FREEDOM OF MIND | Original PDF file | THE BY STANDER’S DILEMMA

th irt y-f i ve ye ars ag o, one of us

(Philip Zimbardo) launched what is known

as t he Sta nford Prison Ex periment. Twen-

ty-four young men, who had responded to

a newspaper ad calling for participants in

a study, were randomly assigned roles a s

“prisoners” or “guards” in a simulated jail in

Stanford University’s psychology depart-

ment. The “prisoners” were arrested at their

homes by real police of?cers, booked, and

brought to the jail. Everyt hing from the

deliberately humiliating prison uniforms to

the cell numbers on the laboratory doors to

the mandatory strip searches and delousing

were designed to replicate t he depersonal-

izing ex perience of being in a real prison.

The men who were assigned to be guards

were given khaki uniforms, mirrored

glasses, and billy clubs.

The idea was to st udy the psychology

of imprisonment

—

to see what happens

when you put good people in a dehuman-

izing place. But within a matter of hours,

what had been intended as a cont rolled

experiment in human behavior took on a

dist urbing life of its own. After a prisoner

rebellion on the second day of the ex peri-

ment, t he guards bega n using increasingly

degrading forms of punishment, and t he

prisoners became more and more passive.

Each group rapidly took on the behaviors

associated with their role, not because

of any particular interna l predisposition

or instructions from the ex perimenters,

but rather because t he situation it self so

powerfully called for the t wo groups to

assume t heir new identities. Interestingly,

even the ex perimenters were so caught up

in the drama that t hey lost objectiv ity, only

terminating the out-of-cont rol st udy when

an objective outsider stepped in, reminding

them of their dut y to treat the participa nt s

huma nely and ethically. The ex periment,

scheduled to last t wo weeks, ended abrup-

tly after six days.

As we have come to understand the

psychology of evil, we have realized that

such transformations of human charac ter

are not as rare a s we would like to believe.

Historic al inquiry and behavioral science

have demonstrated the “banality of ev il”

—

that is, under certain conditions and

social pressures, ordinary people can com-

mit act s that would ot herwise be unthink-

able. In addition to t he St anford Prison

Ex periment, studies conducted in the 1960s

by Stanley Milgram at Yale University also

revealed the banality of ev il. The Milgram

experiment s asked partic ipant s to play t he

role of a “teacher,” who was responsible for

administering elec tric shocks to a “ learner”

when the learner failed to answer test ques-

tions correc tly. The participants were not

aware that the learner was working with

the ex perimenters and did not actually

receive any shocks. As the learners failed

more and more, the teachers were instruc t-

ed to increase the volt age inten sit y of the

shocks

—

even when t he learners sta rted

screa ming, pleading to have t he shocks

stop, a nd eventually stopped re sponding

altogether. Pressed by the ex periment-

ers

—

serious looking men in lab coat s,

who sa id they’d assume responsibility for

the consequences

—

most participa nts did

not stop administering shocks until they

reached 300 volts or above

—

already in the

lethal range. The majority of teachers deliv-

ered the maximum shock of 450 volts.

We a ll like to think that the line between

good and ev il is impermeable

—

that people

who do terrible things, such a s commit

murder, treason, or kidnapping, are on the

evil side of this line, a nd the re st of us could

never cross it. But the Stanford Prison Ex-

periment a nd the Milgram studies revealed

the permeabilit y of that line. Some people

are on the good side only because situa-

tions have never coerced or seduced them

to cross over.

This is true not only for perpetrators

of tort ure and other horrible ac ts, but for

people who commit a more common kind

of wrong

—

the wrong of ta king no act ion

when ac tion is ca lled for. Whether we con-

sider Nazi Germany or Abu Ghraib prison,

there were many people who observed

what was happening and said nothing. At

Abu Ghraib, one photo shows t wo soldiers

smiling before a pyramid of naked pris-

oners while a dozen other soldiers stand

around watching passively. I f you observe

such abuses and don’t say, “This is wrong!

