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A Modest Defense of ‘Hero-Worship’

This whole line of thinking got started a week or two ago when I read G.K. Chesterton’s essay, A Defence of Humility. Several things in this essay were thought-provoking (you can explore the Chesterton tag at the bottom of the page to see other posts on this essay), but the last sentence of the following quote was especially so:

There is one thing that must be seen at the outset of the study of humility from an intrinsic and eternal point of view. The new philosophy of self-esteem and self-assertion declares that humility is a vice. If it be so, it is quite clear that it is one of those vices which are an integral part of original sin. It follows with the precision of clockwork every one of the great joys of life. No one, for example, was ever in love without indulging in a positive debauch of humility. All full-blooded and natural people, such as schoolboys, enjoy humility the moment they attain hero-worship.

I have been told more than once that we should not try to imitate great preachers. I have even been told that I will never be one myself. A professor made sure to tell all of his students that. So be it. I leave that to God. But I wonder whether the ‘great preachers’ themselves were told that they would never be great preachers.

I was told in High School that I couldn’t be the same type of quarterback as Peyton Manning. They were right. I’m 5’9, 150. But they’re not always right. Folks told Tom Brady he could never be Joe Montana.

The admiration of heroes can indeed inspire humility. It is the recognition that others are greater than yourself. That there is a bar that you do not meet. I think of children who want to play on the indoor playground. The sign says, ‘You must be shorter than this,’ with a little line or arrow setting the bar at the appropriate height. The children are happy that they don’t meet the bar. It means that they can still play. They still have growing up to do. Happy humility, happy smallness.

(This is not to be confused with the ‘you must be this tall’ sign. That only inspires envy in the small and pride in the tall. See the Tom Hanks movie Big for an illustration of this).

The fact that the aspiring quarterback is not Tom Brady should inspire humility in him. It sets a bar. Perhaps he has the desire to meet that bar. Perhaps he has the ability. Perhaps he can actually do it. But the fact that the bar exists should, if nothing else, inspire him to play like the child on the playground. And if it has truly inspired humility in him, no matter how good he gets, he will never think that he has actually reached the full height, and so he will keep playing, and keep reverencing.

The child who finds an idol may become an idolator, but I do not think that is necessarily the case. There is a difference between attributing worth to a person and actually prostrating yourself before him (or her).

I have a small autograph collection. I added one to it recently. I felt silly. My wife encouraged me. She told me that she loves my childlikeness when it comes to my reverence for people I admire. I don’t worship any of them. But I love them. They encourage me.

Peyton Manning, whose autograph sits near me on my armoire, inspires me to be a better preacher. If I studied the Bible like he studies game film, I, and those who hear me, would be better for it. If I could read men’s souls like he reads a defense, I would be a mighty weapon in the hands of God (rather than the hands of an offensive coordinator). I know all this. And it humbles me. And I think this is good. It makes me work.

There is a certain amiableness about those who approach other men as a child, with reverence. If I approach those whom I respect in this way, it makes me teachable. Many are unteachable, or uncoachable, because instead of reverencing a hero they have learned only to reverence themselves. Instead of taking others seriously and thinking little of themselves, they take themselves seriously and think little of others.

But, of course, the problem remains that any hero might genuinely become an idol, in the biblical sense of the word. We might literally, if not with our knees then with our souls, bow down to another creature. We might exalt them in our hearts above God. And the warning of Scripture to those who raise up such idols is clear. First of all, it is an offense against God. It is a great sin and leads to judgment. And second, it will have a clear effect on our persons and lives. Take the words of Psalm 115:8:

  • They that make them are like unto them; so is every one that trusts in them.

You will actually become like what you idolize. So be careful what you idolize. When it comes to hero-worship (understand here that I do not literally mean worship), it is obvious that you must pick your heroes wisely. If Christ is not supreme in your heart, if he is not your supreme object of worship, then do not be surprised that you are not more like him, or even becoming more like him. And if your becoming like your actual heroes has led you to demand the attention and respect of others, it’s probably because your heroes do the same. You worshiped the idol who commanded and demanded attention. You became like him, and now you command that others do the same for you. You are lost in your pride. Your own hand sets the bar, and no one reaches it.

