PART FIVE
BEING THE BAT: INSIGHTS FROM EXISTENTIALISM AND TAOISM
14
ALFRED, THE DARK KNIGHT OF FAITH: BATMAN AND KIERKEGAARD
Christopher M. Drohan
The Saint
Alfred Pennyworth is a man of exceptional character. As butler to the illustrious Bruce Wayne, Alfred single-handedly manages all of Bruce’s domestic affairs. He also serves as Bruce Wayne’s confidant, and perhaps the closest thing that he has to a father. Ever since young Bruce saw his parents gunned down before his eyes, Alfred has been there to care for him. Only Alfred is privy to the horrific nightmares that haunt Bruce Wayne, and to the alter ego of Batman that they spawned.
Accordingly, Alfred bears another set of duties paralleling his work as a housekeeper. At a very different level, we must consider the role that Alfred plays knowing that Bruce Wayne is also Batman, for it is Alfred who mends his costumes, mans his digital networks, attends to the mechanics of his many “toys,” and carefully stitches Batman up every time he’s beaten to a pulp. When Batman is in the field, it’s Alfred who waits up all night for him, patiently watching Batman’s cameras and computers, ready to help him in any way that he can. On top of this, Alfred personally guards the security of the Batcave and the manor above it, going so far as to wrestle intruders to the ground.1
Alfred performs his tasks with prodigious energy, both physical and spiritual. His devotion to Wayne reveals his belief in a higher duty, an ethical obligation to serve another to the best of one’s ability. It nurtures his soul; after all, how else could he accomplish so much in so little time, and with such disregard for his own health, safety, and personal gain? Alfred was willing to lose his mind and even die for Batman.2 Why, he even claims to have been kidnapped twenty-seven times in his service!3 Taking no part in the notoriety of Bruce Wayne or Batman, Alfred certainly doesn’t do it for the fame. Rather, we’re astounded at his humility, for although Alfred is surely aware of the vital role he plays in the Dark Knight’s forays, he asks for no praise. Instead, he remains so humble that on the same day that he changes the tires on the Batmobile, programs Wayne Manor’s security systems, and reinvents Batman’s utility belt, he’ll happily clean toilets, as if there were no difference between the tasks.4
Through it all, Alfred exudes a level of commitment and faith that is reminiscent of mythical heroes: knights-errant, martyrs, or even saints. However, there is nothing quixotic about his mission, and at no point do we think of him as some kind of naive disciple of the cult of the bat. Alfred is too confident and self-assured to be that kind of man. In fact, he spends most of his time chastising Bruce for his recklessness, showing that his only concern is for his master’s well-being. While Alfred is obviously worried about Batman’s methods, his devotion to him nonetheless reveals that he ultimately believes in Batman’s conviction that justice can be realized concretely, and that Gotham can someday be a peaceful place.
In this chapter, the great Danish philosopher and theologian S?ren Kierkegaard (1813-1855) will help us understand Alfred’s loyalty to Batman. In particular, we will focus on Kierkegaard’s work Fear and Trembling, in which he compares two fundamentally different ethical orders. On the one hand, there are those like Batman, who champion infinite justice as their ethical ideal, while on the other, there are those like Alfred, who champion personal love, devotion, and faithfulness as the moral high ground. Although both ethics are noble in their own ways, in the end we’ll see that Alfred’s justice is superior, for, as Kierkegaard points out, “Faith is a miracle, and yet no man is excluded from it; for that in which all human life is unified is passion, and faith is a passion.”5 Whereas humanity may never realize infinite justice, we are all capable of being faithful to each other. Accordingly, Alfred, like Kierkegaard before him, understands that peace begins on an individual basis and that justice is served only when we treat each other with respect.
Justice: Law and Fairness versus Love and Devotion
For Batman, justice is first and foremost sociopolitical. Justice is served when life and liberty are protected, namely by the laws and legal institutions founded in justice’s name. These structures set clear boundaries for people’s behavior and stop them if they overstep these limits. Accordingly, Batman works hand and hand with the police and the justice system, the sworn protectors of law and order, because ultimately they’re the ones responsible for defending its justice.