Stop it!” you give tacit approv al to contin-

ue. You are part of the silent majority that

makes evil deeds more acceptable.

In the Stanford Prison Experiment, for

in st ance, t here were the “good guards” who

maintained the prison. Good guards, on

the shifts when the worst abuses occurred,

never did anyt hing bad to the prisoners,

but not once over t he whole week did

they confront the other guards and say,

“What are you doing? We get paid the

same money without knocking ourselves

out .” Or, “Hey, remember those are college

students, not prisoners.” No good guard

ever intervened to stop the activ ities of the

bad guards. No good guard ever arrived a

minute late, left a minute early, or publicly

complained. I n a sense, then, it’s t he good

guard who allowed such abuses to happen.

The sit uation d ictated their inaction, and

their inaction facilitated evil.

But because ev il is so fascinating, we

have been obsessed with focusing upon and

analyzing evildoers. Perhaps because of

the t ragic ex periences of the Second World

War, we have neglected to consider the ?ip

30

Greater Good

Fall / Winter 20 06-07

H

ER

O

ISM

The Banality

Circumstances can force almost anyone to be a bystander to evil,

but they can also bring out our own inner hero.

Zeno Franco

and

Philip Zimbardo

show how we’re all capable of everyday heroism.

of

THE BYSTA NDER’S DILEMMA

side of the banalit y of evil: Is it a lso possible

that heroic act s are something t hat anyone

can perform, given the right mind-set and

conditions? Could there also be a “ ba na lit y

of heroism” ?

The banality of heroism concept sug-

gests that we are

all

potential heroes wait-

ing for a moment in life to perform a heroic

deed. The decision to act heroically is a

choice that many of us will be called upon

to make at some point in time. By con-

ceiv ing of heroism as a universa l att ribute

of human nat ure, not as a rare feature of

the few “heroic elec t,” heroism becomes

somet hing that seems in the range of pos-

sibilities for every person, perhaps inspiring

more of us to answer that call.

Even people who have led less t han

exempla ry lives can be heroic in a particu-

la r moment. For exa mple, during Hurricane

Katrina, a young man named Jabar Gibson,

who had a history of felony arrests, did

somet hing many people in Louisiana con-

sidered heroic: He commandeered a bus,

loaded it with residents of his poor New

Orleans neighborhood, a nd drove them to

safety in Houston. Gibson’s “renegade bus”

arrived at a relief site in Houston before any

government sanct ioned evacuation effort s.

The idea of t he banalit y of heroism

debunks t he myth of the “heroic elect ,”

a myt h that reinforces two basic human

tendencies. The ?rst is to ascribe very rare

personal characteristics to people who

do something special

—

to see them as

superhuman, practica lly beyond com-

parison to t he rest of us. The second is the

trap of inaction

—

sometimes known a s the

“bysta nder effect .” Research has shown

that the bystander ef fect is often motivated

by diffusion of responsibility, when differ-

ent people witnessing an emergency all

assume someone else will help. Like the

“good guards,” we fall into the t rap of inac-

tion when we a ssume it’s someone else’s

responsibility to act the hero.

I n search of an a lternat ive to this inac-

tion and complicit y wit h evil, we have been

investigating the banalit y of heroism. Our

initia l research has allowed us to rev iew

exa mple after example of people who have

done something t ruly heroic, from indi-

v iduals who enjoy international fa me to

those whose names have never even graced

the headlines in a local newspaper. This

ha s led us to think more critically about the

de?nition of heroism, and to consider the

sit uational and personal charac teristics that

encourage or facilitate heroic behav ior.

Heroism is a n idea as old as humanit y

it self, a nd some of it s subtleties are becom-

ing lost or transmuted by popular cult ure.

