As far as superheroes go, DC’s Batman has always been my absolute favorite.
Interestingly, there is nothing biologically superior about the man himself. Unlike the vast majority of heroic crusaders, he is not a mutant, an alien, nor some hybridized man-beast. He isn’t even a synthetically-enhanced person, for that matter. At the end of the day, he is just another human being with complicated struggles like everyone else.
But what makes him different from other human beings, interestingly enough, is also the very thing that distinguishes him from other heroes.
A mind that is driven towards reconciliation with the self.
It’s the very choices and life commitments that make Bruce Wayne a completely unique figure in the world of legends and heroes. Sure, every fictional hero has a backstory; a ‘raison d’être’ for taking on the mantle of justice, but the very fact that most of these figures are bolstered by some kind of biological or cosmic advantage almost seems to cheapen their resolve for restoring order. No doubt, we suspend such shallow judgments in order to enjoy the adventures they provide, but I still can’t help drawing that comparison when I think of the unusual circumstances that create a hero such as Bruce Wayne. And this is why I feel that Christopher Nolan’s legendary film Batman Begins is the most quintessential portrayal of the Dark Knight.
Nolan’s film is an extremely thoughtful and impressively-written piece of work, with Nolan himself credited as one of the writers, alongside David S. Goyer (whose previous writing on the film Dark City went largely underappreciated - but I digress). Just as it did in 2005 when it was first released, Batman Begins is a timeless story that is far more than just a superhero romp. It’s a poignant piece of narrative about loss, raw emotion, healing, adversity and the overcoming of self. As such, there is an impressive amount of inspirational quotes in the film, as well as a solid character arc that speaks expertly to the human condition.
Nolan’s depiction sees a young man torn by unimaginable grief who’s primary drive for revenge becomes so radicalized that he gradually loses touch with his heritage and, eventually, his own sense of identity. As his fateful mentor Henri Ducard aptly points out: “Are you so desperate to fight criminals that you lock yourself in to take them on one at a time?” One has to appreciate the subtle depth of a line such as this; the inference that Bruce, in his singular quest for revenge, has actually escaped to an inward prison where he can solace himself in making up his own rules while also blinding himself from the bigger picture. And while he tries to justify his meandering, criminal justice conquests in indistinct alleyways and remote prisons, he is nevertheless warned by his mentor that “whatever your original intentions, you have become truly lost.”
What ensues is a veritable ‘hero’s journey’ story in which the young Bruce is taught to face not only his intolerable grief, but also his deepest fears. He is eventually trained to gather, measure and finally channel his unbridled angst into a more decisive and focused brand of justice – one that is purpose-driven rather than purely reactive in nature. And this is such a dramatic contrast from the former version of who he was; the more impulsive Bruce who was appropriately advised to “mind your surroundings.” Over time, Bruce becomes more adept at observing the details, and draws a better distinction between right and wrong. As such, he can be seen to embrace his Jungian ‘shadow self’ and ultimately use it in forming his sense of meaning.
Bruce Wayne finally finds purpose in his life.
He finds a direction that is fueled by a meaning that’s actually sustainable. In this sense, ‘Batman’ is not his identity so much as it’s an extension of his purpose. In fact, after finally reuniting with his butler Alfred (following seven years of absence) he basically points out that while the Batman persona should become a ‘symbol’ more than anything else, it would not be the man himself. In saying this, we can see how he’s learning to yolk the dark shadow that has plagued his existence for so long, rather than living in a constant state of war with it. Having now mastered this ‘shadow’ self, he proceeds to wage a war on evil that is methodical, just and precise.
And this is where Nolan’s particular rendering strikes close to each of us. Like the younger and more emotionally-driven Bruce Wayne, many of us can find ourselves caught up in self-righteous agendas that only serve to stalemate our higher sense of purpose. In an impulsive move to correct moral wrongs, Bruce essentially buries himself in the criminal underworld and ultimately loses himself along the way. Likewise, there are times in our lives when we pursue a cause which seemingly eases our frustration but only ends up exacerbating our inner pain. But pain is never healed through vanity and avoidance. Like an addiction, we might simply tease its recovery through momentary, sensual expeditions, but we’re otherwise destined to remain locked in its jaws unless we dare to face it and learn from it.