However, Batman is the first to break the law if he deems it unjust, and the first to work against the police if they overstep the boundaries of either law or justice. Batman realizes that justice is something concrete that no legal system could ever completely capture. There are always situations that exceed abstract legal codes and precedents, moments when the laws are either too broad or too narrow. For example, few people would argue that stealing food to feed a starving family or jaywalking is morally reprehensible. Yet they are illegal, and subject to the full punishment of the law.
Considering that the law gets its power from justice, Batman’s ethical obligation belongs primarily to that very justice. Batman knows (like any juror, judge, or police officer) that every crime involves variables that our abstract laws cannot account for, and that the law must be interpreted so as to preserve its just mandate. When the law fails justice, as it sometimes does, Batman is forced to supersede it so as to restore the balance between justice and law, crime and punishment.
Like Batman, Alfred also believes in a concrete and non-abstract form of justice. For Alfred, justice isn’t so much a matter of social structure, but a personal matter of treating people with respect, kindness, and love. Alfred’s actions reflect his intrinsic belief that people are duty-bound to each other, and that justice occurs when one serves another to the best of one’s ability. But Alfred also views justice as duty, whereby he honors his promises, cares for those he is responsible for, and values the work he has chosen. Thus when Alfred agreed to serve the Wayne family, the commitment was a blood oath, a lifelong obligation to be broken only by dismissal or death.
Although we could say the difference between Batman and Alfred is the difference between social justice and personal justice, this would actually miss the point entirely. Whereas Batman shows us justice as law, peace, and fair institutions, Alfred shows us a much higher justice, that of justice as love and devotion. This kind of justice is inherently unfair, because there’s never a guarantee that one’s kind deed will be reciprocated. In fact, for Alfred, that’s rarely the case. Although Bruce Wayne treats Alfred with respect, he will never attend to Alfred like Alfred does him. Instead, Alfred passively accepts that his life is but a means to Wayne’s ends, and that his justice has been subordinated to Batman’s quest for social order.
The Absurdity of It All
And yet paradoxically, Alfred must willingly give himself and his justice over to Batman so that his own justice can be realized. The situation is entirely absurd! Alfred often feels that Batman’s justice is a misguided one, though in order for him to teach the young Bruce Wayne how to channel it positively, Alfred must follow Wayne’s orders so that this most stubborn student doesn’t abandon him entirely. In actuality, though, Alfred is only superficially led by Wayne. Tacitly he not only remains Wayne’s moral compass, but also his physical protector, feeding, clothing, and caring for him like one would a child.
Despite the absurdity of this situation, Alfred nevertheless retains his faith in Master Bruce, knowing that Wayne’s education will be a lifelong process. As his teacher, Alfred possesses a superior wisdom that only comes with age, and so his judgment is always ahead of Wayne’s, guiding his young apprentice toward a kindred inner peace. No matter how Bruce reciprocates his love and support, Alfred gives it unconditionally, never for a moment believing that he will not succeed in helping him calm his inner demons. Faith against all odds and faith amidst the absurd—this is Alfred’s existential condition.
Many philosophers have tried to describe our “existential condition.” It was Kierkegaard who observed that from the moment we are born, “man is not yet a self”:6 we each struggle to discover who we are and our relation to the world around us. Building on this idea, Heidegger (1889-1976) noticed that our existential condition is therefore a matter of “Being-in-the-world,” which “is as it is.”7 Regardless of whether we are born into a life of privilege and luxury, or one of pain and misery, we are all “thrown” into the world and must make of it whatever we can. This “thrownness” constitutes a perpetual state of anxiety for us, as we try to define ourselves distinctly from our environment and from the mass of other people surrounding us. This is what Kierkegaard called our “Sickness Unto Death,” a term borrowed from the Gospel of John 11:4. We “despair” at the absurd paradox of trying to constitute a unique identity amidst places and histories that existed before us, and despite the opinions and identities that others impose upon us.8 And yet the moment we define ourselves for others is the moment we succumb to their histories and definitions, never really arriving at our own individuality. Thus, “an existing individual is constantly in process of becoming,” says Kierkegaard.9
Jean-Paul Sartre (1905-1980) interpreted this idea positively. Being born without identity, we are therefore free to choose to become whatever or whomever we want: “First of all, man exists, turns up, appears on the scene, and, only afterwards, defines himself. If man, as the existential conceives him, is indefinable, it is because at first he is nothing. Only afterward will he be something, and he himself will have made what he will be.”10 “Sickness” or “despair” at life arises from the fact that we are all “condemned to be free.”11 However, being free, we then become completely responsible for choosing the ethic that will guide our lives, a choice that always involves a certain degree of absurdity. For instance, it is absurd that we will never really know the full impact of our ethical decisions, and how much or how little they affect others. It is absurd that our existence changes as we go through life, and that we constantly face new ethical decisions, while being haunted by those we’ve made in the past. It is absurd that someday we will die, and that all our ethical decisions may be in vain. And it is absurd that we exist with the faith that our life has meaning, without ever knowing what that meaning ultimately is.