Being a hero is not simply being a good

role model or a popular sports ?gure. We

believe it has become necessary to revisit

the historical meanings of the word, and

to make it come alive in modern terms. By

concentrating more on this high waterma rk

of human behavior, it is possible to foster

what we term “heroic imagination,” or the

development of a personal heroic ideal.

This heroic ideal can help guide a person’s

behavior in t imes of t rouble or moral

uncertainty.

What is heroism?

Frank De Martini was an architect who

had restored his own Brooklyn brown-

stone. He enjoyed old c ars, motorcycles,

sailing, and spending time with his wife,

Nicole, and their t wo children.

After the hijacked planes struck the

World Trade Center on September 11, 2001,

De Martini, a Port Authority construc-

tion manager at the Center, painstakingly

searched the upper ?oors of the North

Tower to help vic tims trapped by the at tack.

De Martini was joined by three colleagues:

Pablo Ortiz , Carlos DaCosta, and Pete

Negron. Authors Jim Dwyer and Kevin

Flynn piece together the movements of De

Martini and his colleagues in their book,

102 Minutes: The Untold Story of the Fight to

Survive Inside the Twin Towers

. The evidence

suggests that these four men were able to

save 70 lives, moving from problem to prob-

lem, using just crowbars and ?ashlights

—

the

only tools available. There are indications

that De Martini was becoming increasingly

concerned about the structural integrity of

the building, yet he and his men continued

to work to save others rather than evacuat-

ing when they had the chance. All four men

died in the collapse of t he tower.

The se were not men who were known

prev iously as larger-than-life heroes, but

surely, most of us would ca ll their actions

on September 11 heroic. But just what is

heroism?

Heroism is different than altruism.

Where altruism emphasizes sel?ess act s

that assist others, heroism entails the

potential for deeper personal sacri?ce.

The core of heroism revolves around

the indiv idual’s commitment to a noble

purpose and the willingness to accept the

consequences of ?ght ing for that purpose.

Historically, heroism has been most

closely associated with milit ary service ;

however, social heroism also deserves

close examinat ion. While Achille s is held

up as the a rchetypal war hero, Socrates’

willingness to die for his values was a lso a

heroic deed. Heroism in serv ice to a noble

idea is usually not a s dra matic as heroism

Fall / Winter 2006 -07

Greater Good

31

Brad Aldridge

that involves immediate physical peril. Yet

social heroism is cost ly in it s own way,

often involving loss of ?nancial stabilit y,

lowered soc ial st at us, loss of credibility,

arre st , tort ure, risks to family members,

and, in some cases, deat h.

These different ways of engaging with

the heroic ideal suggest a deeper, more

intricate de?nition of heroism. Based on

our own analysis of ma ny acts that we

deem heroic, we believe t hat heroism

is made up of at lea st four independent

dimensions.

First, heroism involves some t ype of

quest, which may range from the preserva-

tion of life (Frank De Martini’s effort s at

the World Trade Center) to t he preserva-

tion of an ideal (Dr. Martin Luther King,

Jr.’s pursuit of equa l rights for African

Americans).

Second, heroism must have some form

of ac tual or anticipated sacri?ce or risk.

This can be either some form of physical

peril or a profound social sacri?ce. The

physical risks that ?re?ghters t ake in the

line of duty are clearly heroic in nature.

Social sac ri?ces are more subtle. For exam-

ple, in 2002, Dr. Tom Ca hill, a researcher at

the Universit y of California, Dav is, risked

his credibilit y as a career scientist by call-

ing a press conference to openly challenge

the EPA’s ?ndings t hat the air nea r Ground

Zero was safe to breathe in the aftermat h

of the September 11 attacks. His willing-

ness to “go public” was challenged by the

government and by some fellow scientists.

Like Cahill, whistleblowers in government

and busine ss often face ostrac ism, physica l

threat, and t he loss of t heir jobs.

