Batman and Dualism

Like all superheroes, Batman has died time and time and time again. There have probably been as many funerals for the Dark Knight as there have been for the Man of Steel. Like all DC Comic’s heroes, however, he is always back and locking baddies in Arkham within the month.

But there is something very unique about Batman’s many funerals: the attendees. The Dark Knight’s entire rouge gallery is nearly always in attendance. Poison Ivy weeping quietly, propping up her head against Harley Quinn. Penguin looks absolutely devastated, and the Joker… the Joker looks the saddest of all… as if his best friend in the entire world has just passed away. What is going on here?

One of the central philosophies surrounding the Batman mythos is that the crime that pervades Gotham created him, and that he in turn is the reason that crime in Gotham continues. Hugo Strange even explicitly states in Arkham City that Batman is the reason that the criminals exist; the corruption in Gotham is his fault. (See footnote 1)

The Joker, however, is the main character to espouse this belief. The Clown Prince of Gotham truly is the antithesis of Batman. He is joyful where Batman is gloomy; he finds immense satisfaction in what he does while Batman is often conflicted and unsure of what he is supposed to do next. Their stories are often like a dark and intricate dance; the Joker initiating an event and daring the Dark Knight to chase him down and solve the mystery, right the wrong, save the citizen. Sometimes the Joker seems to do it simply for the pleasure of the crime, but more often than not, it becomes clear that he simply missed Batman and wanted to “hang out”… even if it is on his own terms and in his own twisted way.

In Grant Morrison’s Arkham Asylum there is even a sexual undertone to the Joker’s relationship with Batman, even though it is not reciprocated by Batman himself. The Joker wears high heals throughout this book, and occasionally makes quips about the fact that the person closest to Batman is a young boy (Batman’s sidekick Robin). In Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns, the Joker even goes so far as to wear makeup.

As I said before, what on earth is going on? Dualism, my friends.

Josiah, what’s dualism? Well, to understand dualism we’re going to have to go back a bit… And by a bit, I mean a lot.

Dualism started with the Greeks, or at least the Greeks gave it its most prevalent form, in that good and evil coexist, always have coexisted and always will. Dualism does not necessitate the belief that good and evil will continue to coexist forever , but the most consistent dualists view both as co-eternal. A more common dualistic view is that of good and evil both existing at the beginning of things and then one triumphing over the other by the end of time. Examples include Norse mythology where chaos will ultimately triumph over good, and Platonism where the opposite is true.

This notion of dualism has even permeated the circles of Christian thought, where it is now incredibly hard to see a world where God existed and evil did not. (See footnote 2) Most Christians readily accept the fact that God and Christ will triumph over Satan and death at the end of time, but for most modern Christians, it is very hard to separate God from the world we live in. But as Christians we must accept that He is completely self-sufficient. He did not need us, but made us solely because He willed it and for His own joy.

The central philosophy of the modern Batman flies in the face of the idea that good can exist without evil. While it would probably be accurate to blame the Dark Knight’s eternal fight against crime on the comic industry’s need for continued sales, since Batman is one of DC Comic’s most popular characters, it does not negate the fact that he never triumphs. Batman is locked in an eternal struggle where he can not defeat his enemies and his enemies cannot defeat him. One or the other may die, but eventually Batman and the Joker will be back at it again with some new quarrel.

Paul Dini’s Arkahm City is the closest I have seen a Batman story come to closure. (WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!) The story chronicles the story of Arkham Asylum after super villain Hugo Strange expands the madhouse to take up the entirety of Gotham’s northern island. Batman, while looking for Strange, and trying to shut down the Asylum expansion (which has become a liability for Gotham itself and its citizens), he is kidnapped by Joker, who infuses Batman with some of his blood. It turns out the Joker is dying of a chronic illness and with the blood transfusion he has given the disease to Batman as will. Batman scrambles to find the cure, running into many of his old enemies along the way. Eventually Batman is able to procure a treatment for the disease and takes it to Joker. The Joker, however, wants the cure all for himself and intends to leave Batman for dead. In the resulting scuffle, Joker destroys the last vial of half-drunk antidote, which would have been used to save his life.

The Joker realizes that he is finally finished, and laughs as Batman tells him that if had he not destroyed the vial, he actually would have healed the Joker. The final scene depicts Batman cradling the dead body of the Joker and carrying out of Arkham into an impending dawn.

