Why are we drawn to the character who is flawed? Certainly because we relate to him. But what is it about him that we find so personable? He doesn't always win. He doesn't always get the thing he wanted the most at the end of the story. He isn't always the best. He doesn't have everything--he lost or desires something, and works through the entire tale to regain it. He often goes unsung or unnoticed. And unloved by those around him.
But we do not enjoy these shortcomings ourselves--we want perfection.
We always want to win. We always want fulfillment. We always want to be the best. We always want the result, not the struggle that comes before. We always want appreciation, respect, and acknowledgement.
Why then, do we love the flawed character?
It is because of this that he is personable to us; ever he strives to achieve, to perfect, even though his very nature is pitted against him.
The flawed hero is the ultimate humanist.
We see the flawed hero fight the same woes and struggles that we ourselves are faced with or have succumbed to. He is not untouchable--he is like us. There is something ultimately human about him--this is where we find our common ground: his failures and trials are ours. Yet there is something of the Celtic hero in him--the indomitable spirit of the warrior, ever rising back to his feet with fire ablaze in his eyes after being beaten down by the onslaught of all things. He will not lay down and succumb to defeat. He will not fade, fail, or settle.
This is where we find our hope and love in these men; while we so often stumble, fall, and lay in quiet dispair, the flawed hero spits the grit from his mouth and rises shakily to his feet to move forward once again.
So we are touched by him because he is what we are--wholly, completely, bitterly, and beautifully human. But we love him because he has the courage and will to do the thing we so often cannot--stand up and run toward the line of fire once again. We see his bravery and are inspired to find our own.
I will continue this circular little monologue at somepoint, but have now just glanced at the clock and seen that it is obscenely late.
So, my flawed heroes, I bid thee good even. Or is it morrow at this point?
I don't even know--it really is time for bed.
G'night.
But we do not enjoy these shortcomings ourselves--we want perfection.
We always want to win. We always want fulfillment. We always want to be the best. We always want the result, not the struggle that comes before. We always want appreciation, respect, and acknowledgement.
Why then, do we love the flawed character?
It is because of this that he is personable to us; ever he strives to achieve, to perfect, even though his very nature is pitted against him.
The flawed hero is the ultimate humanist.
We see the flawed hero fight the same woes and struggles that we ourselves are faced with or have succumbed to. He is not untouchable--he is like us. There is something ultimately human about him--this is where we find our common ground: his failures and trials are ours. Yet there is something of the Celtic hero in him--the indomitable spirit of the warrior, ever rising back to his feet with fire ablaze in his eyes after being beaten down by the onslaught of all things. He will not lay down and succumb to defeat. He will not fade, fail, or settle.
This is where we find our hope and love in these men; while we so often stumble, fall, and lay in quiet dispair, the flawed hero spits the grit from his mouth and rises shakily to his feet to move forward once again.
So we are touched by him because he is what we are--wholly, completely, bitterly, and beautifully human. But we love him because he has the courage and will to do the thing we so often cannot--stand up and run toward the line of fire once again. We see his bravery and are inspired to find our own.
I will continue this circular little monologue at somepoint, but have now just glanced at the clock and seen that it is obscenely late.
So, my flawed heroes, I bid thee good even. Or is it morrow at this point?
I don't even know--it really is time for bed.
G'night.
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