Bullies and Superheroes

Justin The Grey
Sep 4, 2018 · 10 min read

It is not a pleasant experience to be bullied. I grew up being bullied, never knowing why I was singled out. It was probably because they sensed that I was different. I never really understood why. But I know the consequences of it. I withdrew — into myself.

I was always shy and contemplative before. But these experiences just demolished my fledging trust in this world I was brought into. No one could be trusted. And I was overcome by the welling up of a stormy sea of emotions, most of them downright unpleasant.

I was helpless and trapped deep within this pit of despair. Icy cold anger which burst into smoldering flame cascaded quickly into explosions of rage. Floundering undercurrents of frustration and fear. I was anxious. I was afraid. Lonely, I was cursed with the knowledge that I was different from the world, and that I would always remain that way. I raged at my impotency at standing up to my bullies. I was angry at the world. I was angry at myself.

Writhing against the unfairness of the whole situation, I yearned for retribution and justice, but trapped within the bars of my own mind, I was spiraling downward quickly, raging all the while.

And that’s when I encountered superheroes. Was this encounter mere chance or coincidence? I think not. A new world had opened in front of me — a world that offered me a sort of release — if you will; an escape from the harsh realities of my childhood world. My mind rejoiced in the existence of the superhero, even though it was a silly cartoon. Bullies became synonymous with the villains that superheroes fought against and defeated. Cowering in a never ending cycle of fear of my bullies, my mental alter-ego had a field day trusting in the powers of my latest favorite superhero. All my bullies would fear the superhero, for my superhero was stronger than them. There was only so much a bully could do. Sooner or later, they would slip up and the superhero would serve justice on a platter with finesse and style.

Most of the superheroes I adored in my early years had alter-egos who completely contradicted their superhero persona. No wonder I began to identify myself with my superheroes. In real life I would be a wounded bully victim, but in my mind, my alter-ego would have already unleashed retributive justice on those who had done me wrong. I didn’t yearn to be rescued. I would rescue myself (in my mind) from all sorts of traps that my bullies had laid for me, and then beat them at their own game. There was nothing more I desired than the uttermost destruction of my bullies. But even in my imaginations I would hold myself back. Bullies ought only be taught lessons, they didn’t need to be destroyed. I didn’t need to be like them. I would be different. But real life was completely contradictory to what I would conjure up in my mind.

I had already started reading books and had positively loved the experience of exploring the minds of authors who conjured wonderful stuff with their imaginations. I felt a comradeship and a kindred spirit in the pages of books. Then I read my first Harry Potter book, and I was officially in love with the genre of fantasy. Compared to cartoons, these worlds were richly designed and the characters were more fleshed out. What struck a chord was the underdog going against and winning and even humiliating his/her bully. Good triumphed over evil in fantasy, unlike in the real world.

I retained an unusually strong sense of justice. My thoughts on what was right and wrong were heavily influenced by my encounters with bullies. My enemies operated without cause and without reason. I would be different. I therefore sought out comfort in the realms of logic and imagination. I understood that there is injustice in this world and that the world is unfair. I could identify with the weak and marginalized, because I felt weak and marginalized when I was bullied. I would feel a strong empathy for those whom I would perceive as weak and a sense of overbearing protectiveness toward them. Real stories of injustice, would set me all in a turmoil and I would fantasize that if I had a magic wand or Batman’s resources or Superman’s inhuman strength or Spider-man’s gifts, then let all the proponents of injustice beware. For lo, I the champion of justice would be hard on their heels, to repay their crimes with justice. And I’d replay the whole thing in my mind again and again, until I was saturated with the very satisfaction of it all — bullies suffering for the crimes that they had wrought on humanity.

Fantasy was my refuge away from an unfair world where the strong preyed on the weak. No prizes for guessing why Darwinism is increasingly popular.

I had started reading the Bible long before, and I was more interested in the Old Testament part of it. One reason was that there were loads of interesting stories in it. In hindsight, it was probably because I could relate my growing childhood fantasies to the stories in them. I encountered a God who protected his helpless people against bullies, and even supernaturally intervened into the natural world just so that He could protect, save and empower those who cried out for His help. In the Bible, bullies retained power for only a season, because soon God would intervene and teach them lessons or utterly destroy them. The weak and marginalized were safe with God. It didn’t matter if the bully was a simple man or a powerful king or the strongest empire. The bigger and the larger they were, the harder they fell. Hot or cold, justice was served, and oh how my heart rejoiced in the wonder of it all! For unlike my fantasies, these things happened in the real world.

I encountered a God who had a strong sense of justice. Did I in fact derive my sense of right and wrong from Him? Faced with a world that devalued justice and threw caution to the wind in perpetrating acts of violence against those weaker than them, I was enamored with the God who cared, a God who couldn’t and wouldn’t remain silent in the face of oppressive bullies. He acted. He cared. The weak mattered to Him.