While this story will probably not be accepted as the canonical death of the Joker, I like to view it as such, for it ends the dualism of Batman. Evil is finally defeated for good, yet Batman himself never caves to murder, and remains untainted as the compassionate defender of Gotham City.



(1) This was not always the case. The yin-yang relationship between Batman and the villains that he is continually fighting is a modern notion that began in the 70s and 80s when British writers like Grant Morrison and Alan Moore took over writing the adventures of the Dark Knight. They decided to take a rather pessimistic view of Batman as a sort of reaction to the happy-go-lucky tone of Batman comics in the 50s and 60s. I blame this on the pessimism of the period, not on the British, of course.

(2) This is dealt with in Saint Augustine’s theory of sin and evil as the absence of God. However, this is about Batman and dualism, not Augustine, so that will have to wait until another time.

Tales from the Nursing Home, Part III

Over the past year or two, I've written several times about my trips to and from a local nursing home that me and several of my friends attend every Tuesday evening in order to sing hymns and chat with the residents. Those first few visits were challenging because it was a new and scary thing; something that was definitely outside of my comfort zone. I have always had that struggle with not wanting to be pushed outside my little bubble. Everyone does, to some extent I believe, but mine took a few visits to get over.

After getting over the weirdness of being there, I began to rather enjoy going. We got to sing a lot of songs that I didn't get to sing in church anymore; old Baptist hymns and the like. I've actually never visited the home around Christmas time, but I'm sure carols are part of the repertoire. The residents were kind, loving, and almost always smiled ear to ear when we came in... although many of them didn't remember us I'm sure. The fact that we were there was enough.

But after about a year of visiting on a regular basis, it happened. I should have known that it was coming, this being a nursing home and all, but I had lied to myself for so long that it couldn't happen. People don't die. They just don't. I was a naive sod of a 20something. Our culture tells us that we will live forever, the next product will make you harder, better, faster, stronger. Buy this and you'll be a man, buy that and you'll have that perfect nerd appeal, put on this shirt and you'll get the ladies, watch this movie and you will finally fit in with the cool crowd. Death? Death is nowhere on the radar. Death is some sort of gag to be laughed at in the movies; not something that actually comes up and smacks you in the face when you are least expecting it.

There had been plenty of death in my past, but none of it had directly effected me. It had all happened behind closed doors and in dark corners... whispered about in hushed tones. Well I had just walked behind that closed door, I had brought a flashlight and I was listening very closely. Death could not remain a secret from me any longer.

Jim, one of the vocal Christians in the nursing home, whom I had seen attend my church more than once, was the first to go. He smiled the widest, laughed the brightest, and always thanked us whenever we were about to leave after singing. I felt his absence acutely. The next two that I saw fade and disappear were George and Marianne, a couple who were a transplant from Hungry. George had driven tanks in WWII, and they both loved to talk about how they met at a dance. They were never without each other, always clinging to the other's hand, never letting go. Marianne died in the late spring of this year... George managed to stick around for a week before he followed her.

After that, I couldn't bear to go to the home for quite some time. Months passed after I attended Jim's funeral, and I didn't go back. I had finally seen death's face, and I didn't want to look at it again anytime soon.

Summer came and went, as did money, friends, and the economy. Coming back for my senior year, I hadn't really thought about going back to the nursing home that much. That is until I was accosted on the street. Maybe 'accosted' is too strong a word, but I was approached. The guy who had been organizing and leading the singing at the home, himself having just got married, couldn't really take responsibility for coordinating the visits to the home anymore. He asked if I would be one of the regular attenders this year, and if so, would I be willing to actually lead the group, send out emails to invite people to come, etc. I told him I'd love to, and there I was... back at the nursing home every Tuesday.

The first challenge came in the form of trying to connect with the new residents. There are usually several categories of people there: (1) The people who don't know what's going on and love people, (2) The people who know what's going on but can't communicate it, and (3) the people who know what's going on, but are too filled with joy and Christ to care much about complaining. Jim fell into that last group, and my trips to the nursing home have never really been the same. I aspire to be like him when I am on my death bed.

