The Tragic Demise of the Hero
Modern men no longer live in the intoxication of heroic
delusions. A storyteller once observed: Cervantes’ knight Don Quixote, though
not a hero in the real world, behaved in heroic fashion — and for that he had
to suffer its terrifying consequences. In truth, whether in the history of
world literature or in the dawn of modernity, Cervantes’ Don Quixote stands as
the very first human hero. Before Don Quixote, all who bore the mantle of
“hero” were either gods themselves or divine messengers sent by heaven. That a
mortal man could himself become a hero — this was first proven through the
quixotic figure of Cervantes. Yet, there are formidable obstacles barring man’s
path to true heroism. First, man can never wield the sorceries or miracles of
the godlike super-hero. Second, his actions are often flawed, morally grey, at
times downright ungodly, confined within the small circle of his own existence.
Third, his nature is not celestial but animalistic in part, prone to instinct
and desire. For these very reasons, in earlier ages, men were rarely enthroned
in the seat of the hero. Cervantes dared to imagine, for the first time, a hero
who was human. And he also showed that when the hero is made of flesh and
blood, his life inevitably turns tragic. For the destiny of a mortal hero is
not joy, but sorrow; not triumph, but downfall. Nature itself seems to resist
man’s ascent to heroism — and thus the life of every true hero concludes in
tragedy.
From Cervantes’ formula of the tragic hero, the great writers of all ages unfurled their canvases. Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Othello, Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov and Prince Myshkin, Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, Kafka’s Gregor Samsa, Tagore’s Gora, Zola’s many protagonists — each embodies this tragic design.
In our conception, the tragic hero bears certain traits: First, the hero is idealistic. Second, he stands for justice. Third, for the sake of justice and ideals, he can renounce everything. Fourth, he listens only to the voice of conscience. Fifth, he will not hesitate, if need be, to oppose society itself, even God Himself.
These qualities of the hero are not merely our imagination; they are an axiom, a measure of art itself. The history of civilization tells us: in literature, in society, through the centuries, mankind has revered such immortal heroes. In real life too, figures like Jesus, Lincoln, Socrates, Einstein, Ashoka, Confucius — each is an undying hero. In their lives there was abundance of success, but equally abundance of failure. Their struggles between what they dreamed and what they achieved have made their lives tragic in essence. Across the world, they are not only famous — they are revered.
And here, at this word “famous,” we stumble. A hero is revered because he stands apart from ordinary men. And since many men admire him, and shape their ideals upon his life, he becomes popular too. But not all who are famous are heroes — for there are many who are notorious, yet command no reverence. More precisely, there are many famous figures who are not respected equally across all nations, races, creeds, or classes. And yet they remain infamous luminaries. Think of Hitler, Mao Tse-tung, Stalin, Aurangzeb, Nadir Shah, Louis XIV — and other despots, conquerors, and tyrants. They are “famous,” yet not heroes. They belong to the clan of anti-heroes — the villains.
Heroes and villains are both famous; but where the hero wins the love of mankind, the villain earns only its hatred.
Up until the dawn of the twentieth century, this principle remained steady: heroes were exalted, villains reviled. Heroes were worshipped like demigods. But with the twentieth century came a radical transformation in our idea of the hero. No longer were heroes placed on unreachable pedestals, far above the common man. Their ideals too lost their inviolability.
Today’s hero is he whose name appears daily in the newspapers, whose face flickers across television channels. Yet the same individuals who are heroes in public life may well be villains in private. Once upon a time, the heroes were preachers, politicians, philosophers, poets, writers, artists — educated men of thought and spirit. Today’s heroes are cricketers, film stars, fashion designers, journalists, even porn stars. Add to that small-time underworld figures and criminals. Through the distorting mirror of the media, they become heroes in the public eye. What appears before us is a mask of ideals, morals, lofty speeches — but behind closed doors, most of them are neither moral nor extraordinary. They lack wisdom or vision. What drives them to be heroes is nothing more than the lure of money and fame. Some are cricketers or footballers with little education; some are actresses whose beauty is far removed from knowledge; others are business heirs, second or third generation, with no organic tie to people or history. And yet, they emerge as guardians of our national life. On television, we are daily compelled to hear their prescriptions about how society should be. They are hailed as “icons.” And yet their scandals — immoral, vulgar, unworthy — repeatedly surface. Still, for a section of people, they remain icons. Once the icons of this land were reformers like Rammohan Roy. Now, the icon is the gyrating heroine of a Hindi film. What greater measure of the hero’s downfall could there be?
