Were my heroes cowboys?
Sept. 6th, 2004
Not only do contemporary heroes have feet of clay, but many of them have feet of mud -- slimy, slippery and composed of the most amorphous and putrid substance.
There was a time when I believed there was greatness in certain members of humankind, and trusted that there were those who'd led lives to which one could aspire -- but no more. Today, those of my heroes who are not yet dead, are mere facsimiles of anything heroic.
It was ever thus, but it wasn't until I was into my middle years that I concluded I was depressed, cynical, jaded, or I had possibly been approaching heroism from the wrong direction. Homer said that all men need gods, but it also has been said that we kill those whom we would make gods.
I believe that. Though I don't believe we directly kill them all. I think their pride leads them to commit suicide -- at least in the eyes of others. Right, Conrad?
Of course, we need our heroes when we are young because we're uncertain about who we are and who we hope to become. We look around ourselves and see athletes, film stars, military conquerors, explorers and even gangsters. We then look at accountant or plumber Dad and schoolteacher or store clerk Mom, and think that our aspirations should be greater than to just hit the mainstream mark and stay there. We want greatness and glamour for ourselves. We are special. We are unique.
As we age, we change. We not only face disappointment in our aspirations and talents, but we also see our heroes as flawed, mere mortals like the rest of us. We reach the point where we see the whole heroism thing as just blind luck -- being in the right place at the right time, and acting a certain way.
Seems disappointing, but it's not necessarily so. For me it remained distressing as long as I harbored the fallacious belief that while once there were heroes, there no longer were. Now I've changed that view. I now believe that contemporary notables are either as heroic or unheroic as they have ever been.
As an example, if the beautiful and naively self-indulgent Princess Diana had died in 1697 rather than 1997, it might never have been revealed that her pretty face was a facade, behind which there was neither great substance nor stability. But there weren't such modes of scrutiny in the 17th century as there are today, so she would have been left as an exquisite martyr and the route of her funeral cortege would likely have been marked by stations of the cross, as was done with an earlier consort who died young and adored.
In sorting this all out, the revelation came to me that a) we create our heroes from the wrong candidates, and b) there aren't any 'right' candidates.
In that sense, the Catholic Church has always been thoughtfully cautious in creating saints. In the first place, nobody living ever gets to be a saint, and secondly, if you have aspirations to canonization, your immortal soul is going to have to wait a very long time before the honor is conferred. There's a further glitch in the sainthood process in that even if you are beatified, it doesn't mean it will be forever. The Vatican, in the past few years has kicked our a lot of lesser saints who just might not have truly earned the honor -- so, adios, St. Christopher and St. Valentine.
I think the route of the Catholics is a realistic one. As it happens, when an icon (like Diana in all her adorableness) dies, there is much wailing, gnashing of teeth and rending of garments. But then, a decade later say, revisionism sets in. This is usually when some publish or perish academic mounts a thesis to suggest that our hypothetical Diana was nothing other than a vacuous slut-bunny and was only a victim of her carnality and selfishness, and nothing else. Distressing, of course, but witness how revisionism has treated John F. Kennedy. In my youth, he died a hero. Maybe he is still heroic in some eyes, but in the view of others he was a philandering bum who consorted with gangsters and only mounted the Bay of Pigs to try to steal back some of his bootlegging pimp father's purloined property holdings in Havana.
So, you see, heroes only exist in the eye and esteem of the beholder. It all depends on what side you're on, and what school of political or philosophical thought you subscribe to.
Are you angry because your heroes turned false with your increasing knowledge of the world? I am -- sometimes. And I remain capable of being disappointed with people of notability from whom I had expected more.
But, I no longer subscribe to the theory that the world has been bankrupted of the talented and noble. They're around. They just aren't accorded the notice they deserve. Our kitschy pop-oriented society looks in the wrong places. Do I care about some little teen popster of cutesy boobs in whose c-cup lies the bulk of her talent? Not at all.
Want heroes? Look towards the unsung. Most cops and firefighters take on more risks and responsibilities on a regular basis than most of us will in a lifetime. Medical heroes? Give me front-line paramedics, ER nurses and the mundane GP who brings your kid out of a maor asthma attack. Mother Teresa gets lots of hype, and some of it is no doubt deserved, but what about all those lesser medical missionaries who handle their disagreeable tasks virtually unnoticed?
