, or plausibly-modern-like, setting.
And all the action will arise from the characters’ voluntary participation in a culture of heroism. There will be no Saving the World, no Lives of the Innocent at play, no fearsome outside danger to raise the stakes. No metaphysical conspiracy to explain why these particular individuals, and their doings, get to matter. Only extraordinary people, and people seeking to become extraordinary, who have decided to live their lives in a big and bright and glorious sort of way. These heroes will struggle with one another because they choose to struggle; the stakes of their striving will be only those stakes that they themselves put up. If the portrayal is good, if the poetry has enough power in it, that should be enough.
Culture-engineering, on any kind of broader scale, is incredibly hard. Comparatively speaking, art is very easy.
If all you want to do is provide an example, to open up a different paradigm of identity, then art might be enough.
As my dream projects go, this one is very…attainable.
I welcome thoughts and insights here. I am flailing in the dark. If you think you have some idea for how such a project might be made to work better, to ring truer — if you think you see some thing that ought to exist within this Saga of the Self-Chosen Heroes, some phenomenon it ought to describe, some mode of presentation that it should embody — and if you think it better to pass that thought on to me, rather than keeping it close for your own purposes — then I should be grateful, and honored, to hear about it.
We build upon the world that we see before us, and it is always better when our field of vision expands.