Like Alfred, Bruce Wayne grapples with his own absurd existential predicament. To start with, imagine how the young Bruce felt as his parents were gunned down in front of him by Joe Chill. As his parents bled to death at his feet, we can imagine the child’s worldview shattering. Thereafter, he would seem to be damned to a life of grief. We wonder how it was that someone so traumatized could then find it within himself to dedicate his life to the pursuit of justice, a justice that he can never share in. When he finally meets Chill and has a chance to kill him, he instead takes pity on the man, realizing that Chill is a pathetic sot whose whole life is already a damnation.12 Batman must face the fact that killing Chill will neither absolve him of his past, nor bring the kind of justice he’s looking for. This realization becomes all the more absurd when Batman is forced to ally himself with Chill in order to stop the Reaper, inadvertently making Chill a tool of the same justice that Batman seeks.13 Furthermore, Chill’s mother, Mrs. Chilton, may have even helped raise Bruce Wayne, leaving us to wonder whether caring for Bruce caused her to neglect raising her own son, and if this could have, ironically, led to Joe’s life of crime.14 Regardless of all these twists of fate, Batman trudges on toward justice, desperately trying to make some good of his tragic life, so that his parents’ deaths were not in vain.
Absurdity, Irony, and Faith
The absurdity and irony that both Alfred and Batman face, and the way in which they both use their personal faith and belief to overcome them, remind us of the biblical character Abraham, whom Kierkegaard once used as a philosophical model of the perfect man of faith. As the story goes, Abraham and his wife Sarah had been trying for many years to have a baby, so that they would have an heir to their family name and fortune. With both of them nearing old age, it seemed impossible that Sarah would ever bear a child. However, the Bible tells us that as a reward for upholding his covenant to God, and for worshipping no other, Abraham and Sarah were finally blessed by Him with a son, Isaac.
After so many years trying, the couple was astounded at this gift of life, and loved Isaac dearly. However, unbeknownst to Abraham, God had another test of faith in store for him. One day he called to Abraham, saying, “Take your son Isaac, your only one, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah. There you shall offer him up as a holocaust on a height that I will point out to you” (Genesis 22:2). Abraham was astounded, for God was asking him to sacrifice the very gift He had given him, his only son, whom he loved more than anyone else on Earth. And yet despite the absurdity of the request, Abraham submitted to God’s task.
Kierkegaard remarks on this moment in Abraham’s life, saying: “He believed by virtue of the absurd; for there could be no question of human calculation, and it was indeed the absurd that God who required it of him should the next instant recall the requirement. He climbed the mountain, even at the instant when the knife glittered he believed . . . that God would not require Isaac.”15 When Kierkegaard tells us that it was by “virtue of the absurd” that Abraham believed, he means that Abraham was able to trust God because what he was being asked to do was unfathomable. That he could find no reason for God to give him such an impossible task did not dissuade him; instead, it actually made him believe in its necessity. Rather than speculate at God’s motives, Abraham instead simply trusted in God, for God had never let him down and had never betrayed his blind obedience.
