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| Difficult to deal with: and impossible to comprehend |
The day Peter Parker died, we all died with him. Part of our collective memory was forcefully buried, and much of our future taken away from us.
I don’t (just) write this as a life-long fan, I write this as someone who appreciates a simple fact: the world needs heroes. It always has, and it always will.
Peter Parker fell not to his greatest foes, but to a larger enemy: the destructive power of art (a topic which I have written about before). For art, the sum total of the process, is eventually an obsession and a flame that burns faster than the ability of the artist to control it. Peter Parker, the notion of him, burnt out. The ultimate hero, that quintessential force of unwavering good, fell to the demands of the world that created him.
There are no reasons good enough, logical enough, emotional enough or viable enough to justify his death. I do not comprehend. I never will. He was the Good, the uncompromising, the untainted. He had a hard life, a life of sorrow, loss, pain and constant personal failings. Yet he had what real heroes need to have; what we all aspire to have - the relentless drive to make the world a better place, without ever allowing his notion of justice to falter. Many died on his watch, some his closest allies, a great love, and Uncle Ben. His greatness is that he would have sacrificed himself to save them in an instant. No foe was met with hatred, no situation met without self-effacing humour. No pain suffered without the will to get up and keep fighting.
Peter Parker was, in a credit to the entire Marvel generation created by Stan Lee, a man (boy) of science. From his books he learnt the value of rationale, balanced thought. From his uncle he learnt his greatest lesson: power brings with it the burden of righteousness. His wit, charms, knowledge and will power made him an inspiration. Generations of children and young adults learnt the value of absolute virtue from his deeds. I learnt that a life of good is a life of sacrifice, with no rewards. I learnt that this is what heroes live for.
Peter Parker’s iconic stature in modern art (literature, comics, fantasy, philosophy, culture) stands testament to the power of higher order value systems. A power (and a message) which is the constant in some of the best sequential narrative systems we have. Art for the masses.
Sadly, tragically, like all art, Peter Parker’s legend had the frailty of humility and humanity. It had the fragility of burden all great art carries; it is self-consuming and temporal. We know from the world around us that anything pure must, by necessity, destroy itself.
And so, when Peter Parker died, a collective ethos died with him. The part of our imagination that may not be allowed to live perpetually, the part that knows only virtue, succumbed.
I doubt I shall ever read Spiderman again with the same joy as I used to. I doubt the world will remain the same without Peter Parker. RIP!
I don’t (just) write this as a life-long fan, I write this as someone who appreciates a simple fact: the world needs heroes. It always has, and it always will.
Peter Parker fell not to his greatest foes, but to a larger enemy: the destructive power of art (a topic which I have written about before). For art, the sum total of the process, is eventually an obsession and a flame that burns faster than the ability of the artist to control it. Peter Parker, the notion of him, burnt out. The ultimate hero, that quintessential force of unwavering good, fell to the demands of the world that created him.
There are no reasons good enough, logical enough, emotional enough or viable enough to justify his death. I do not comprehend. I never will. He was the Good, the uncompromising, the untainted. He had a hard life, a life of sorrow, loss, pain and constant personal failings. Yet he had what real heroes need to have; what we all aspire to have - the relentless drive to make the world a better place, without ever allowing his notion of justice to falter. Many died on his watch, some his closest allies, a great love, and Uncle Ben. His greatness is that he would have sacrificed himself to save them in an instant. No foe was met with hatred, no situation met without self-effacing humour. No pain suffered without the will to get up and keep fighting.
Peter Parker was, in a credit to the entire Marvel generation created by Stan Lee, a man (boy) of science. From his books he learnt the value of rationale, balanced thought. From his uncle he learnt his greatest lesson: power brings with it the burden of righteousness. His wit, charms, knowledge and will power made him an inspiration. Generations of children and young adults learnt the value of absolute virtue from his deeds. I learnt that a life of good is a life of sacrifice, with no rewards. I learnt that this is what heroes live for.
Peter Parker’s iconic stature in modern art (literature, comics, fantasy, philosophy, culture) stands testament to the power of higher order value systems. A power (and a message) which is the constant in some of the best sequential narrative systems we have. Art for the masses.
Sadly, tragically, like all art, Peter Parker’s legend had the frailty of humility and humanity. It had the fragility of burden all great art carries; it is self-consuming and temporal. We know from the world around us that anything pure must, by necessity, destroy itself.
And so, when Peter Parker died, a collective ethos died with him. The part of our imagination that may not be allowed to live perpetually, the part that knows only virtue, succumbed.
I doubt I shall ever read Spiderman again with the same joy as I used to. I doubt the world will remain the same without Peter Parker. RIP!
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