Are All Men Meant to be like William Wallace?
Braveheart is a film portraying the life of freedom fighter, William Wallace. The entire story is a sweeping epic of love lost and righteous indignation. Perhaps the titular moment of the film is when Wallace (played by Mel Gibson) rides out on horseback, rallying his soldiers for the fight of their lives against the oppressive British empire. With face painted and hair flowing in the wind, Gibson cries out, “they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!” Raucous cheers and testosterone-filled screams follow. It’s the kind of scene that could put hair on a young boy’s chest (though I don’t recall growing any myself).
Wallace’s cry ignites a revolution and presents him as the epitome of masculine prowess. He’s front and center in the action, shouting orders and providing inspiration as though the stuff oozed from his ears. The ones following him are willing to follow him into the fire — and beyond. He’s the type of man most boys dream of one day becoming. They just don’t have a clue of how to get there.
Today’s modern man rarely gets to be William Wallace. But the desire still burns within. Somewhere, deep down inside of him, he longs for this experience. But even more so, he believes that the only way he can be the most alive is if he’s standing out in front — playing the part of William Wallace himself. Not just any old foot soldier or infantryman. No, he must be standing on the precipice, willing to engage the enemy, his faithful stewards all about him.
I’ll admit, I admire this image of Wallace. The guy who races out in front of the pack. The guy with the best one-liners; the guy who is most willing to break the rules for the sake of the princess. These attributes, by my observation, would seem to be the hallmarks of a great and noble man. These are the makings of a great leader.
Yet, Wallace’s example poses a very unique dilemma. For if the only way for a man to be a great leader is to stand in front of every other man, giving orders, then that narrows the job field, doesn’t it? For every one heroic leader, you need to have 100 (perhaps more) “lesser” males taking orders, right? And if every guy is vying for the title of “William Wallace”, then why would any of the other men simply take orders? Why would any potential alpha male agree to be trampled upon; to be treated like expendable meat; to be forgotten in the chaos of his leader’s strategic direction? It’s a befuddling question, but one that begs to be answered.
The Lie of Loudness
For starters, men don’t become great leaders by being the loudest. The best leaders are often the ones most selective in their speech. They recognize that language is important. Imagine two generals preparing for battle. One is loud and boisterous; he shouts above those around him. The other is loud too, but he picks his words carefully. The former tries to be the loudest and thus, he drowns out any who might challenge his authority. The latter, conversely, empowers those around him by asking questions in a confident manner. He doesn’t mix words. The former, having silenced any around him, keeps crucial ideas from funneling into him. He has, in a sense, cut off his own legs before he can get running. The latter, having spoken confidently rather than loudly, has permitted the exchange of new information from his subordinates.
Who is better prepared to defeat his opponent? Who will likely have an advantage? Unless the former is a strategic genius, and not in need of outside input, he will be hindered in his approach. The latter, by contrast, will be better suited to win the day. For he has communicated clearly. And he’s permitted those under him to communicate openly as well. Being loud does not equal a superior skillset. If anything, it is a swift entry into failure.
William Wallace is loud, but he’s loud because the situation calls for it. He has spent hours, days even, engaging with his closest counsel before his fateful ride. He has not separated himself from those who would support him in his endeavors. The loud battle cry is the end note of many quieter moments.
The Fallacy of the Isolated Conqueror
Great leaders understand that a message is only as good as how well it is received. But a message can only be received when the channels are open. Men who stay connected and engaged are more likely to become leaders and influencers than those who would make islands of themselves.
One of the biggest traps for a man as he gets older is to withdraw. Unlike women, who generally seek community throughout their lives, men can grow disinterested; even reclusive, as they progress in their years. They will become increasingly habitual — for good or for bad — and avoid meeting new men unless their work or their spouse requires it of them. Perhaps the idea of sizing up one’s self up against another could yield embarrassing results; be an unwanted gut check as to where he stands in the social pecking order. Predictable places and predictable people, thus, are more attractive.
This is not every man, of course. But this self-inflicted wound is too common to ignore. What’s more, this cycle of isolation endorses the lie that a man has “made it”. He’s done all that’s been asked of him and the adventure is already behind him. Some men I know, even in their 30s, have already resigned themselves to this mentality.
This does not have to be their story though. A man connected will be of continuing influence. The allure of new and engaging relationships will keep his spirit from being diminished. Whether he is an introvert or an extrovert, it doesn’t matter. Men who maintain their social networks are not only influential, they will live longer too.
The Trap of the Forbidden Mistress
New relationships give us energy. We can be invigorated by the excitement a new person brings forth. But this is also a double-edged sword — specifically if a man, one who is married or committed to another, meets a new woman.
Braveheart’s William Wallace was a man who followed his passion for a beautiful woman, married her, saw her slain before his eyes (which then triggered his quest for vengeance), but soon found himself sought after by the princess of his enemy, pursued her, and impregnated her.
As sweet as this revenge tale is, Wallace’s sexual exploits can sound like the blueprint for any man who wants to make a mark in this world. It’s easy for men to equate sexual fortitude with self worth. If a man can bed whomever he wants; if he can attract even the daughters of his enemies, then he is clearly a man among boys. For the record, this is not to say that Wallace was deliberate in his sexual conquests, but one could easily put the pieces together and build a narrative around this idea.
This quest for sexual superiority is yet another lie that men — those who want to be leaders and influencers — tend to believe. It should be no secret that every man, every person, is actively seeking intimacy rather than a swath of casual hookups. Even the wise King Solomon, with his hundreds of wives and concubines, lamented the futility of following every fleshly pleasure. Only within the parameters of knowing another — deeply, profoundly, and intimately — could any man achieve some measure of fullness with a woman.
A woman. Not many. One can see and imagine how this narrative gets twisted. Sexual gratification, as we’ve stated, does bring a man a sense of validation he needs and desires. But when he seeks this beyond the marriage bed, he finds himself in all kinds of trouble. He replaces what could be purpose and usefulness for his community; for his wife; for his potential children, with selfish ambitions. This selfishness bleeds into the “island mentality” previously mentioned. And if that wasn’t enough to convince you, communities with an abundance of married men and women tend to have less crime in them too.
So, does this mean men are to conform and become domesticated servants? No, not exactly. A man’s effectiveness as a leader comes out of his servanthood and connectedness, not in his desire to be a loud mountain of testosterone. His greatest quest, and influence, births from what he is willing to offer, not from what he is willing to take.
In this way, all men can be front and center in the action. He doesn’t need to think of himself as a mindless soldier; a mere number among the masses. Instead, he can be an engaged and connected captain of his ship. When the time calls for it, he can be daring. When the time calls for it, he can be at the head of the charge. He can be his own man without having to conform to the predictable slow death of suburban living — or the unsteady and virulent lifestyle of a solitary wildcard without a higher calling.
The choice is his. And to borrow another famous line from Gibson’s Braveheart, “Every man dies, but not every man truly lives.” The former is inevitable, but the latter is a choice.