Batman, the Knight of the Infinite Resignation
Just like Abraham resigned his will to the dreadful task that God asked of him, Batman, too, “believe[s] by virtue of the absurd.”16 The pain of his parents’ death could have destroyed him, for “sorrow can derange a man’s mind,” yet he managed, like Abraham, to find a “strength of will which is able to haul up so exceedingly close to the wind that it saves [his] reason, even though he remains a little queer.”17 Psychologically, Bruce Wayne is scarred and somewhat neurotic, though he takes his trauma and reshapes it. His neuroses are transformed into weapons, as he uses what would otherwise defeat his will as a means to propel it. By allying himself with his fears, Batman allows them to pass from his heart into the hearts of his enemies. Accordingly we must look at the suit, the car, the bat-signal, and so on as artistic and therapeutic creations whereby Bruce Wayne converts his internal fears into external objects, so that those who oppose justice can see the terror they truly inspire, ironically making these villains suffer the same violent trauma they try to inflict upon others.
Externalizing and organizing his pain in this way, Bruce Wayne is able to again carry himself self-assuredly. In the face of the absurd, he has confidence in a more infinite justice, to which he resigns himself. Kierkegaard tells us that “resignation [is] the surrogate for faith,”18 for as a person resigns himself to what is infinitely just, that justice becomes the crux of his very existence, and the ground for his faith. At once he feels that his life has meaning, and he looks beyond his own pain and suffering toward easing the pain and suffering of others. Bruce Wayne regains his confidence precisely at the moment he devotes himself to helping others, realizing that if only people were more inclined toward protecting and enforcing justice, perhaps the tragedy of his parents’ death might not have occurred.
Once people have gained such confidence in the meaning of their lives, they take on a certain air. No longer are they content to passively participate in the world; instead they strive to take control of their life, using it as a means toward something greater. In this way, Kierkegaard says that these confident souls are more like knights, unwavering in their mission and completely devoted to their just cause. Batman is one of these “knights of infinite resignation,” for he has dedicated his life toward sowing infinite justice. His poise discloses his calling: “The knights of the infinite resignation are easily recognized: their gait is gliding and assured.”19 Having found a higher reason for living, these knights glide toward it like bats in the night soaring from one rooftop to another, plunging at it blindly, but without fear, for they are not afraid to die in the name of what is glorious. Their life is now but a means to an infinite end, an end that surpasses all other concerns, including self-preservation.
Alfred, the Knight of Faith
In contrast, Alfred Pennyworth is a knight of a different breed. He is not devoted to some infinite and ideal virtue, but to a humble trade. He strives not to make the infinite real, but to preserve only one man: Bruce Wayne. Why? Because in doing so he serves two purposes. First, so long as Bruce Wayne and Batman are preserved, so is their justice. Thus Alfred realizes the same justice as Batman does, but does so vicariously. Second, he then surpasses this justice by simultaneously realizing love, which is to say a justice made tangible in the instant. Whereas Batman’s infinite justice is never complete, and always something to come or some future state of order and peace to be attained, Alfred’s loving justice is always at hand, and made real in the moment. Justice as love fulfills itself in the very movement in which it is made: the smile that follows a touch; the comfort of knowing that someone else is there for you; or the confidence that comes from having people around you that you can trust. Accordingly, Alfred sees justice in everything he does: how he can ease Batman’s pain with a little medical care; how he can calm Batman’s tortured soul with a few nice words and a homemade sandwich; or in any one of his witty remarks, which help to ground Batman and remind him of his tendency to overreact.
