The Quotidian Reality of the New Identification Model as “Enlightened Masculinity”
It might seem that the ten common characteristics mentioned previously form a complex monolith, which turns Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter and Himura Kenshin as exceptional loners into archetypes of invincible masculinity, unquestionable in its hegemonic superiority. Violence and aggressiveness have been basic teaching methods in disciplining the human being on its way to responsible, comprehensive adulthood. However, there are two facts clashing against this approach: Firstly, tales of initiation journeys, during which challenges are overcome with the final goal being the protagonist’s coming-of-age into a reliable, stable member of the community, are prevalent in oral cultures worldwide before the printing press was invented. (The invention of the printing press by Johannes von Gutenberg in Strasbourg by mid-15th century enabled the rapid dispersion of information and, subsequently, of education through alphabetization and more systematic access to sedimented blocks of knowledge.)
Secondly, the subtle differences between the three protagonists diverge into a multitude of possible identities, simultaneously accessible: Luke Skywalker, lost in a distant galaxy torn by civil wars and internal political struggles, faces his own father, probably the most hated man of the galaxy, and becomes a living legend of his own. Together with his twin-sister, they become a symbol of peace and stability – until he makes a similar mistake as his master before him, and subsequently secludes himself far away from the failing alliance. He has no romantic interests (at least, not anymore since Leia has proven to be his twin-sister) and is self-sufficient in himself. He eventually turns into a solitary hermit of galactic reputation. His dissolution at the end of episode VIII follows the recipe of his former teachers, after having intervened at the right moment to allow the Resistance members the time to escape. He does it in the name of his humanity, as a last gesture of repentance for having created the next military evil in the galaxy. He does not leave anything behind – no legacy, no vision, no apprentice. He is a circular story in himself: his life history begins and ends with himself at the center of a narrative arc on love, the power of faith and the inevitability of mistakes. This renders Luke Skywalker incredibly familiar to millions of young men in the global world, strong enough to make a living by themselves, but too disillusioned to acknowledge the necessity of fear, failure and of standing-up again and again – and of learning to cope with it.
Himura Kenshin undergoes a similar trajectory: after he had carved the way for the new Japan to emerge, he disappeared into the shabby outfit of a wandering samurai. Tired and disappointed, haunted by the shadows of those he had killed in the name of his ideals, he finds, at some point, solace and acceptance at Kamiya Kaoru’s dôjô (training site for martial arts in Japan). Soon enough, though, he understands that the past pulls him back, and he has to face an impossible choice: either to break his vow to never kill again, or to betray those he cares about. Torn by conflicting loyalties, Kenshin moves through life incessantly, and metamorphoses into a symbol of the endless quest for forgiveness and repentance in a world which does not allow for softness and quiet solitude. At the end, he gives in to the ghosts of his past, while increasingly withdrawing into himself. Unlike Luke who secludes himself after having failed, Kenshin keeps on moving through life, doing his best to protect those around him and to repent for his duty-imposed murders. Eventually, he is defeated by his own past. He serves as an existential model to male netizens globally, too exhausted by the requirements of the fast-paced world, who prefer a comfortable retreat into their own (virtual or not) “cave” rather than grasping the beauties and the miracles offered by the same world “in here and now” they reject. The singular decision to isolate oneself instead of facing the seemingly endless daily challenges seems easier and more sustainable.
As for Harry Potter, he finds absolution in a healthy family life. Nineteen years after his crucial and final confrontation with Voldemort, he is accompanying his sons on the 9 3/4 track, where the Hogwarts express is preparing for departure. Part of Harry’s charm is his normality: his ability to come down to the quotidian reality after every adventure, regardless of how challenging or dangerous it might have been. His life after the end of the series brings him closer than ever to his readerships and audiences, as it reminds of the necessity of a solid anchor in the reality of the continuity of life. There is loss, there is death, there is pain – but there is also tomorrow, brighter and more hopeful than the darkness of the past. The standards of children’s literature placed Harry’s character in a context of learning, which is one of the appeals of his growing and healing abilities, as well as the strong steady bond of his friendships – which makes Harry Potter a valid counter-model to Luke Skywalker and Rurouni Kenshin, who are grown-up loners when their story begins. There is place for growth and healing, but Luke and Kenshin must protect and contribute to their worlds, rather than having the narrative space to get to know themselves and develop, in the way Harry does. Moreover, while Harry has cyclic stages of self-doubt and remorse, they are typically acceptable for a burgeoning personality – very much different from Luke’s impulsiveness and impatience or Kenshin’s haunting memories and (at times) merciless intransigence. Harry becomes, eventually, a regular citizen of the wizards’ world – with its family dramas, its non-technological everyday life and its magical contradictions.
