Why do heroes need to have a physical mark?
It seems that a lot of authors want their heroes to be marked in a special way.
It is not enough that these protagonists are going to be heroes, no; they seem to require having a mark that makes them special be it golden eyes, a red streak of hair, a lightning shaped scar...
I mean it is quite silly and one would expect it only from mediocre or lazy writters, but some major authors do it regularly.
I don't really understand why, is there realy a need for the heroes to be pre-ordained to their destiny as manifested by the mark that identifies them as unique?
For instance Frodo is one of the most heroic heroes, yet he is a common sort of chap, he doesn't have a bunion shaped glowing birthmark shouting "I am the one!"
What need is there to mark them as special?
Is it simply there for foreshadowing? Since the character is “marked” for great things, he is not only the main character but the protagonist?
Is the mark planted early on to make the reader doubly aware of the character’s importance?
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One reason to give a hero a mark is simply for writing efficiency, between characters in the book. Everybody (in the book) recognizes them, except perhaps children (and often even children).
In Harry Potter, the lightning bolt scar means everybody on the train, though they have never seen him before, knows his name and who he is and his legend. It saves exposition, introductions, and endless "Oh, that Harry," dialogue.
It makes the writing tighter. A person can look for Bill without ever having met or being able to describe Bill; "he's got a diagonal sword scar across his forehead, have you seen him?" "He's got one blue eye and one brown, have you seen him?"
The audience accepts it, and it reduces the word count and increases the fame of the hero, both good things in a story.
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The idea of the anointed one is as old as recorded history and recorded literature. But we should remember that this idea exists in the context of societies in which everyone has a specific role to play.
The rejection of this notion that everyone has a place and a role and a responsibility in the community is very recent. Its demise has greatly favored the smart and the strong and has forced many of the less capable to the margins and into despair. We tend to forget just how anomalous the highly individualistic society we have built in the the annals of human history.
Within a society in which everyone has a role, some roles are determined by birth and by sex. Some roles must be chosen or people must be chosen for them. Such people -- kings and priests, for example -- must be formally inducted into their roles, which often takes the form of literal anointing. In Christian baptism, the child is not only washed, but also anointed. Anointing is the ceremony of initiation of membership and all the rights and responsibilities that go with it.
But sometimes in life, and often in stories, the supreme task falls outside of the normal roles into which the community anoints its members. The hero, after all, must leave the normal world and cross the threshold into the other world. Who decides who is the one to take on this role? Who anoints them to this task?
Often the answer is, the gods, or some secular substitute for the gods (gods in disguise). But as anointing is the sign of one's membership and one's assumptions of a role and its responsibilities, there must be evidence of anointing for this role also. And if the gods anoint, then the person they anoint must bear some sign of this anointing; some mark where the finger of the god has touched the mortal flesh.
Our lack of assigned roles today is taken and celebrated as a sign of freedom. But actually, it is a source of grief, confusion, and pain to many. So many people struggle to find a place to fit in. Loneliness is epidemic. This creates a particular hunger, I think, for stories of the old ways, the old customs, in which everyone had a role to which they were anointed, for which they could be valued, and the requirements of which they could confidently fulfill.
We love the anointed hero because, secretly, at least, we long to be one.
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