The hero once painted by the artist’s imagination, once crucified by the writer upon the wheel of epochal suffering, once capable of laying down his very life for ideals — such a hero is no longer to be found in the modern world. What, then, is the true character of the modern hero? You must strain to grasp it. Their lives are crowded with allegations — tax evasion, a dozen corruption cases pending in courts, personal scandals filling the “page three” gossip columns. The more their greed grows, the more their popularity seems to rise in parallel. The highest honors of the nation are bestowed upon them. They can summon vast crowds at will. Imagine: a drunken criminal who once ran his car over sleeping beggars on a midnight street — who should have been condemned to lifelong imprisonment — roams free as our “icon.” He delivers sermons on culture, politics, statecraft, and society. This is modernity: an unruly nexus of a corrupt media and complicit administration, where white is painted black, and black is painted white, every passing day.
The question then arises: can such mediocre modern heroes ever be compared with the great eternal heroes of old? Toward the close of the twentieth century, we have been seized by this disease. Man’s ability to judge with conscience and intellect is ebbing away. Public opinion polls reveal the rot: new heroes are accorded equal honor with the ancient ones. In survey after survey, the “greatest” writer, prime minister, or musician is invariably a living person at the top of the list. Why? Because the dead cannot bribe the pollsters.
If we turn to literature, the heroes of imagination still endure: Romeo, Othello, Quixote, Candide, Raskolnikov — they remain etched in the heart. Who remembers the heroes of Rushdie or Márquez? Just as Devdas or Apu still live for us, so too no hero of contemporary Bengali literature has attained such stature. Even if we admit that literature is no longer the principal art form, let us ask: are cinematic figures like Harry Potter or Superman truly more lasting than Othello or Raskolnikov? The answer is no. They are not yet tested by time. Let Harry Potter survive four centuries like Othello — then let us see if he is remembered.
If we leave aside fictional heroes and look to real ones, no one would dare to compare Jesus Christ or Swami Vivekananda with Sai Baba or Khomeini. Keeping this truth in mind, we must examine the present context of the hero anew.
If it is true that modern heroes are neither worshipped nor respected, then why do multitudes throng around them? Why do the powerful elites labor so hard to canonize them? First, because around each so-called modern hero thrives a cluster of parasitic opportunists, their livelihood feeding on his fame, their role to propagate his image. Second, because the masses who dance around these figures do so to gratify physical excitement. In a monotonous life, how else to satisfy the craving for sensation but through such false idols? Third, because most people no longer believe in the existence of truly great, idealistic men.
Another cause: ordinary people today secretly doubt whether the selfless, ascetic life of the ancient heroes is even possible. Reading the lives of the great, they wonder: can such purity exist in flesh and blood? The more such questions rise, the more distorted the old heroes become. The modern condition — its corruption, selfishness, greed, and luxury — has carried men far from ideal and morality. Thus the bond with the ancient hero has been severed, and a new bond woven with the modern one. But this bond is unreal — more surreal than real. The character of today’s hero, so different from that of the heroes of old, brings about the death of the ideal hero. And as the ideal hero perishes, society itself sinks into the darkness of ideal-lessness. The spiritual and ethical values of human life decline. The sense of justice and conscience shrivels. And in the end, it is not merely the death of the hero — it is the tragic demise of humanity itself.
From Cervantes’ formula of the tragic hero, the great writers of all ages unfurled their canvases. Shakespeare’s Macbeth and Othello, Dostoevsky’s Raskolnikov and Prince Myshkin, Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, Kafka’s Gregor Samsa, Tagore’s Gora, Zola’s many protagonists — each embodies this tragic design.
In our conception, the tragic hero bears certain traits: First, the hero is idealistic. Second, he stands for justice. Third, for the sake of justice and ideals, he can renounce everything. Fourth, he listens only to the voice of conscience. Fifth, he will not hesitate, if need be, to oppose society itself, even God Himself.
These qualities of the hero are not merely our imagination; they are an axiom, a measure of art itself. The history of civilization tells us: in literature, in society, through the centuries, mankind has revered such immortal heroes. In real life too, figures like Jesus, Lincoln, Socrates, Einstein, Ashoka, Confucius — each is an undying hero. In their lives there was abundance of success, but equally abundance of failure. Their struggles between what they dreamed and what they achieved have made their lives tragic in essence. Across the world, they are not only famous — they are revered.
And here, at this word “famous,” we stumble. A hero is revered because he stands apart from ordinary men. And since many men admire him, and shape their ideals upon his life, he becomes popular too. But not all who are famous are heroes — for there are many who are notorious, yet command no reverence. More precisely, there are many famous figures who are not respected equally across all nations, races, creeds, or classes. And yet they remain infamous luminaries. Think of Hitler, Mao Tse-tung, Stalin, Aurangzeb, Nadir Shah, Louis XIV — and other despots, conquerors, and tyrants. They are “famous,” yet not heroes. They belong to the clan of anti-heroes — the villains.
Heroes and villains are both famous; but where the hero wins the love of mankind, the villain earns only its hatred.
