The reason can only be this: heroic poetry depends on an heroic
The reason can only be this: heroic poetry depends on an heroic age, and an age is heroic because of what it is, not because of what it does.
Hear the words of Lascelles Abercrombie, who sought to pierce the mystery of poetry and history alike: “The reason can only be this: heroic poetry depends on an heroic age, and an age is heroic because of what it is, not because of what it does.” In these lines, he reveals a truth often forgotten—that greatness in art does not arise from the deeds of men alone, but from the spirit of their time. An age becomes heroic not merely by its actions, but by the character, the faith, the vision that dwells within its people. And from that spirit is born the heroic poetry that endures.
The ancients themselves knew this. Homer did not invent Achilles and Odysseus as isolated figures; he gave voice to the heroic age of Greece, when men believed in gods who walked beside them, when honor and fate ruled their lives, when courage and grief were inseparable. The Iliad does not live because of the battles it describes—battles are countless in history—but because it reveals what that age was: proud, tragic, bound to destiny. Thus, heroic poetry arises not from doing alone, but from being.
Consider also the heroic age of the Norse. Their sagas were not simply chronicles of raids and voyages; they were the outpouring of a people who saw life itself as a struggle against inevitable doom. Ragnarok was their destiny, yet they sang of courage in the face of darkness. Their poetry was born of what they were—a people who embraced struggle, who glorified endurance, who valued honor above survival. It is not the actions themselves, but the spirit behind them, that gave birth to the grandeur of their verse.
Abercrombie warns us here of a danger: that later ages might imitate the deeds of heroes without embodying their spirit. A man may slay enemies, build empires, or conquer lands, yet if his age is not heroic in spirit—if it lacks faith, vision, and nobility—then no heroic poetry can emerge. Deeds alone cannot give life to song; only the essence of an age can. This is why so much modern verse, when it attempts to be “heroic,” rings hollow. The age itself must first be infused with heroic being before it can produce heroic art.
History offers a clear example. The French Revolution was filled with great deeds—armies rose, thrones fell, kings perished. Yet it produced little heroic poetry. Its age was not one of heroic unity but of chaos, ideology, and division. Contrast this with the American Civil War, which, though equally bloody, gave rise to enduring poetry: Whitman’s Leaves of Grass and his Drum-Taps. Why? Because Whitman perceived not merely deeds, but the being of the age—a people wrestling with freedom, sacrifice, and the meaning of union.
The lesson for us is profound. Do not measure heroism by deeds alone, nor think that action alone creates greatness. It is the spirit that precedes the deed, the nobility that shapes the action, the depth of being that gives rise to meaning. If we would see heroic poetry in our time, we must first live as a heroic age: cultivating honor, courage, faith, and vision. Without these, our words will be empty, and our deeds forgotten.
Practical steps follow. In your life, strive not only to do heroic things, but to be heroic in spirit: to act with integrity, to embrace sacrifice, to face fate with courage. Read the great epics not as distant tales, but as mirrors of being, and let them shape your own soul. In community, honor those who live nobly, not merely those who achieve visibly. For only when our being is heroic will our poetry and our art rise to greatness.
Thus Abercrombie speaks with the voice of wisdom: heroic poetry is born not from what an age does, but from what it is. Let us then seek to become, not merely to act, so that our age too may bear songs worthy of remembrance. For deeds fade, but the spirit of being is eternal, and it is this spirit that poets carve into verse for the generations to come.
MCQuang Minh Chu
Abercrombie’s thought has an almost philosophical melancholy to it, as though true heroism belongs to the past. It makes me wonder whether every generation feels this way—that greatness has already happened, and the present is somehow lesser. If heroic poetry depends on a spirit of unity and purpose, maybe what we lack today isn’t heroism itself, but a shared belief in what heroism means. Could poetry rekindle that sense of meaning?
QAQuynh Anh
I find this quote intriguing because it implies that heroism is more about collective mindset than individual achievement. An age, not a person, must possess a certain nobility for heroic art to exist. That raises a question—can we recognize a heroic age while living in it, or only in retrospect? Perhaps our own times will seem heroic later, when the struggles and ideals become clearer through the lens of history.
CBNguyen Cam Binh
This quote makes me think deeply about how culture and circumstance shape art. If heroic poetry can only arise from a truly heroic age, then perhaps our current time lacks that moral or imaginative grandeur. But does that mean we can’t write about heroism anymore? Or can poets still create it through vision and artistry, even in an unheroic era? Maybe imagination itself can substitute for the spirit of a vanished age.
TNPhuong thao Nguyen
Abercrombie’s statement really challenges how we think about heroism. He seems to suggest that an age becomes heroic because of its character, not its actions. But isn’t action precisely what defines heroism? I wonder if he’s talking more about spirit—values, vision, courage—than about deeds. If that’s true, could our modern age ever be considered heroic when so much of it is defined by cynicism and self-interest rather than idealism?