Overcoming the Victim, Villain, and Hero Trap

How the Gospel Frees Us from Denying, Blaming, and Deflecting

Family, work, team, tribe, church, community, and nation—every sphere of life has its culture, and in each one, we assign roles. We naturally place people or groups into the categories of victim, villain, or hero to suit our own biases.

Sometimes, one person or group is cast in all three roles, as we seek to simplify complex situations and deflect blame away from ourselves.

In almost every conflict, we instinctively conclude that someone is hurt, someone is to blame, and someone must intervene to make things right.

These roles are common in the stories we read, the movies we watch, the news we consume, and the communities we are part of. But victim, villain, and hero are also the roles we quietly assign to ourselves and others as we navigate difficult relationships and painful experiences.

It feels natural to interpret life this way because the narrative brings a satisfying illusion of clarity: victims deserve compassion, villains deserve punishment, and heroes deserve applause. But when this pattern takes root in our hearts, it distorts reality and leaves us stuck. Instead of promoting the biblical ideals of truth, healing, or reconciliation, it creates division, self-righteousness, and bitterness. It blinds us to our own shortcomings, divides and dehumanizes others, and fosters a destructive cycle of blame, shaming, and hubris.

The gospel of Jesus Christ, however, breaks the pattern. It dismantles the roles of victim, villain, and hero and offers a better story—one that leads us toward humility, grace, forgiveness, and reconciliation.

The Peril of Playing the Victim

In a broken world, it is inevitable that we will suffer. Sometimes the harm is minor—a careless word, a forgotten kindness—but other times it cuts deeply. There is no question that being hurt is real, and the Bible never diminishes that reality. The psalmists cry out in lament, Job mourns his losses, and Jesus Himself weeps over the pain of the world, as well as His own. The Bible affirms that suffering is significant and that victims—the real and actual ones—are seen and supported by God.

But when we assume the role of victim as our primary identity, we risk trapping ourselves in a story of bitterness and self-pity. We replay the wrongs done to us—both real and imagined—over and over, feeding a narrative that makes the presumed offender larger than life and ourselves perpetually powerless. Over time, the victim mindset tempts us to believe that others are responsible for our misery and that our healing depends almost entirely on their repentance or punishment.

In Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables, we see two characters—Jean Valjean and Inspector Javert—whose responses to suffering shape the course of their lives. Valjean, a former prisoner, chooses grace over bitterness. Though wronged by an unjust system, he allows an act of mercy to transform him, dedicating his life to helping others. By contrast, Javert, who is rigidly committed to his own merciless view of justice and punishment, cannot see the world outside the lens of blame and retribution. His inability to let go of his victimized mindset—his belief that Valjean’s past crimes define him forever—leads to his ruin.

Similarly, when we cling to the victim role too tightly, we lose sight of the fact that our deepest healing doesn’t depend on human justice, but on God’s grace. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good” (Romans 12:21). It’s remarkable that Paul would write such words to violently persecuted Christians, as a violently persecuted Christian.

The gospel invites us to grieve our pain honestly but also to entrust it to God, who promises to heal, redeem, and restore.

The Peril of Casting Others as Villains

If playing the victim is one danger, the second is casting others as villains. When someone wrongs us, it is easy to reduce them to their very worst moment or season, and to nothing more than the sum of their sins. They are no longer a whole person with complexities, struggles, and good qualities—they are simply “the one who hurt me.” We judge them harshly, as though their worst moment defines their entire character, while conveniently minimizing or flat out denying our own flaws.

In the musical Wicked, Elphaba—the so-called “Wicked Witch of the West”—is painted as the villain by those around her. But as the story unfolds, we learn that her “wickedness” was largely the result of being misunderstood, slandered, and unfairly treated. The story serves as a meaningful reminder that people are rarely as one-dimensional as we perceive them to be.

The labels we assign—especially when shaped by our pain—often obscure the truth.

This is why Jesus warns us in the Sermon on the Mount: “Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:3). When we cast others as villains, we blind ourselves to our own need for grace. We forget that the same God who extends mercy to us also extends mercy to those who have hurt us. The gospel compels us to see others—including those we regard as our enemies—as fellow image-bearers in need of redemption.