I argue that, regardless of which category of virtual reality male citizens are getting involved into, it is one of these particular archetypes of masculinity that they identify with and quest for in their yearning for acknowledgement and validation. It is not the virtual space itself which attracts them as an escape from the physical world of real humans, but rather the opportunity they find in the challenges of video games or online dating, which fulfill their innermost needs to provide and to contribute to a greater dimension of significance than themselves, as well as to protect the legacy they are supposed to leave behind. Particularly in video games, in overcoming the different levels of the gamification model, they immerse in the illusion of gradually higher achievements, in which relationships of domination and submission, of conquering and relinquishing, of advancing and retreating are negotiated permanently, based on the “factuality” of the accomplishments, not on the background context. From this perspective, video games, and to a smaller extent, online dating, are less of a threat to the existing – or emerging – world order, with assertive, self-confident women who are allowed to express themselves. Instead, they are practical means by which (male) netizens search for alternative strategies to cope with new forms of reality, without losing their masculinity. They learn to adapt it – and to enjoy it as respectful, dignified citizens in the globally inter-connected community.
The future will show if this “quest and adaptation” already contains the seeds for a parallel reality to replace the physical world. In the safe space provided by online dating algorithms and video games developers, the participants create identity patterns and take over behavioral structures which have been long banned from the real world – or at least, they are frowned upon. It is too early to assess whether activities in the cyberspaces metamorphose from a leisurely pursuit into a full-time placeholder for preoccupations normally carried out in the real life, such as socializing and walking, working out and relaxing, or even more basic actions. Only time can tell if the movie Her (2013, directed by Spike Jonze), in which the character embodied by Joaquin Phoenix is able to interact with a female artificial intelligence surrogate, but not with real-life women, turns out to be a model or a warning. What stands as a fact, though, is that (male) netizens find in their immersion in the virtual world and the virtual community things that the real society refuses to give to them: validation and recognition, comfort and balance, non-conflictual encounters and the undisputed right to “start-over”.
The popularity of such familiar and simultaneously contemplative characters as Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter and Himura Kenshin proves that these longings of “real world” men are replicated in the virtual world. Change, in this case, coincides with the return to old values and “needs”, while modern concepts of development and the technologisation of life are faced with resistance. The evident challenge is, therefore, the harmonization of the drive for progress with the yearning for slowness and stability, completed by a working formula for their sustainable, balanced co-existence.
The three “archetypes of masculinity” I have identified based on the three most popular male characters of post-WWII era – Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter and Himura Kenshin – are socio-cultural constructions based on “what sells”, embedded in a geographic-historical framework which shows that old-fashioned East-West delimitations have lost their once-undefeatable relevance. Emerged at the crossroads between filial loyalty and an individual sense of fulfillment, questioned and reinforced through necessary rites of passage on symbolical initiation journeys spanning hundreds of years and the most distant corners of the galaxy, these three iconic male protagonists of the virtual world of popular entertainment released on the volatile and highly competitive background of the consumption society offer clear, powerful insights into the yearnings and inner convulsions of late-modern male citizens – with their confusions, fears, pains, but also with their hopes, joys, and ideals. What connects Luke Skywalker, Harry Potter and Himura Kenshin is their “quiet confidence” in their destiny and in the role they play in the pursuit of that destiny. To a certain extent typical “loner wolves”, all three exist within a specific community to which they bond by self-aware feelings of friendship and commitment. In this self-aware bonding resides their fascination which connects fans worldwide, inter-generationally: in this precise, innate need to belong to a greater whole than themselves and to make a difference to that very whole – in other words, to render the world a better place.
