An archetype found in narratives of all medium is the cosmic, anointed protagonist sent to make the world a better place. This set of protagonists includes “Christ figures” but is not limited to them, as technically “Christ figure” implies that this character must die to meet his goal. This anointed character possesses a specific brand of superhuman ability, whether that manifests itself in intelligence, physical prowess, or magic.
Calling a character the most “x” human ever, where that x can be pretty much anything most Westerners would like to have, is a quick way to create an interesting, “unique” character without having to do much actual thinking. By concentrating all aspects of this character’s greatness into that one x, the protagonist remains “human” and easy to identify with. The character-development portions of the narrative quickly write themselves against the backdrop of showing off all the neat tricks the protagonist can perform with x. The writing and dialogue can be crap, but the audience may remain entranced as it watches what it would be like to be the most x ever.
Unconvinced that this archetype is especially prominent in fiction? Here is a list of films that exhibit this attribute and are either culturally essential franchises, critically acclaimed, or both.
- The Matrix
- Harry Potter
- Good Will Hunting
- Star Wars
- A Beautiful Mind
- Any superhero movie. Ever. Including Iron Man.
That list is not comprehensive and amounts to what I can remember without any research. Of the top 100 grossing movies of all time, I conservatively count 27 to fall unambiguously into this criteria. That does not include situations like The Lord of the Rings series where a secondary figure arguably fulfills the role or when the characters are simply ridiculously skilled at what they do rather than THE greatest at it (Mr. and Mrs. Smith, 300, and several others). I’m not even considering the two instances where a character’s divinity is more than implied, those being The Passion of the Christ and Bruce Almighty. This “archetype” is not just an archetype or a cliché, but a defining aspect of popular modern cinema.
There isn’t anything particularly “dangerous” about popular narratives portraying the same hackneyed storytelling device over and over again. Narratives relying on messianic figures have in a certain sense become a genre of their own, trading in the lust scenes of erotica or the explosions of action movies for a human character with a single, unrealistically strong characteristic. Critics seem completely unaware of their universal effect of turning any movie into a meaningless experiment into a showcase of how neat it would be to be the most “x” person ever. Any meaning found in the acclaimed Rain Man or the universally panned The Wizard flows directly from the genius of either protagonist, as both are character-driven dramas. However, critics seem fixated upon performances, technical virtuosity, or whether or not the movie in question was a ninety minute commercial for the Super Nintendo, rather than the underlying quality and content of either story, which are seemingly identical. To selectively praise equally cliched narratives with messianic figures as a focal point is roughly analogous to giving a Pulitzer to a book of random words simply because the words were spelled correctly and the formatting was pristine. For any popular narrative, the literary application of superhuman abilities is the equivalent of valueless shiny rocks, not a device of meaningful brilliance.
There are yet situations where portraying a character as great is effective and consequential. This is when the narrative only ostensibly tells a story while really making a (allegedly) demonstratively true argument. The writer places importance on developing the argument and the character possesses desirable traits embodying the writer’s philosophy. The best example is Neitzche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra. Zarathustra is not great out of virtue of being really smart or really strong, but by personifying the philosophy Neitzche argues. The reader sees Zarathustra’s reaction to an array of situations. If the reader disagrees with Zarathustra, he rejects Neitzche. If she agrees, this is out of reasonable persuasion, not because Neitzche embroidered his protagonist with irrelevant implications of cosmic greatness.
The titular “danger” in messianic figures is when the author does the opposite. If the writer latches onto one of the aforementioned “x” and applies it to his character, it’s harmless. When that character is then used as a spokesperson for a philosophy, with no argument proffered beyond the fact that this character is the best person ever, it’s ridiculous. In the Ender’s Saga, a series of books succeeding the sci-fi classic, Ender’s Game, the protagonist, a military genius who saved the world with his unquestionable logic and rationality as a child, takes a jarring, unsubstantiated turn towards a condescending form of smarmy relativism later in the series. This turn is scarcely justified by anything but the events in the narrative which uncomfortably fit in with such relativism, and which the protagonist can magically foresee with his massive intelligence.
These books, starting with Speaker for the Dead, do not really ever argue anything. Instead, they promote a value set by stating it self-evidentially within the narrative, and use the endorsement of the messianic figure to provide justification. Such argument is no more than a startlingly clear example of Appeal to Authority, but one that takes it a step further. The “authority” is no more than the author himself. In effect, works such as this, which use irrelevant characterizations of a protagonist as “the best”, argue nothing but that the author’s political and philosophical opinions are true because he said so.
The phenomenal popularity of messianic narratives ensures us a steady supply well into the future. Our enjoyment of watching really smart or really strong or really magical people is fine. We take pleasure in watching seemingly human characters use superhuman powers. However, the audience and critics should not confuse this pleasure with meaning, as the effective differences in plot amongst diverse messianic stories are metaphorically little more than the differences in setting for explosions in an action movie. If the author uses these analogous explosions as a way to vindicate her personal opinions, the work can without further consideration be tossed aside as dishonest and crass. The only exception is an argument wherein a character is great because he embodies the argued philosophy, as in the case of Zarathustra, rather than stating argument is true because the character asserting it is great, as in Ender. It is rare when a messianic narrative holds meaning; I leave it to the critics to begin seeing when they do.

