(Another repost from my own blog)
The title is a quote from Malvolio in Twelfth Night, a role I got to play in a local production many years ago (and god, was it a fun role to play!). It came to mind some years back when I thought about how I want heroes in fiction to earn my respect. Steve Rogers becoming a perfect physical specimen via Project Rebirth doesn’t impress me as much as his willingness to punch Hitler in the face (see here for more). I began classifying heroes based on the quote and thinking how the different classes would earn my respect.
Some are born great.
These are the chosen ones. They’re born with gifts or marked by destiny or prophecy as the fulcrum on which the world turns. Buffy Summers, fated from birth to be the Slayer. Superman, born with powers and abilities far beyond those of ordinary mortals. Dorothy Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey, whose inherited wealth and social status give him the freedom to meddle in other people’s affairs.
When someone’s born great, the measure of your worth is how they bear up under the weight of destiny. Do they accept their duty? If they’ve been born with exceptional powers, do they use them for good? Superman’s powers, for instance, come from an accident of birth; his heroism comes from his choice to be a hero (Mark Waid’s Irredeemable and countless other Super-riffs show that’s not automatic). Wimsey could easily have spent his life indulging his tastes for music, wine and women; instead he finds satisfaction in bringing murderers to justice.
DC’s Inferior Five are an interesting variation on this concept. Legacy heroes, the children of the mighty Freedom Brigade, they’re obligated to step up and assume their parents’ role when evil rears its head. Trouble is, they’re not born great — they are, as the title of their first story puts it, “costumed incompetents.” Yet they refuse to quit, no matter the odds and despite being totally unqualified as legacies, they triumph anyway.
Some achieve greatness
These are the ones who work for years to become the best. Batman (even though Bruce Wayne is wealthy, he worked a lot harder to become a hero than Lord Peter did). Doc Savage. Star athletes. Brilliant surgeons. Super-scientists. Mages. They’re driven by something — ego, ambition, greed, a dream, a desire for vengeance — and they won’t stop until that drive is satisfied, if it ever is.
For a character such as Batman, the fact he’s trained so hard to become the Caped Crusader is a testament to his worth: he’s dedicated his life to saving people in the way he couldn’t save his parents. Similarly, a good doctor in a medical drama gains respect because of all the years of study it took to make them who they are. Katniss Everdeen has to achieve greatness to survive The Hunger Games but she’s doing it to save her sister from dying in the games. Her heroism is clear from the start.
There’s lots of story potential in an achieves-greatness type. What happens if they achieve greatness, then walk away? What happens after their fame or their heroism fades into history? What if they’re achieving for the glory of it rather than a heroic motive? What if they want to be acknowledged as the best rather than to be the best? Plenty of options for a story.
Some have greatness thrust upon them.
This is the Flash, Green Lantern, Spider-Man or the FF, gifted with super-powers by a freak twist of fate. Aladdin finding his lamp. Or the character who has a responsibility thrust upon them, then has to prove they’re worthy. For example, Juliet (Faye Grant) in the original V, who keeps stepping up because nobody else in the resistance volunteers. Suddenly she’s the leader.
For the super-powered characters, the test of their heroism is that they use them for good — but a more interesting test is how they act when they lose their gifts. The protagonist of the fantasy novel Brisingamen is transformed when she finds the eponymous talisman of the Aesir — but when Loki steals it, all she does is curl up and cry while the men go do the heroism. That’s an entirely plausible reaction (Loki tortured her) but it’s hard to root for a hero who won’t fight for themselves. By contrast, Superman never lets the loss of his powers stop him from fighting for the right.
I don’t think the lines between the three classes are clear-cut. Harry Potter starts the series as a child of destiny — the boy who somehow survived Voldemort’s attack — but he has to study his ass off and build a network of friends to finally defeat the Death Eaters (and as it was Lily Potter’s love for Harry that defeated Voldemort, he’s not really a Chosen One at all). Steve Rogers had greatness thrust open him but he too had to work to become freedom’s greatest champion. Still I find the classes interesting to think about.
Covers top to bottom by Jack Kirby, Curt Swan, Joe Orlando, Carmine Infantino and Steve Ditko