The Peril of Seeing Ourselves or Others as Heroes

Another dangerous role to assume is that of the hero. Heroes are expected to see life in black and white—good versus bad, victims versus villains—and position themselves as the ones to fix it all. Sometimes, this looks like trying to rescue others from pain, taking on burdens that aren’t ours. Other times, it looks like moral superiority: we believe we’re the righteous ones who would never behave like “those people,” and our role is to rescue others from “them.” Still other times, people want to step in as heroes to protect themselves from the wrath of “victims” who are known for punishing and persecuting those who refuse to rescue them from their “villains.”

American politics and cable news thrive on (and make a lot of money from) this mindset, feeding us stories where one side is the virtuous hero fighting for truth, while the other side is the irredeemably vicious villain. Politicians, pundits, and influencers fuel our desire to take sides, convincing us that we are defenders of justice while those who disagree are corrupt or ignorant. Depending on our preferred party or pundit, one side’s victim is the other side’s villain, and vice versa.

This dynamic and the cycle it creates is addictive and destructive, trapping us in constant outrage and worsening division.

But we’re not immune to the very flaws we condemn. The more we believe we’re victims or the heroes, the more blind we become to our own faults. As C.S. Lewis warned in Mere Christianity, “A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, as long as you are looking down, you cannot see something that is above you.” When we think we have all the answers, we stop listening, learning, and loving as Christ calls us to love.

Scripture reminds us that there is only one true Hero: our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Unlike us, He is fully righteous, just, and loving. When we take on the role of hero, we push God aside and place ourselves at the center of the story. But we are not saviors—we are sinners in need of saving. “For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God” (Ephesians 2:8).

The gospel invites us to let go of the tiring task of being heroes and trust the One who has already won the victory for people on every side of nearly every conflict. It frees us from needing to be right and allows us to humbly admit when we’re wrong. In this humility, we don’t find peace in winning debates or defeating enemies—we find it in receiving and sharing the grace that leads to true reconciliation.

The Gospel’s Better Story

The gospel dismantles the victim, villain, and hero roles by telling a different story—one where Jesus is the only one who alone can make things right. It teaches us that:

• If we are in fact victims, we are seen, loved, and cared for by a God who is near to the brokenhearted (Psalm 34:18). But our healing is not dependent on human apologies or punishments; it is rooted in the grace of God, who works all things together for good (Romans 8:28).

• As those who have been wronged, we must forgive as we have been forgiven (Ephesians 4:32). Forgiveness does not deny the reality of harm, and it does not grant trust where trust has not been reestablished through repentance, reconciliation, and sincere efforts to repair, but it releases us from the burden of bitterness and entrusts justice to God.

• As those tempted to self-righteousness and pride, we are reminded that we, too, have sinned and that our salvation is a gift, not a reward (Romans 3:24). Paul’s rhetorical question and subsequent answer—“Are we any better? Absolutely not” (Romans 6:15)!—become relevant for us, as well.

When we let go of the victim, villain, and hero mindsets, we step into a life shaped by humility, grace, and reconciliation. Humility reminds us that we are all broken and in need of mercy. Grace empowers us to forgive others as we have been forgiven. And reconciliation—where possible—invites us to repair what is broken and pursue peace.

Sometimes reconciliation is not possible, and the gospel does not ask us to stay in harmful situations. But it does ask us to seek peace where we can and to leave vengeance in the hands of God. “If possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all” (Romans 12:18).

Jesus, the only thoroughly innocent victim, bore the weight of sin on behalf of victims, villains, and misguided heroes alike. In Him, we find the freedom to acknowledge our pain, confess our sin, and receive the grace that heals.

So, may we lay down our roles and caricatures, and embrace the better story. May we see ourselves as sinners redeemed by grace, and others as fellow image-bearers in need of that same grace. May we let go of the need to be right, to be justified, or to be applauded. Instead, may we find solace and flourishing in the One who was wronged for our sake, so that all who come to Him—victims, villains, and false heroes alike—may be made new.