Third, t he heroic act can eithe r be pas-

sive or active. We often t hink of heroics a s

a v aliant

a ctivity,

something t hat is clearly

observable. But some forms of heroism

involve passive resist ance or an unwilling-

ness t o be move d. Consider Revolutionary

Wa r of?c er Nat han Ha le’s ac tions before

his exe cut ion by the British army. There

was nothin g t o be done in t hat moment

except to decide how he submitt ed to

death

—

with fort itude or with fear. The

words he uttered in his ?nal moments

(borrowed from Joseph Addison’s play

Cato

), “I regret t hat I have but one life to

give for my count ry,” are remembered

more t han two cent uries later as a symbol

of strengt h.

Finally, heroism can be a sudden, one

time act, or something that persists over a

longer period of time. This could mean that

heroism may be an a lmost instantaneous

reac tion to a sit uation, such as when a self-

described “avera ge guy” named Dale Sayler

pulled a n unconscious driver from a vehicle

about to be hit by an oncoming train.

Alternatively, it may be a well thought-out

series of act ions taking place over days,

months, or a lifetime. For in st ance, in 1940,

a Japane se consul of?cial in Lithuania,

Chiune Sugihara, signed more than 2,000

32

Greater Good

Fall / Winter 20 06-07

T HE BYSTANDER’S DILEMMA

v isas for Jews hoping to escape the Nazi

inva sion, despite his government’s direct

orders not to do so. Every morning when

Sugihara got up and made the same deci-

sion to help, every time he signed a visa, he

acted heroically and increased t he likeli-

hood of dire consequences for himself and

his family. At the end of the war he wa s

unceremoniously ?red from t he Japanese

civ il service.

What makes a hero?

Our efforts to catalogue a nd categorize

heroic activ ity have led us to explore the

factors t hat come together to create heroes.

It must be emphasized t hat this is init ial,

exploratory work; at best , it allows us to

propose a few speculations t hat wa rrant

further investigation.

We have been able to lea rn from a body

of prior research how certain situations can

induce the bystander ef fect, which we men-

tioned earlier. But just as t hey can create

bystanders, sit uations also have immense

power to bring out heroic actions in people

who never would have considered t hem-

selves heroes. I n fact , the ?rst response of

many people who are called heroes is to

deny their own uniqueness wit h statements

such as, “I am not a hero; anyone in t he

same situation would have done what I

did,” or, “I just did what needed to be done.”

Immediate life and death situations, such

as when people are st randed in a burning

house or a car wreck, are clear examples

of situations that galvanize people into

heroic action. But other situat ions

—

such as

being witness to discrimination, corporate

corruption, government malfeasance, or

military atrocities

—

not only bring out t he

worst in people ; they sometimes bring

out the best. We believe t hat these sit ua-

tions c reate a “bright-line” ethical test that

pushes some individuals toward action in

an at tempt to stop the ev il being perpe-

trated. But why are some people able to

see this line while ot hers are blind to it?

Why do some people take responsibility

for a sit uation when others succumb to the

bystander ef fect?

Just as in the Stanford Prison Experi-

ment and the Milgram studies, the sit uat ion

and t he personal cha racterist ics of each

person c aught up in the situation interact in

unique ways. We rema in unsure how these

personal characteristics combine wit h the

sit uation to generate heroic action, but we

have some preliminary ideas. The ca se of

Sugihara’s intervention on behalf of t he

Jews is particularly instructive.

Account s of Sugihara’s life show us t hat

his efforts to save Jewish refugees was a

dramatic ?nale to a long list of smaller

efforts, each of which demonst rate d a

willingness to occasionally defy t he strict

social con st raints of Japanese society in

t he early 20th cent ury. For ex ample, he

did not follow his father’s instructions t o

become a doctor, pursuing la ngua ge st udy

and civil service instead; his ?rst wife was

not Japanese; and in t he 1930s, Sugiha ra

resigned from a prest igious civil serv ice

posit ion to protest t he Japanese milit ary’s

treatment of the Chinese during the

occupation of Manchuria. These incidents

suggest that Sugihara already possessed

t he internal strength and self-assurance

necessary to be guided by his own mora l

compass in uncertain situat ions. We ca n

speculat e that Sugihara was more willin g

to assert his indiv idua l v iew than others

around him who preferred to “go a long to

get a long.”

