Humans are born with a curious mix of instinct, memory, and delusion. Deep in the genetic and psychological blueprint of every person lies a survival mechanism: the need to avoid conflict unless there is a clear advantage. Freud observed that we instinctively avoid danger — we don’t pick fights we can’t win. A person, even without any formal training, understands that going up against a stronger opponent — especially in numbers — means certain defeat. And so, conflict is outsourced, and courage is conveniently fictionalized.
But human beings don’t like to feel weak. So we compensate.
The Hero as a Surrogate Self
In every story, the listener wants to be the protagonist. Tell the tale of Ramayana, and the audience sees themselves as Ram. Narrate Mahabharata, and they are Arjun, not Eklavya. Show them a film, and they are the hero punching twenty men at once.
It’s not that people are unaware that cinema is fake. They know about the stuntmen, the harnesses, the background score, the 100 takes, the fake blood, and the CGI. But still, they believe — willingly. The belief is not in the action, but in what the action symbolizes. For a brief moment, the viewer forgets their limitations and borrows the strength of the character on screen. It is a sacred suspension of disbelief, not unlike prayer.
Why the Weak Need Strong Leaders
In real life, the powerless man knows he can’t fight. He hates a particular religion or ideology but doesn’t have the means or courage to bring about change. So he does something easier — he finds someone else to do it for him.
A political leader becomes the hero of his private movie. The leader is the one with the mic, the muscle, and the mobs. The common man doesn’t need to give up his job, EMIs, or weekends. He can simply vote, forward messages, attend rallies, and watch from the sidelines — all while nursing his hate or hunger for change.
He lives vicariously through the leader. His convictions feel stronger because they now have a voice louder than his own. And every time that leader says what he only dared to whisper in drawing rooms, the follower feels validated, empowered, and seen.
Cinema: The Myth-Maker of Modernity
In the past, myths were told by the fireside. Today, myths are broadcast on Netflix, in theatres, and on social media. Cinema is not just entertainment — it is modern mythology. It provides the same function ancient stories once did: to help people navigate their existential void, to inspire, to provide a sense of belonging, and to offer heroes to believe in.
Whether it’s Shah Rukh Khan beating up a dozen goons with a bloody nose and a slow-motion walk, or a political leader claiming to be the voice of 1.4 billion people — the function is the same. They are symbols onto which the “lower soul” can project strength, hope, revenge, or meaning.
What Do We Mean by ‘Lower Souls’?
The term may sound elitist or moralistic, but it isn’t. It comes from the language of consciousness. In Vedantic or yogic frameworks, a “lower soul” is one still stuck in the lower planes of awareness — survival, power, emotion. They are not bad people, just undeveloped. They haven’t yet turned inward for strength, so they seek it outside. They haven’t accessed the hero within, so they look for one on-screen or on-stage.
Once a person evolves, they stop needing external validation. They stop worshipping celebrities and stop mistaking slogans for wisdom. Until then, the worship continues.
In Conclusion
Hero worship is not just a quirk of the masses — it is a coping mechanism. It fills the void that life, society, and fear have hollowed out. Whether on screen or in Parliament, the hero represents an illusion of agency, power, and immortality.
And perhaps that is the tragedy of the modern world — that so many must outsource their greatness to others, because they’ve never been taught how to find it within themselves.