Jesus worshiped no man, but he reverenced most (perhaps all). He took on their flesh. He sat at their tables. He wept at their tombs, He washed their feet. He served them as if they were greater than him. They weren’t. Hence his greatness

The Rock looked at Peter and saw a rock. God’s Beloved looked at humble John and loved him. The great Apostle looked at Paul and saw a messenger to the world. The true Temple went to the temple to pray. He who is without sin looked at sinners and saw them worthy of his forsaking all.

And so we could say for ourselves, and for our children, that the test of a healthy hero-worship is ultimately like the test of the bar at the playground. Either it makes us small and gives us freedom, or we exalt ourselves above the bar and sneer down at all those who don’t meet it. In the former, we are like a tourist in a foreign land who feels wonder at the appearance of every face that is not his own or like the child who thinks that everyone taller than him (and everyone is taller than him) must be the tallest man in the world. In the latter, we become devils and demand that Jesus himself bow before us so that he might take a little throne over our own little world.

It is fine and dandy to be giddy when you meet someone you admire. But it is a problem when you expect others to be giddy when they meet you.

God Is Love, But Love Is Not God

  • 1 John 4:8 Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love.

Years ago (maybe around 2002 or so), shortly after I had become a Christian, there was a cryptic little quote that popped up frequently on advertisements for a TBN show that featured a woman musing upon 1 John 4:8. I have tried for a couple of years to locate this video online but have not found it as of yet. If memory serves me correctly the woman in question was making the point that she had come to realize that if God is love, then love is God. Then she went on to repeat herself, multiple times: ‘Love is God, love is God…’

Even as a young Christian, something struck me as odd, and flat out wrong, about this statement. Years later I decided to study 1 John 4:8 in depth and found that no less a heavyweight than Augustine of Hippo made a similar statement:

And this passage declares sufficiently and plainly, that this same brotherly love itself (for that is brotherly love by which we love each other) is set forth by so great authority, not only to be from God, but also to be God (De Trinitate, Book VIII).

In context, if I am not mistaken, Augustine makes his case for such a statement based on his view that the Holy Spirit is indeed Love itself – the Love that is the bond between the Father and the Son. Yet I do not see how that equates to the idea that love is ‘not only from God’ but also God itself.

I take the position that it is idolatrous to claim that ‘love’ is God, and that the realization of this fact is absolutely vital. The classic example of this is Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Several years ago when I preached on this text I cited the the ‘star-crossed lovers’ as the classic fictional example of love-idolatry. I had not actually read the work at that point. But years later, reading it, I came across this line (and it is quite famous). Juliet is speaking to Romeo in Scene II:

Do not swear at all;
Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
Which is the god of my idolatry,
And I’ll believe thee.

Shakespeare understood quite well what I am about to write.

Romeo was effectively Juliet’s ‘god.’ She lived for him, she died for him. She bucked the rules for him. She broke the commandments for him (not only the first commandment, but the sixth as well). She sacrificed herself upon the altar of love. Romeo was a love that Juliet declared to be a god.

Love becomes God when love becomes the supreme Judge and Justification of all things. I have often used this idea in counseling young people. It is easier to illustrate this than to explain it, so here goes:

Take, for example, a young Christian woman who is living with (and having sex with) her boyfriend. ‘Don’t you realize that sex outside of marriage is wrong?’ she is asked. ‘I know, but I plan to spend the rest of my life with him. I love him. I would never sleep with someone I didn’t love. God knows that I love him,’ is her answer.

That’s the classic pomo (postmodern) Christian answer. But the question therefore becomes, ‘Who then is your God?’

In point of fact, love has become this young lady’s functional god. Love justifies breaking God’s law concerning adultery. Love, then, has become the supreme law-giver. If love says ‘go for it,’ then by all means go for it, regardless of what God says.

The standard idea of ‘how can God judge me if I’m only following my heart’ is actually idolatrous. God will judge us for making our hearts,  love, that is, a ‘god before him.’