Also, Sugihara was bound to two dif fer-

ent codes: He was a sworn representative

of the Japanese government , but he was

raised in a rural Samurai family. Should he

obey his government’s order to not help

Jews (and, by extension, comply wit h his

cult ure’s age-old moré not to bring shame

on his family by disobeying authority)? Or

should he follow t he Samurai adage that

haunted him, “Even a hunter cannot kill a

bird which ?ies to him for refuge”? When

the Japanese government denied repeated

requests he made for permission to a ssist

the refugees, Sugihara may have realized

that these t wo codes of behavior were in

con?ict and that he faced a bright-line ethi-

cal test.

I nterestingly, Sugihara did not act

impulsively or spontaneously; instead , he

carefully weighed the decision with his

wife and family. In situations t hat auger

for social heroism, the problem may cre-

ate a “moral t ickle” t hat the person can

not ignore

—

a sort of positive rumination,

Fall / Winter 2 006-07

Greater Good

33

Many of the guards in the Stanford Prison Experiment didn’t speak

out when they witnes sed di sturbing abuse by their fellow guards ;

nearly 30 years later, guards at Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq acted in

nearly the same way.

Under

certain

conditions

and

social

pressures

,

ordinary

people

can

commit acts

that would

otherwise be

unthinkable

.

T HE BY STANDER’S DILEMMA

34

Greater Good

Fall / Winter 20 06-07

where we ca n’t stop thinking about some-

thing because it does not sit right wit h us.

Yet t his still leaves the quest ion, “What

prompt s people to take act ion?” Many

people in similar positions recognize the

ethical problems associated with the sit u-

ation and are deeply disturbed, but simply

decide to ignore it. What charac terizes the

?nal step toward heroic action? Are those

who do ac t more conscientious ? Or are

they simply less risk averse?

We don’t know t he answer to these v ital

questions

—

social science hasn’t resolved

them yet. However, we believe that an

important factor that may encoura ge heroic

action is the stimulat ion of heroic imagina-

tion

—

the capacity to imagine facing physi-

cally or socially risky situations, to struggle

with the hypot hetical problems t hese

situations generate, and to consider one’s

actions and t he consequences. By consider-

ing these issues in advance, the individual

becomes more prepared to act when and

if a moment that calls for heroism arises.

Strengthening the heroic imagination may

help to make people more aware of the

ethical te st s embedded in complex sit ua-

tions, while allowing the individual to have

already considered, a nd to some degree

transcended, t he cost of t heir heroic ac tion.

Seeing one’s self as capable of t he resolve

necessary for heroism may be t he ?rst step

toward a heroic outcome.

How to nurture the

heroic imagination

Over the last cent ury, we have witnessed

the subt le diminution of the word “hero.”

This tit le was once reserved only for those

who did great t hings at great personal risk.

Gradually, as we have moved towa rd mech-

anized combat, especially during and after

the Second World War, the original ideals

of milit ary heroism became more remote.

At t he same t ime, our view of social hero-

ism has a lso been slowly watered down.

We hold up inventors, athletes, actors,

polit icians, and scientist s as examples of

“heroes.” These indiv idua ls are clearly role

models, embodying import ant qualities we

would a ll like to see in our children

—

curi-

osity, persistence, physical strengt h, being a

Good Samaritan

—

but they do not demon-

strate courage or fortitude. By diminishing

the idea l of heroism, our societ y makes

two mistake s. First, we dilute the impor-

tant contribut ion of true heroe s, whether

they are luminary ?gures like Abra ham

Lincoln or t he hero nex t door. Second, we

keep ourselve s from confront ing the older,

more demanding forms of this ideal. We

do not have to challenge ourselves to see if,

when faced with a situation that called for

courage, we would meet t hat test. In prior

generations, words like bravery, fort itude,

gallant ry, and valor stirred our souls. Chil-

dren read of the ex ploits of great warriors

and explorers and would set out to follow

in those footsteps. But we spend litt le time

thinking about t he deep meanings t hese

words once carried, and focus less on

trying to encourage ourselves to consider

how we might engage in bravery in the

social sphere, where most of us will have

an opportunity to be heroic at one t ime or

another. As our society dumbs down hero-

ism, we fail to foster heroic imagination.

