Johnny the Greatheart

The Angel that presided o’er my birth

Said, ‘Little creature, form’d of Joy and Mirth,

‘Go love without the help of any Thing on Earth.’

-William Blake

A very long time ago, I read an article (I think it was on Cracked?) deriding the absurdity of gambling with the Devil and his subsequent defeat at the hands of Johnny as told by Charlie Daniels in “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” Why would the Devil ever, ever participate in a fair contest, let alone play to his mark’s strengths? Who is to determine the victor—wait, the Devil is?! The Devil Himself concedes to a hapless Georgian boy when the forfeiture of his very soul is at stake? He’s gone and played right into the Devil’s hand, offered up his soul for the prospect of gaudy material gain (a golden fiddle, ha), the Devil even summons demonic assistance...and then Johnny just outplays Him and His demon band. And then the Devil just...admits defeat. Really?

Yes. Yes, really.

Much more recently, I learned of the now-forgotten but once-almost-as-popular-as-the-Bible-itself novel, The Pilgrim’s Progress. The 17th century Christian allegory relates the journey of a man named Christian and his family along the figurative and literal, physical path toward salvation. It’s split into two parts. In the first half, we follow Christian. Spurred to pilgrimage by anguished awareness of the burden of his sins, Christian sets course for the Celestial City from his hometown, the City of Destruction, with his pliable friend, Pliable. He leaves his family behind; he is unable to persuade them to follow him.

This being a Christian allegory, of course Christian is beset on all sides by numerous manifestations of evil festering within the hearts of mankind: Braggarts, Thieves, Soothsayers, Ne’er-Do-Wells, Obstinate People, Pliable People, Corrupt Statesmen, Lusty Maidens, The Pope. Oh, and demons, too, lots of demons.

And this being a Christian allegory, of course Christian nearly falls into the clutches of all of these human-demons and demon-demons, only to be saved through steadfast faith and earnest prayer. Christian makes a lot of friends, and a lot of his friends die or otherwise fall off the King’s Highway. Utterly deprived of agency for the bulk his travels, he wins one over on the forces of evil by slaying Apollyon in the Valley of Humiliation—with the aid of a sword provided by Jesus himself, of course. It takes him over half a day to land the fatal blow. Christian eventually reaches the Celestial City alongside his newfound friend, Hopeful (Pliable died a long time ago).

In the second part, Christian’s family walks the same path. Greatheart serves as their guide.

Most of the members of the party are totally unfit for the journey ahead, by name: Feeble-Mind, Despondency, Much-Afraid, women and children. They all make it to the Celestial City.

How do they manage? Well, any time a demon, or giant, or whatever, impedes the pilgrims’ progress, Greatheart kills that evil thing, and then the party continues onward. Along the way, they meet other similarly inept pilgrims and bring them along for the ride. No one dies or quits. Why would they? Might as well be on a pleasant stroll.

The Pilgrim’s Progress has faded into obscurity, the second part especially so. You might presume it’s because it’s too Christian, but tell that to The Matrix, The Chronicles of Narnia, The Passion of the Christ, God’s Not Dead, God’s Not Dead 2, God’s Not Dead 3: A Light in Darkness, et. al. If anything, the second part is so un-Christian, it might as well be Pagan folklore. Where’s the suffering, the guilt, the temptation? This is an inclusive group who all arrive safely at the Celestial City. The unworthy get into heaven without addressing their faults. The meek and the weak make it, too, even if they would never be able to on their own.

What about Greatheart? Where’s his road to redemption? He bursts through the Wicker Gate brimming with righteous fury from the start. He’s not even on a pilgrimage—he’s a tour guide on the path to heaven. Greatheart doesn’t struggle. Greatheart conquers all. He never falters, hardly prays; Jesus never hands him a sword. Greatheart gets to go to heaven just the same. What’s more, he makes Christian’s semi-solo journey look kind of, well, dumb, in hindsight. Why didn’t he just wait for Greatheart to show up? Pliable would still be alive and well, at the very least.

If this is an allegory, and a previously very famous one at that, then we should be able to learn something from it, right? But working from the post-postmodern construct of reality and principles of narrative structure, the second part of The Pilgrim’s Progress seems so...non-sequitur.

Perhaps we’ve missed some prerequisite coursework necessary to learning this lesson. What have we forgotten?

Let’s start from the source of the confusion: Greatheart. His most revealing characteristic is that he’s special, but he’s not that special. He’s sent on a holy mission by divine forces, but he’s still just a man. Granted, Greatheart is the best among us, but he’s a mortal man nonetheless. And yet—and yet—he slays the demons and giants and monsters, ones who are just as demonic as his patron is divine, every single time. He protects the pilgrims every single time. He makes it look easy, and he makes it easy for the rest.

And yet, Greatheart is just a man. A great man, and a great-hearted man, but a man nonetheless.

This is where we get tripped up: We’ve lost our faith in the existence of men like Greatheart, and men like Greatheart have lost their place among us. Look around you. Who would you trust to guide Feeble-Mind and Much-Afraid to the Celestial City? Who should you wait for instead of heading out on your own? The correct answer is no one, and that is a terrible shame.

Superheroes are the very best we can muster in our wildest dreams, and they very well might be worse than no one at all. They have superpowers, but they still only prolong the inevitable on their best days, when they’re not preoccupied with their own problems. Greatheart is just a man, but he has no problems, and he sees his mission through to the very end; his pilgrims are saved, not just not-dead.

Sometimes, the hero must triumph over the forces of evil, and because he must, he will. That statement is, tautological, causal, not sentimental. It is so. Otherwise, only Christians get into heaven.

Who among us would be Greatheart? Whoever he is, he’s just a man, after all. Does he really have the gall, the nerve, to offer to defeat the forces of evil every single time, and then wield enough might to do so every single time? Does he really have the wherewithal to acknowledge his mortality and limitations and yet—and yet—recognize his capacities and the urgent need to bring them to bear, despite consensus to the contrary?

I mean, really, Johnny? Wagering your very soul in a fiddlin’ contest with the Devil Himself, and then winning? Really?

Yes. Yes, really. Because he must, so he will.

That’s how the song is written, anyway. Your version of the song would be awful, Mr. Much-Afraid, and so was your article.