I think Children want to believe that they can be Heroes too.
It took them some time to materialize, and the old guard among us feared at times that they wouldn’t show up at all anymore. But lo and behold, slowly they began to appear. Not that many, it is true, yet of great valour nevertheless. Fine provisos to our knightly Christian-European tradition, fearless and well aware of consequences, and the blows they’ve dealt out nearly rocking the Banksters and Neocon Bolshies off their gilded hind legs.
So what happened? What made them decide to seek justice, honour and fame at great personal risk, knowing full well that Washington’s puppet masters have no qualms whatsoever to hunt them down with their howling media hounds or silent rental assassins?
Let us take a glance at the word hero as such.
Since earliest antiquity a term much en vogue, was the Greek ήρώς a man of superhuman virtues favoured by the gods. Later ages became more pragmatic and deemed him to be an illustrious warrior, one admired for his achievements and noble qualities, or just someone who fought for his country. If we take a look into our traditional lore, or that of mankind in general, the instance of men and women with noble qualities who fought bravely for their people and nation is legion.
Where would we be without King Leonidas, Siegfried, Roland, Beowulf, Charles Martel, Alfred the Great, El Cid Campeador, Prince Eugen, General Washington and others of similar dignity and determination? Or without the whistle-blowers from Socrates onwards, those who stood there and spoke up and could not do otherwise?
The heroic impulse is a fundamental ingredient of our psyche. Whomever you may hold responsible for the creation of mankind, He made sure that in times of suppression and enslavement a hero would walk out of the underbrush and offer battle to the tyrants, be it with his sword, his pen or his voice. If he perished, either in battle, at the cross, on a pyre or at the gallows, it wouldn’t have come unexpected. If he survived, those for whom he had fought adored him frantically. And as legend, saga, fairy tale and epic poem began to eulogise him and his like with passion and imagination, the dream to become a hero or heroine found its way into many a youthful heart as well .
This trend was even enhanced with the arrival of motion pictures. When a teenager, my glowing model champions were invariably Gary Cooper, John Wayne or Burt Lancaster, and the way they defended the great Christian values like decency, fairness, goodness, honesty, modesty, morality, probity, purity, rectitude, righteousness, trustworthiness, truthfulness, uprightness and virtue, to name but a few, made me wish to follow their glorious example as soon as possible.
Yet apart from a few daring but entirely unsung exploits, rescues or principled pronouncements in adverse situations, nothing extraordinary ever happened along this line, and as fame and praise and accolade refused to materialize, I went my ways quietly and unobtrusively like everybody else. And while the years turned into decades, I sort of unthinkingly assumed that the collective perception of heroes, their uncomplicated minds and attitudes which had no problem at all to distinguish with sleepwalking certainty between good and evil, had not been altered at all.
This image began, imperceptibly at first, to change when my sons were born and grew up. Before that time I had lived in regions where television and cinemas didn’t exist, at least not within a reasonable distance. Whereas now I bought videos for the boys or took them into town to watch a movie, and while I looked on myself it occurred to me that the hero as I knew him had undergone a significant modification. The Coopers, Lancasters and Waynes, men whom I suspected to have, at least within reason, believed themselves the ideals they acted out with such candid dedication, were supplanted by a new type of protagonist. One who pondered. One who increasingly questioned the iron-clad ethics of old, and could be only coaxed into action after people or situations had given him a massive kick into the backside. Thus the term anti-hero was born, and our Tinseltown schmucks made him one of their favourite characters. Touted as psychologically profound and well attuned to the changing times, they watered him down to such an extent that his once shiny vestments hung finally about him in sodden tatters. Which, and that was the intention behind the exercise, rendered him less and less attractive as a role model for the young. And not only them.
And even if the Spielbergs, Bruckheimers, Lukasses et al. fabricate sometimes a flick with what they believe to be heroic ingredients, it falls on barren ground since neither producers, directors or actors command anymore this small but magical touch of compassion which deeply moves an audience’s heart. The leitmotif of many movies, particularly those for the young, became so abstruse, absurd and improbable that the protagonists do not last as role models more than a minute beyond screening time, no matter if they are an alien, superman, weirdo or poof.
If one looks at contemporary quotes and definitions of the term hero in one of the larger Internet compilations like brainyquote, some men continue to hold up, without so many words, the pure ideal as we know it. But others decidedly do not, and they are in the majority.
The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being a honest coward like everybody else.
If you have not been a villain at a certain point in time, you will never be a hero. And the day you are a hero, you may become a villain the next day.
I am, to be quite honest, sick of hero stories.
You only need to make one big score in finance to be a hero forever.
I am the hero of Africa.
Show me a gambler and I’ll show you a loser, show me a hero and I’ll show you a corpse.
Freud was a hero. He descended to the Underworld and met there stark terrors. He carried with him his theory as a Medusa’s head which turned these terrors to stone.
R. D. Laing
For one thing, I don’t think that anybody in any war thinks of themselves as a hero.
I’m a hero with coward’s legs.
In any story, the villain is the catalyst. The hero is not a person who will bend the rules or show the cracks in his armour. He’s one-dimensional intentionally, but the villain is the person who owns up to what he is and stands by it.
My belt holds my pants up, but the belt loops hold my belt up. I don’t really know what’s happening down there. Who is the real hero?
Well, who is, one wonders. And begins to ask if dulcet cowards, dedicated villains or downright idiots have supplanted the old ideal entirely. A possibility that fits perfectly into the general ruse of our NWO bogeys to emasculate those who might still be willing and capable to resist their hare-brained schemes.
And for a while it looked as if their gamble would pay off. No matter if cerebrally backed up by a literary mega-buck quisling and mind-numbing bore like Umberto Eco, or Steven Spielberg in butchered English, or any of the above cited urban masterminds, it seemed as if the concerted pansifying of a largely White offspring could not be checked at all. What is more, the officially sanctioned poisoning of our basic foodstuff combined with a massive escalation in the prescription of psychotropic drugs began indeed to cause a slow but significant deterioration of the collective willpower necessary to resist a criminal gang of entrepreneurs who, over the course of two centuries and more, had managed to concentrate the wealth of entire countries in their dirty claws.
Long ago have I learnt that it is hazardous to venture predictions, particularly those with larger ramifications. One may feel fairly sure that a scheme or ruse will work out as planned, but should never forget this divinely inspired rule of inherent fallibility that may wreck any enterprise in the most inconvenient moment.
And this even more if, as right now, the true villains lack real muscle, rocklike unanimity and sufficient tactical foresight to tame and direct the giant extortion conspiracy they’ve spawned in the hope to rule mankind with their mammon alone. Particularly if the latter must finance their mad schemes, but is in fact a mountain of worthless paper that needs only one burning cinder to turn it into a heap of smouldering ashes. Accordingly the terror these men and women kindle at home and abroad with the help of an increasingly suspicious and unwilling soldiery, present or past, evident or secret, will be always harder to sustain. And as if that weren’t headache enough, some unlikely adversaries have appeared out of the blue and laid the hideous crimes open for everyone to see. Champions far removed from the usual Hollywood fakes, but real persons for a change who spoke up and now pay for their courage, be it in prison, holed up in embassies or just on the run. And whatever their personal motives, as far as we are concerned they have bravely taken up the torch which many of us deemed already extinguished.
And since they are young men after all, we may call them proudly our new generation of standard bearers, and as such acceptable paradigms for those of our children who dream to become one day a hero as well.