There are several concrete steps we can

take to foster the heroic imagination. We

can sta rt by remain ing mindful, carefully

and critically evaluating each sit uation we

encounter so that we don’t gloss over a n

emergency requiring our action. We should

try to develop our “discontinuit y detec-

tor”

—

an awareness of things that don’t ?t,

are out of place, or don’t make sense in a

setting. This means asking questions to get

the informat ion we need to ta ke re spon-

sible action.

Second, it is important not to fear inter-

personal con ?ict, and to develop the per-

sonal ha rdiness necessary to stand ?rm for

principles we cherish. In fac t, we shouldn’t

think of dif?cult interactions as con?ict s

but rather as attempts to challenge ot her

people to support their own principles and

ideology.

Third, we must rema in awa re of an

extended time-horizon, not just t he present

moment. We should be engaged in the

current sit uation, yet also be able to detach

part of our ana lytical focus to imagine

alternative future scenarios t hat might

play out, depending on d ifferent actions or

failures to act t hat we t ake in the present.

In addit ion, we should keep part of our

minds on the pa st , as that may help us

recall values and teachings inst illed in us

long ago, which may inform our actions in

the current situation.

Fourth, we have to resist the urge to

rationalize inact ion and to develop justi?-

cations that reca st evil deeds as acceptable

mea ns to supposedly righteous ends.

Finally, we must t ry to transcend antici-

pating negat ive con sequence associated

with some forms of heroism, such as being

socially ost racized. If our course is just,

we must trust that ot hers will eventually

recognize the value of our heroic actions.

But beyond these ba sic steps, our society

needs to consider ways of fostering heroic

imagination in all of its citizens, most

particularly in our young. The ancient

Greeks and Anglo Saxon t ribes venerated

their heroes in epic poems such as the

Iliad

and

Beowulf

. It is easy to see these stories

as antiquated, but their instructions for t he

hero still hold up.

In these stories, the protagonist often

encounters a myst ical ?gure who at tempts

to seduce t he hero away from his path.

In our own lives, we must also avoid t he

seduct ion of ev il, and we must recognize

Tw o everyday heroes : Researcher Tom Cahill (above) and New Orleans resident Jabar Gibson (opposite

page) both acted to help others w hen they w itnessed a crisis.

THE BYSTA NDER’S DILEMMA

A S TORY OF HEROISM

The Prison Guard’s Dilemma

BY J A SON M A RS H

T

hirty years after the Stanford Prison

Experiment ended abruptly, its ?ndings

resonated in the photos that escaped from

Abu Ghraib prison: prisoners with hoods over

their heads, put in humiliating positions;

young guards pandering to the camera as they

abused their subjects. The soldiers at Abu

Ghraib were ordinary young men and women

thrown into an environment in which abusive

and degrading behavio r became the norm.

But if Abu Ghraib revealed the banality of

evil, it also exposed the banality of heroism.

While the culture of the prison persuaded

everyone else to perform or accept prisoner

abuse, Ser geant Joseph Darby, a 24-year- old

Army reservist, saw what his fellow soldiers

were doing, and he acted to stop it.

Another soldier gave Darby a CD with

photos of the abuses on them. “It was amus-

ing at ?rst,” he said in a recent interview with

ABC News. “[But] after I’d looked at all the

pictures, I realized I had a decision to make.”