Now this post has primarily to do with sexual/romantic love. Adultery of any form (that is, any sex outside of marriage between a man and a woman) is not simply adultery, but idolatry as well (because the approval of the lover, or the pleasure of the self, has become more important than the approval and pleasure of God). But this can be the case with many other forms of love. Love for cars, houses, and material things in general can lead a man to deny himself and follow after riches rather than Christ. Christ is the true ‘pearl of great price’ for which we should be willing, for joy, to give up all. But we often treat many other things as greater pearls because of our love for them.

‘God is love’ suggests that God is love personified. It suggests that we cannot properly understand love, or possess it, or love God and others, unless we understand it in terms of God – who He is, and what He has done. God’s love is manifested supremely in the giving of Christ as a sacrifice for sinners (Rom. 5:8, 1John 4:10). All true love will be consistent, in some way, with the love of God in Christ. It will be sacrificial, it will hurt, it will forgive sins, it will desire the best for the beloved, and it will care about the standard of holiness – God’s Law. But if we elevate love itself to the position of God, we have not only misunderstood love – we have misunderstood God as well. Adultery is idolatry, and idolatry is adultery.

This is not to diminish the importance of love, but to put it in its proper perspective. C.S. Lewis summarizes the point perfectly well in chapter three of The Four Loves:

If Affection is made the absolute sovereign of a human life the seeds will germinate. Love, having become a god, becomes a demon.

Anthropomorphism, Unlikeness, and Reality in Fiction: Opening the Eyes of the Blind

This is a follow up to my post on the Wind in the Willows.

I didn’t want to include this line of thought in my initial thoughts on the Wind in the Willows. I think it deserves its own post, so here goes.

I often reference C.S. Lewis’ statement to the effect that fantasy literature does not make children (and I would say adults as well, so long as they’re not prone to pure escapism) forget, or despise, the real world. He said basically that a child who reads of an enchanted forest does not thereby begin to hate real forests. Instead all forests take on some of this enchantment. For instance, I’ve never thought of forests in the same way since reading the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. I’ve never looked at peaceful walks the same since I read the Princess and the Goblin (I’m always ready to sing a goblin song should the proper situation arise). I’ve never looked at lions the same since reading the Chronicles of Narnia. I could go on, but I won’t.

I bring this up here because one might think of a story about a bunch of animals with human characteristics as mere silliness and entertainment (the Narnia books should show the falsity of such a notion). The Wind in the Willows is a perfect example of how a work of fiction (and impossible fiction at that) can actually tune us in to reality in a way, perhaps, more significant than if the book were ‘realistic.’

In Orthodoxy, Chesterton wrote (I’m paraphrasing) that we sometimes need to read of golden apples to remind us that apples are really green (or red, or yellow), and of rivers of wine to remind us that rivers are, in fact, filled with water. In our position, taking these things for granted, we tend to forget such wonderful facts.

In the case of the Wind in the Willows we get anthropomorphism as well as sheer unlikeness, for the animals are made human-like, and yet are utterly different because they remain animals. Yet, taking Chesteron’s point, it is precisely in this fact – the animals are different from us, and yet the same as us (because of the anthropomorphism) – that we are led to see actual reality more clearly. In other words, to paraphrase Chesterton again, sometimes we need prideful, idolatrous toads to remind us that humans are prideful and idolatrous.

It’s absurd to think of a toad obsessed with cars. It’s laugh out loud funny. But we wouldn’t laugh so hard if he were a human. Perhaps then we should be laughing at more humans.

It’s absurd to think of a toad who is arrogant and self-absorbed, always wanting the attention focused on him. It’s hilarious. But it’s not as funny when we see a prideful man. Perhaps it should be.

Idolatry and pride are, you guessed it, idolatry and pride – no matter the situation. They are scandalous regardless of the person or circumstances. Sometimes it takes fantasy (say, talking animals) to point this out to us. When I laugh at toad, when I think of his pomposity and absurdity, I’m laughing at myself – and so are you. The question is, do you realize it? You are that guy.

David had a ‘Wind in the Willows’ moment before the prophet Nathan. We all need moments like that. Sometimes it takes a story that takes us completely out of our comfortable context for it to happen.

2 Samuel 12:7 ¶ Nathan said to David, “You are the man!