The philosophy of Superman

8 July 2006

Superman and Lois Lane accordingly discuss the degree to which the world needs a saviour, with him in the title role, and, in the face of Lex Luthor’s determination to drown the United States in a flood (shades of Katrina), she comes to agree. Near the end, after Superman has laboriously and at great risk to his own life hurled into space the kryptonite-infected continent that Lex Luthor has created in the Atlantic, he falls to Earth in the posture of the crucified Christ, arms spread wide, feet crossed, head lolling in iconic form.

One wonders what the devout will make of Superman’s new Christological persona, once they wake up to it — no one seems to have noticed yet. Moreover this is a Superman–Christ with a son. Perhaps the world has been readied for this development by Dan Brown and his imitators, but it complicates matters for the next and subsequent chapters in the cinematographic saga. (The son’s mother is Lois Lane, of course. We Superman aficionados used to believe that no mortal woman could possibly withstand, or even survive, the Man of Steel’s amorous attentions, especially if he were roused to any sort of super-pitch; and that therefore he was doomed to celibacy or, at best, onanism. But then came the short-lived Supergirl comics, and we thought DC was about to relent. Yet in the Christopher Reeves era, Superman and Lois did indeed spend a night together. Lois must be some girl.)

And by the way: Superman–Christ versus Luthor–Luther? We are used to the Manichean simplicities of comic-book morality (aka the American world-view) but this is getting complicated.

Notice the stages of Superman’s evolution. In the 1930s his upholding of Truth and Justice coincided with Scarface Capone and the rest of the Prohibition-created criminal gangs which held Depression America to ransom. In the 1940s Truth and Justice were joined by the American Way as what Superman defended, during the war against Nazism and Japanese aggression. In the 1950s Superman fought battles against dastardly technologically-savvy super-villains, a straight Cold War theme. Later, and especially in the period since the Cold War ended, matters become merely personal: the task of pitting his brawn against the brains of Lex Luthor and Brainiac appeared to be independent of bigger questions.

But now, caught between the terrifying George W. Bush and the terrorist Osama bin Laden, America is in earnest need of a Saviour for everything from the minor inconveniences to the major horrors of world catastrophe. And here he is, the down-home clean-cut boy in the blue tights and red cape, who says to an aeroplane-full of terrified and dazed passengers whom he has just saved from a horrendous death, ‘I hope this hasn’t put you off flying; air travel is still the safest way to travel.’ And to prove the point he soars off into the empyrean, applauded by multitudes.

A.C. Grayling’s The Form of Things is published by Weidenfeld and Nicolson in September.