Darby decided to turn in the CD to a

superior. The military initiated an investiga-

tion but didn’t disclose who at Abu Ghraib had

repor ted the abuses. For a month and a half,

Darby lived in a perpetual state of fear, hoping

his identity as the whistle blower wouldn’t be

revealed, sleeping with a gun under his pillow.

But he remained convinced that he had done

his duty as a solider.

“ [The abuse] violated everything I person-

ally believed in and all I’d been taught about

the rules of war,” he said during a pretrial

hearing for one of the perpetrators. “It was

more of a moral call.”

In the two years since the photos ?rst came

to light, eight soldiers have been punished for

their role in the abuse s, and Darby has been

hailed as a hero. He has also been vili?ed

by people in and out of the military. Vandal-

ism and threats against his wife and mother

forced them to move from their Pennsylvania

home; Darby went into protective custody, and

now lives in hiding. Still, he has expressed

no regrets about blowing the whistle on Abu

Ghraib.

“It had to be done,” he told ABC News.

Fall / Winter 200 6-07

Greater Good

35

that the seduc tion will probably be quite

ord inary

—

an unethical friend or coworker,

for instance. By passing a series of smaller

tests of our mett le, we can c ultivate a per-

sonal habit of heroism.

Epic poems also often tell of the hero

v isiting t he underworld. This metaphori-

cal encounter with death represents an

acceptance and transcendence of one’s own

morta lit y. To this day, some forms of hero-

ism require paying the ultimate price. But

we can also understa nd this as a hero’s will-

ingness to accept any of the consequences

of heroic act ion

—

whet her the sacri?ces are

physical or social.

Finally, from the primeva l war stories of

Achilles to Sugihara’s compelling kind-

ness toward the Jewish refugees in World

Wa r Two, a code of conduc t served as

the framework from which heroic ac tion

emerged. I n this code, the hero follows a

set of rules that serves as a reminder, some-

times even when he would prefer to forget,

that something is wrong and that he must

attempt to set it right. Today, it seems a s

if we are drifting further and further away

from maintaining a set of teachings that

serve as a litmus test for right and wrong.

But in a digit al world, how do we con-

nect ourselves and our children to what

were once oral traditions ? Hollywood has

accomplished some of t hese tasks. The

recent screen version of J.R.R. Tolkien’s

The Lord of the Rings

brought us a classic

story t hat is based on t he epic tradition. Yet

how many of us have stopped and talked

with our children about t he deeper mea n-

ings of this tale? As the sophistication of

v ideo gaming grows, can t he power of this

entertainment form be used to educate chil-

dren about t he pitfalls of following a herd

ment alit y? Could these game s help children

develop their own internal compass in mor-

a lly ambiguous situations? Or perhaps even

help them think about their own ability

to ac t heroica lly? And as we plow ahead

in the d igital era, how can t he fundamen-

t al teachings of a code of honor remain

relevant to human interactions?

If we lose the abilit y to ima gine our-

selves as heroes, and to understand t he

meaning of true heroism, our societ y will

be poorer for it. But if we can reconnec t

wit h these ancient idea ls, and make them

fresh again, we can create a connect ion

wit h the hero in ourselves. It is this vita l,

internal conduit bet ween the modern work-

a-day world and the mythic world t hat

ca n prepare an ordinary person to be an

everyday hero.

Z eno Fra nco is a Ph.D. candidate in clini-

cal psychology at Paci?c Graduate School

of Psychology in Palo Alto, California. He

recently completed a three year U.S. Depart-

ment of Homeland Security Fellowship. Philip

Zimb ardo, Ph.D., is a professor emeritus of

psychology at Stanford University, a two -time

past president of the Western Psychological

Association, and a past president of the

American Psychological Association. The

idea of the banality of heroism was ?rst

presented in an essay he wrote for

Edge

(w ww.edge.org), where he was one of many

scholars who replied to the question, “What

idea is dangerous to you?”