But on my return to the home, I discovered a fourth type of resident: the person who knows exactly what is going on, and desperately needs to talk to someone about it. This came in the form of on Bonnie King, confined to the home because of an infection in her legs and no one wanted to take care of her. She had no mental defects that I could see, and from the first time we met she was very adamant in reminding me that she wasn't like "these people." She would gesture around her and point at the other residents, deaf, incoherent, needing love to be sure, but unable to communicate exactly what they needed on a hourly basis.

I first met Bonnie one Tuesday afternoon when I just walked up to one of the tables (we usually visit right as or after the residents are eating supper), plopped down a chair and began with my usual small talk.

"How are you all doing? How's your week been?" I asked in my best sunny day voice. Some nodded, some laughed, some said "just fine" and turned away. Bonnie mumbled under her breath.

"Big things, but can't talk... can't talk about them. Shouldn't talk about them."

I latch onto any verbal response I can get, so I pulled my chair in closer to Bonnie and asked, "Well, if you can't talk about those big things, can you at least talk about something?"

"Things aren't good," she looked at me pleadingly. Our relationship was on the fast track from there. After several minutes of talking with Bonnie, I got the impression that we were living in a 1984 world... where Big Brother was around every corner. She told me about financial pushing and rip offs, how the home owed several companies lots of money and then began jacking up prices for the residents. She detailed how little the workers in the home actually cared, how little they did to help the residents. She would quiet down or simply stop talking altogether when anyone else dared walk by, be they one of the workers, another resident, or even one of my peers come to bring some music and encouragement to the people sitting in the room.

The worst came right before we were going to sing though. While many of the things Bonnie tried to explain to me got convoluted and confused as she tried to explain them and I wouldn't understand, or she would lose track of where her train of thought was going... one part of the conversations stood out. Preceded by nothing, she gave the most damning critique of the home with her tears. She began crying and repeated over and over: "And I night, there's no one here. No other resident in my room... they're made for two people. At night I'm all alone... so alone..... so alone..."

I felt like a can of mace had just been released into my nostrils. I finally knew what was so wrong with this place. No one cares. I am often accused of caring too much; but I must admit, it does have its advantages. I go back and talk to Bonnie every week now. We just talk... about whatever she wants to talk about: politics, conspiracies, the hymns that we sing for the residents, my faith, her faith. And I resolve to never let this happen. My parents will be in my home till they die. They will not be alone. No one deserves to be alone. No one deserves to be abandoned.

JSTT

Learning to Keep Our Mouths Shut

I will readily admit that I do not do this enough myself, but I am changing that. And I thought I would just let everyone know a little bit about cultural differences, false assumptions and how they can both lead to miscommunication and hurt feelings.

First off, I'd like to clarify something with all my American readers: people from other countries like being from other countries. No, by and large, they do not want to be Americans. I am specifically talking about Canadians here. They are very content in their Canadianness, and do not need to be convinced otherwise. Telling a Canadian that they are practically an American for whatever reason is rather offensive.

One thing that we should remember is that our bias is showing. Often I speak out of ignorance, because I never bothered to learn about a different culture or event, etc. Only afterward do I realize that what I said was just because I am an American and should have known better. We need to keep this firmly in mind: as Americans, we are kind of oafish, and much of this comes from the vocal seculars and from our leaders. A good picture of this is Israel and their decline throughout the last half of the Old Testament. If the king was bad, the nation as a whole started to decay rapidly. This seems to be true of any nation, just look at Nero or Constantine. I know that those are extreme examples, but the point remains the same.

As Americans, we ought to realize that we often have a negative stigma, and come off a certain way to people of other nationalities. As Christians, we should be fighting that. We should be like the faithful few in Israel and be kind and considerate hosts and helpers. We should be looking for opportunities to display our better qualities.

I was at a wedding a few days ago, a Irish/French/American wedding, with a French and an American pastor officiating. And during the toasts at the reception, both pastors gave a brief toast. The American pastor's was quickly forgotten when the French pastor stood up and gave his blessing:

"The Irish are known for their loyalty, the French are known for their love of life, and Americans are known for their generosity. May you both be blessed with all three."

I chewed on his words for a long while. "Americans? Generous? Could it be?" But it's true, American CHRISTIANS are some of the most open-hearted, generous people I have ever met. May this truly be said of more of us. May we let our generosity speak more often than our mouths do.