For young Bruce, he is driven by the singular idea that his father’s death must be personally avenged. He quickly becomes fixated on the external adversary in this respect. Ducard, however, offers an alternative, sobering perspective to the effect that Bruce’s father is responsible for his own death, thus violating Bruce’s carefully-preserved trauma narrative. Understandably, Bruce lashes out at his mentor for disrupting his personal fairy tale – which only leads to him landing on his back in the process! The point here is that Bruce is being challenged to re-evaluate his origin story; to consider the possibility that he might be ascribing victimhood to incorrect agencies (such as his father) and likewise ascribing responsibility to inappropriate parties (such as himself). Noble as his self-determined origin story might be, it still falls short of the overall truth – which is that in order to make a true difference, a person must right their own demons before examining those of others.
Over the course of Bruce’s rigorous martial arts training he is essentially facing the parallel challenge of evaluating his own trauma narrative. This is not an easy task for a person who, up until this point, is fixed on a very simple directive. At its heart, his was very reactionary – much like our own at times. At any rate, like a true hero of the ages, he allows himself the humility of changing his outlook and focusing on a healthier synthesis of his emotions. He becomes less plagued by the lure of vengeance and grows more resolved in the higher quest for justice and order. Along this vein, he also makes a calculated choice to direct one of his greatest paranoias (bats) outward, rather than allowing it to take up residence in his psyche. If anything, he chooses to draw strength from it; he uses it as a tool to achieve a more meaningful goal. This, too, is rather Jungian in its unfolding. As Carl Jung himself has shared:
Whenever there is a reaching down into innermost experience, into the nucleus of personality, most people are overcome by fear and many run away…The risk of inner experience, the adventure of the spirit, is in any case alien to most human beings. The possibility that such experience might have psychic reality is anathema to them.
In short, the fictional journey of Nolan’s Batman is that of great interest to us, particularly as it pertains to the greater landscape of human experience. Loss is a very real thing, as is the complex phenomenon of trauma itself. But the most definitive thing about trauma is how it basically acts as an echo-chamber of an original injury. It is not the injury itself, but rather the ongoing expression of the injury, and more specifically the effect or impression that the injury continues to have on us (manifested through distorted beliefs, assumptions, avoidances, and especially our fears). Interestingly, while the young Bruce Wayne lay next to his dying parents, his father softly tried to reassure him with the simple words, “don’t be scared, Bruce.” If we were to infer more from this, we could conclude that his father – in his final moments of absolute nurturance – was trying to help his son avoid the tragic downfall of channeling his grief inward, and to instead press onward, as hard as it surely would be.
Grief and loss are inevitable, but how we face those things are purely our own choice.
As it happens, every one of us is challenged to revisit ourselves; to re-examine our personal relationship with trauma and loss and to try and discover who we actually are. But even more than this, we are gifted with the opportunity to take the raw material of what we see inside of ourselves and channel it into a cause for good.
Avoidance, on the other hand, only drives us to react. It compels us to bite and devour those who challenge our beliefs – those who might offer insight into our precious pathologies. Yet the alternative is forever before us.
This is why ‘Scarecrow’ serves as the most appropriate villain for Batman Begins. He is a psychiatrist (of all things) who preys on his victims’ worst fears in order to advance himself on the world stage. In fact, you could say that his eventual domination of Gotham City is built upon the unresolved fears of society at large. And this is why Bruce Wayne’s ability to face and navigate his own personal fears is so significant. By the time he encounters Scarecrow he’s able to resist the effects of his own demons and plough his way through the maelstrom of henchmen trying to kill him. This is yet another component of Wayne’s psychological journey and its impact on those around him. The fact is that he’s not necessarily rid of his fear completely, but he has mastered it enough in order to yolk some of its strength. As such, he becomes a beacon of hope for those who have yet to face their own paranoias. He becomes a symbol for self-mastery and overcoming.
And this is not to say that overcoming our pathologies is a swift and easy thing once we identify them either. We will most likely continue to stumble, and we will surely collapse a few times while we learn to master the martial art of self-discernment. But as Bruce’s father (and later his butler Alfred) exhorts in the film “why do we fall? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up.”
Perhaps one of the most telling moments in the film is when Bruce assures his friend Rachel that he is not a man reduced to mere ‘potential.’ We all have potential, after all. We all have a hidden drive to pursue something meaningful and to protect something of value. But how often do we channel this deep-seated drive? How frequently do we examine it and build it into our lives? Indeed, we are hardwired for potential, but all too often we succumb to the vanities of our pain and we hide behind its strange familiarity. Yet Bruce finally sees himself as one who has learned to take all his pain, suffering and hatred and weave it into a life of meaning and true contribution.
He says: “It’s not about who I am underneath, but what I do that defines me.”
None of us are going to be Superman. But every single one of us can be something far more heroic than that.
And you don’t even need the fancy black car.
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