During the 12th Century, it was said that England’s Richard the Lionheart could change the course of a battle just by being on the field. This wasn’t only due to his experience or past success, since it was noted when he was putting down rebellions on behalf of his father Henry II at the age of 16. Saladin noted the effect when he faced Richard during the Third Crusade — how the energy and swirl of the battlefield would bend his way and carry through his soldiers. It was magic made manifest in the hearts of men. And people back then truly, deeply believed in that.
Some guys just had “it.”
Much of history, military and otherwise, has been about the quest to find such people. Legitimacy is important and good leaders are always to some extent a roll of the dice, so societies throughout the centuries have constructed themselves so as so make their dice rolls more fortuitous within their cultural context. Lineage was considered the best choice for most of history, now replaced by various flavors of democracy. Democratic systems seemed to produce some truly magnetic leaders when they were still paired with old lineage preferences and a robust class structure. But now that liberal managerialism rules the world, the ability to even identify those people much less prop them up seems to have been lost.
In the military world, the effect such people could have was diluted if not completely nullified by technology. Many a brave man bolstered by the spirit of a previous age raised his sword and rose from the trenches of the First World War, only to have his body split apart with no discernible effect on the course of events. My father told a Vietnam story of a master sergeant — a veteran of World War II and Korea — who the young soldiers saw as near-invincilbe. One mission into the jungle, the sergeant bravely stepped off the helicopter first, then was promptly plugged in the head by a shooter no one could see. Saluting your superior officers in the field — an age-old show of respect and adherence to military code — was fiercely discouraged during that war, lest a sniper see and know where to aim. Chance and distance between combatants had interrupted systems of leadership and codes of respect. Such things are not built overnight, but they can fall apart fast.
Chance has always played its games with men, but its rule is so apparent and psychologically burdensome now that a certain spirit has been sapped. We no longer believe in magic, and so it’s left us in the dark. The coming age of spiritual darkness might produce a world ready again to find and follow people like Richard the Lionheart. But the near-term prospects appear dim.
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