Up until the dawn of the twentieth century, this principle remained steady: heroes were exalted, villains reviled. Heroes were worshipped like demigods. But with the twentieth century came a radical transformation in our idea of the hero. No longer were heroes placed on unreachable pedestals, far above the common man. Their ideals too lost their inviolability.
Today’s hero is he whose name appears daily in the newspapers, whose face flickers across television channels. Yet the same individuals who are heroes in public life may well be villains in private. Once upon a time, the heroes were preachers, politicians, philosophers, poets, writers, artists — educated men of thought and spirit. Today’s heroes are cricketers, film stars, fashion designers, journalists, even porn stars. Add to that small-time underworld figures and criminals. Through the distorting mirror of the media, they become heroes in the public eye. What appears before us is a mask of ideals, morals, lofty speeches — but behind closed doors, most of them are neither moral nor extraordinary. They lack wisdom or vision. What drives them to be heroes is nothing more than the lure of money and fame. Some are cricketers or footballers with little education; some are actresses whose beauty is far removed from knowledge; others are business heirs, second or third generation, with no organic tie to people or history. And yet, they emerge as guardians of our national life. On television, we are daily compelled to hear their prescriptions about how society should be. They are hailed as “icons.” And yet their scandals — immoral, vulgar, unworthy — repeatedly surface. Still, for a section of people, they remain icons. Once the icons of this land were reformers like Rammohan Roy. Now, the icon is the gyrating heroine of a Hindi film. What greater measure of the hero’s downfall could there be?
The hero once painted by the artist’s imagination, once crucified by the writer upon the wheel of epochal suffering, once capable of laying down his very life for ideals — such a hero is no longer to be found in the modern world. What, then, is the true character of the modern hero? You must strain to grasp it. Their lives are crowded with allegations — tax evasion, a dozen corruption cases pending in courts, personal scandals filling the “page three” gossip columns. The more their greed grows, the more their popularity seems to rise in parallel. The highest honors of the nation are bestowed upon them. They can summon vast crowds at will. Imagine: a drunken criminal who once ran his car over sleeping beggars on a midnight street — who should have been condemned to lifelong imprisonment — roams free as our “icon.” He delivers sermons on culture, politics, statecraft, and society. This is modernity: an unruly nexus of a corrupt media and complicit administration, where white is painted black, and black is painted white, every passing day.
The question then arises: can such mediocre modern heroes ever be compared with the great eternal heroes of old? Toward the close of the twentieth century, we have been seized by this disease. Man’s ability to judge with conscience and intellect is ebbing away. Public opinion polls reveal the rot: new heroes are accorded equal honor with the ancient ones. In survey after survey, the “greatest” writer, prime minister, or musician is invariably a living person at the top of the list. Why? Because the dead cannot bribe the pollsters.
If we turn to literature, the heroes of imagination still endure: Romeo, Othello, Quixote, Candide, Raskolnikov — they remain etched in the heart. Who remembers the heroes of Rushdie or Márquez? Just as Devdas or Apu still live for us, so too no hero of contemporary Bengali literature has attained such stature. Even if we admit that literature is no longer the principal art form, let us ask: are cinematic figures like Harry Potter or Superman truly more lasting than Othello or Raskolnikov? The answer is no. They are not yet tested by time. Let Harry Potter survive four centuries like Othello — then let us see if he is remembered.
If we leave aside fictional heroes and look to real ones, no one would dare to compare Jesus Christ or Swami Vivekananda with Sai Baba or Khomeini. Keeping this truth in mind, we must examine the present context of the hero anew.
If it is true that modern heroes are neither worshipped nor respected, then why do multitudes throng around them? Why do the powerful elites labor so hard to canonize them? First, because around each so-called modern hero thrives a cluster of parasitic opportunists, their livelihood feeding on his fame, their role to propagate his image. Second, because the masses who dance around these figures do so to gratify physical excitement. In a monotonous life, how else to satisfy the craving for sensation but through such false idols? Third, because most people no longer believe in the existence of truly great, idealistic men.
Another cause: ordinary people today secretly doubt whether the selfless, ascetic life of the ancient heroes is even possible. Reading the lives of the great, they wonder: can such purity exist in flesh and blood? The more such questions rise, the more distorted the old heroes become. The modern condition — its corruption, selfishness, greed, and luxury — has carried men far from ideal and morality. Thus the bond with the ancient hero has been severed, and a new bond woven with the modern one. But this bond is unreal — more surreal than real. The character of today’s hero, so different from that of the heroes of old, brings about the death of the ideal hero. And as the ideal hero perishes, society itself sinks into the darkness of ideal-lessness. The spiritual and ethical values of human life decline. The sense of justice and conscience shrivels. And in the end, it is not merely the death of the hero — it is the tragic demise of humanity itself.
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