The New Testament at that time, wasn’t very interesting to me. It seemed to me, that it contained more of teachings and other boring stuff. But I did read the Gospel accounts, where I encountered something that was downright shocking. The very same God who served retributive justice on the enemies of His people, during His 33 something years on earth Himself suffered at the hands of bullies who jeered and heckled Him. He was spited and cursed. His own people refused to believe His words. The bullies of His time tried to bait and trap Him with words. They seduced His disciple away with money. They captured and beat Him with scourges, spat and humiliated Him, and in an surreal culmination of all horrors — committed the ultimate act of injustice on the very author of justice — they crucified Him like a common criminal!

That went against all the moorings of divine justice in my mind. I roiled against the very injustice of the act. I would relive it in my fantasies. If I could travel through time how I would reveal to those fools the truth that Jesus was God incarnate. How maybe with my powers I would protect him or perhaps avenge his humiliation. I would force them to believe in him, by forcing them to the crossroads of choice by a spectacular display of jaw dropping power. And how Christ would perhaps watch approvingly from the sidelines, as I combated injustice.

What I did not understand was why Christ did not use his powers to dazzle his enemies, overwhelm their suspicions, hatred and objections with a grandiose display of His Majesty and Godhood? At least that’s what I’d have done in His place. Where was that divine retributive justice, the hand that sought out sinners and bullies to protect His own? Why was the Divine Hand immobile in the face of this vile travesty?

Growing up I came to realize that superheroes were not as strong as I thought they were. They were more human and vulnerable. They made the same mistakes that normal people did. How could I then trust these fallen idols? What use is power without character. I learned a great lesson. Superheroes are just like bullies — powerful. What separated them was a simple thing — character.

Now I read stories and reports on how powerful men trample on the weak and marginalized and a long forgotten serpent of rage coils and roils deep within, and my stomach boils in its own acid with the very hopelessness and despair of it all. Bullies have gone up in the world, and they now act with impunity. The strong trample the weak. Its Darwin’s law in practice.

And then I look back 2000 years. Back to when bullies humiliated and ravaged the Creator of the world in human flesh. And about how God allowed that to happen. But then I learned that “there is always another secret” just like Kelsier did in the Mistborn trilogy by Brandon Sanderson. The ultimate end of the most inhuman act of injustice in the annals of history turned out to be what was best for all humankind. God turned around the most unjust act in history, into an act that would impart divine mercy and justice to all humanity. Divine justice was tempered with mercy. For without divine mercy, how can we endure divine justice?

Kelsier — There is always another secret

Yes the situation is pretty hopeless today. Yes the weak and marginalized are trampled upon today. Yes many fall victim to the hatred and violence which is so prevalent in our times. And all that I can do is close my eyes and look away and fantasize about superheroes doing away with bullies.

I learned that retribution is not the answer. It is better to turn the other cheek. It is better to let violence be done unto you. For so I learned from the Tuatha’an in the Wheel of Time.

“The leaf lives its appointed time, and does not struggle against the wind that carries it away. The leaf does no harm, and finally falls to nourish new leaves. So it should be will all men and women.”

“But what does that mean?”

“It means that no man should harm another man for any reason whatsoever. There is no excuse for violence. None. Not ever.”

“What if somebody attacks you? What if somebody hits you, or tries to rob you, or kill you?”

“If a man hit me, I would ask him why he wanted to do such a thing. If he still wanted to hit me, I would run away, as I would if he wanted to rob or kill me. Much better that I let him take what he wanted, even my life, than that I should do violence. And I would hope that he was not harmed too greatly.”

“But you said you wouldn’t hurt him.”

“I would not, but violence harms the one who does it as much as the one who receives it. You could cut down a tree with your axe. The axe does violence to the tree, but does not escape unharmed. Wood is soft compared to steel, but the sharp steel is dulled as it chops, and the sap of the tree will rust and pit it. They mighty axe does violence to the helpless tree, and is harmed by it. So it is with men, though the harm is in the spirit.”

But there will be a reckoning.

Yes, injustice happens because God allows it.

But there is always another secret. All this will happen only for a season.

For God will return to planet Earth. Justice will be served. But it will be tempered with Mercy.

“And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.”

– Revelation 21:4

So I have hope. I have hope because Divine Justice supersedes my version of justice and is far far better than it. I have hope because God cares. I have hope because He is the Superhero who hears the cry of the weak and helpless and watches as the poor are trodden into the ground and the marginalized tremble in fear. And I have hope because if there is anything I can trust, its His character that I can trust and rely on.

God is not the hero we deserve, but the One we need right now.


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Justin The Grey

Written by

I'm crazy about stories. I like to write about different stuff that pop up in my mind but mainly with a Christian/Biblical perspective on things.

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