As for me, old Roy Rogers never let me down.
Not only do contemporary heroes have feet of clay, but many of them have feet of mud -- slimy, slippery and composed of the most amorphous and putrid substance.
There was a time when I believed there was greatness in certain members of humankind, and trusted that there were those who'd led lives to which one could aspire -- but no more. Today, those of my heroes who are not yet dead, are mere facsimiles of anything heroic.
It was ever thus, but it wasn't until I was into my middle years that I concluded I was depressed, cynical, jaded, or I had possibly been approaching heroism from the wrong direction. Homer said that all men need gods, but it also has been said that we kill those whom we would make gods.
I believe that. Though I don't believe we directly kill them all. I think their pride leads them to commit suicide -- at least in the eyes of others. Right, Conrad?
Of course, we need our heroes when we are young because we're uncertain about who we are and who we hope to become. We look around ourselves and see athletes, film stars, military conquerors, explorers and even gangsters. We then look at accountant or plumber Dad and schoolteacher or store clerk Mom, and think that our aspirations should be greater than to just hit the mainstream mark and stay there. We want greatness and glamour for ourselves. We are special. We are unique.
As we age, we change. We not only face disappointment in our aspirations and talents, but we also see our heroes as flawed, mere mortals like the rest of us. We reach the point where we see the whole heroism thing as just blind luck -- being in the right place at the right time, and acting a certain way.
Seems disappointing, but it's not necessarily so. For me it remained distressing as long as I harbored the fallacious belief that while once there were heroes, there no longer were. Now I've changed that view. I now believe that contemporary notables are either as heroic or unheroic as they have ever been.
As an example, if the beautiful and naively self-indulgent Princess Diana had died in 1697 rather than 1997, it might never have been revealed that her pretty face was a facade, behind which there was neither great substance nor stability. But there weren't such modes of scrutiny in the 17th century as there are today, so she would have been left as an exquisite martyr and the route of her funeral cortege would likely have been marked by stations of the cross, as was done with an earlier consort who died young and adored.
In sorting this all out, the revelation came to me that a) we create our heroes from the wrong candidates, and b) there aren't any 'right' candidates.
In that sense, the Catholic Church has always been thoughtfully cautious in creating saints. In the first place, nobody living ever gets to be a saint, and secondly, if you have aspirations to canonization, your immortal soul is going to have to wait a very long time before the honor is conferred. There's a further glitch in the sainthood process in that even if you are beatified, it doesn't mean it will be forever. The Vatican, in the past few years has kicked our a lot of lesser saints who just might not have truly earned the honor -- so, adios, St. Christopher and St. Valentine.
I think the route of the Catholics is a realistic one. As it happens, when an icon (like Diana in all her adorableness) dies, there is much wailing, gnashing of teeth and rending of garments. But then, a decade later say, revisionism sets in. This is usually when some publish or perish academic mounts a thesis to suggest that our hypothetical Diana was nothing other than a vacuous slut-bunny and was only a victim of her carnality and selfishness, and nothing else. Distressing, of course, but witness how revisionism has treated John F. Kennedy. In my youth, he died a hero. Maybe he is still heroic in some eyes, but in the view of others he was a philandering bum who consorted with gangsters and only mounted the Bay of Pigs to try to steal back some of his bootlegging pimp father's purloined property holdings in Havana.
So, you see, heroes only exist in the eye and esteem of the beholder. It all depends on what side you're on, and what school of political or philosophical thought you subscribe to.
Are you angry because your heroes turned false with your increasing knowledge of the world? I am -- sometimes. And I remain capable of being disappointed with people of notability from whom I had expected more.
But, I no longer subscribe to the theory that the world has been bankrupted of the talented and noble. They're around. They just aren't accorded the notice they deserve. Our kitschy pop-oriented society looks in the wrong places. Do I care about some little teen popster of cutesy boobs in whose c-cup lies the bulk of her talent? Not at all.
Want heroes? Look towards the unsung. Most cops and firefighters take on more risks and responsibilities on a regular basis than most of us will in a lifetime. Medical heroes? Give me front-line paramedics, ER nurses and the mundane GP who brings your kid out of a maor asthma attack. Mother Teresa gets lots of hype, and some of it is no doubt deserved, but what about all those lesser medical missionaries who handle their disagreeable tasks virtually unnoticed?
As for me, old Roy Rogers never let me down.
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