In Arthur Machen’s The Hill of Dreams, Lucian writes a book, submits it to a publisher and, after an agonising wait, receives a rejection. Some time later his book is published – under the name of another author. Lucian’s work has been stolen.

Faced with this injustice, Lucian has two options: to confront the wrongdoers and seek justice, or to resign himself to his fate.

His father urges him to do the first. This is the way of the world and its law. Those who break the rules should be punished, and the victims should be compensated. The rule that’s been broken here is: a person should be paid fairly for the useful work they do.

But Lucian seems to think the whole thing is hopeless. He despairs, sinking into dark thoughts of contempt for the whole human race. The real law of the world is: those who cheat and steal get by, while good people are robbed and defrauded. The list of recently published books seems to justify his contempt for our species: what sells is not really literature; he wants to create art but artists, creators of new and daring experiments, will always be pushed to one side in favour of what is popular, because what is popular will sell.

And then Lucian’s view of the world brightens. Still he is resolved to do nothing to seek justice, but he resigns himself cheerfully. “They’re not worth the powder and shot,” he says. Instead of brawling with his fellow humans, he’ll get to work on something new. That book he wrote wasn’t as good as it could have been anyway. I’ll put all my energy into writing something that’s really worth stealing.

I find Lucian both admirable and infuriating in this moment. As a reader I want justice to be done, even in fiction. But there’s something noble about rising above things like this. It really looks like Lucian has made the right choice: to resign himself to fate so that his energy might be spent where it will be most productive.

But turning the other cheek has its consequences. Whether melancholy or cheerful, such resignation to evil deeds puts you outside the bounds of society, makes you somewhat “inhuman.” When you allow evil to be done, where you could have prevented it, you say: let society rot. Lucian’s high-mindedness, though cheerful, still amounts to a contempt for his fellow human beings. And locked away, trying to write his masterpiece, he finds himself more isolated than ever.

What would have happened had Lucian pursued justice? He is probably right: nothing would have come of it, and he’d simply have been laughed at. Those who stole from him were more powerful than he. But it would have been a heroic act; it would have made him the main character in a story with conflict and drama. And Machen didn’t see Lucian this way. Though Lucian’s resignation is noble, it ultimately makes him someone passive, to whom things happen. And his daily efforts to write his great novel might seem heroic too – except that they are largely presented as daily waiting for inspiration, for the dreams to come, and so are also an example of passivity rather than activity. Lucian is therefore a modern hero: disillusioned and helpless in the face of a world ruled by industrious and selfish actors.