The paradox of this higher ethic is that on the surface it looks so ordinary, so banal. Whereas the knights of infinite resignation look confident and self-assured, “those on the other hand who carry the jewel of faith are likely to be delusive, because their outward appearance bears a striking resemblance to that which both the infinite resignation and faith profoundly despise . . . to Philistinism.”20 Oddly enough, the knights of faith give no sign of their ethical bent, nor do they express any of the panache found in the knight of infinite resignation. Rather, they look and act like ordinary and unenlightened people—Philistines. Kierkegaard describes the typical knight of faith, saying:
The moment I set eyes on him I instantly push him from me, I myself leap backwards, I clasp my hands and say half aloud, “Good lord, is this the man? Is it really he? Why, he looks like a tax-collector!” . . . I examine his figure from tip to toe to see if there might not be a cranny through which the infinite was peeping. No! He is solid through and through. His tread? It is vigorous, belonging entirely to finiteness; no smartly dressed townsman who walks but to Fresberg on a Sunday afternoon treads the ground more firmly, he belongs entirely to the world, no Philistine more so. One can discover nothing of that aloof and superior nature whereby one recognizes the knight of the infinite. He takes delight in everything, and whenever one sees him taking part in a particular pleasure, he does it with the persistence which is the mark of the earthly man whose soul is absorbed in such things. He tends to his work. So when one looks at him one might suppose that he was a clerk who had lost his soul in an intricate system of book-keeping, so precise is he. He takes a holiday on Sunday. He goes to church.21
The knight of faith looks like a tax collector, a clerk, or in this case a butler, dressing as plain as any, and carrying on with the daily grind. Alfred dresses conservatively, keeps a pleasant demeanor, and is meticulously organized, just like Kierkegaard’s man of faith.
In contrast, the knights of infinite resignation are spectacular, their armor matching their self-assurance, and their deeds expressing infinite flair. Batman’s costume and his toys announce his heroic presence as much as they proclaim the metaphysical justice he stands for—some final kingdom of peace on Earth. While his work is nothing short of magnificent, epic in all its dimensions, how meager the knights of faith seem in the shadow of such an idol! Their dress is nothing special; their deeds are routine.
The real difference between these two, however, has nothing to do with the attention they draw to themselves. While the knights of infinite resignation are always waiting for some future ideal state, the knights of faith have found it, and are living it presently. Their eternity is not to come, but is found in the moment, as they realize that in loving and serving others they exercise the kind of fellowship that will infinitely sustain humanity. For them, peace on earth must be made with every gesture and every action. And it starts by committing ourselves to another person and by helping that person in every way that we can.
Alfred knows that if we all treated others in this way there would be no need for Batman, or for any type of coercive justice for that matter. And so he acts as a model for Batman, like some sage who follows Bruce Wayne around, if only to remind him of the true face of a justice here and now, and not a justice to come. This is why Alfred’s solitude never brings him malaise, and why he “takes delight in everything.”22 Every little deed he does for Bruce Wayne reinforces his faith, for he not only helps him survive, but also subtly inspires Wayne by his good example.
Like Kierkegaard’s knight of faith, “[he] is no fool,”23 for he chooses his profession so as to serve a misguided although otherwise good man. If anyone, Batman is the fool, recklessly chasing criminals to the point where he nearly gets killed. Alfred, on the other hand, is realistic about the type of justice he can accomplish with his life; as Kierkegaard writes:
Fools and young men prate about everything being possible for a man. That, however, is a great error. Spiritually speaking, everything is possible, but in this world of the finite there is much which is not possible. This impossible, however, the knight makes possible by expressing it spiritually, but he expresses it spiritually by waiving his claim to it.24
Unlike Batman, Alfred does not foolishly seek out some type of justice for all, but only justice for the one person he cares for, Bruce Wayne. He waves his claim to the type of lofty justice that Batman is committed to, knowing that he is incapable of fighting crimes like Batman. Instead of combating felons on the street, he chooses to fight the tyranny of the soul that has made Bruce Wayne so cynical, and shattered his faith in humanity.
Toward this end, Alfred commits his whole life and the entirety of his faith, his honor coming from his vow. Alfred remains a knight because he never wavers from his commitment to help Batman. Were he to do so, he would abandon moral duty in favor of moral speculation. Batman’s life would henceforth become a means to Alfred’s own happiness, instead of an end in itself. Serving Batman unconditionally, though, Alfred avoids this moral contradiction. In remaining faithful to Batman, Alfred remains faithful to himself, to his past oath of duty, and to his ethical belief. And this, Kierkegaard tells us, ultimately is “Love.”25 By sacrificing his own life for the betterment of Bruce Wayne’s, Alfred demonstrates that he truly loves Bruce Wayne in the most selfless way possible. This is the kind of love that has “assumed a religious character,” a creed of love, whereby he dutifully cares for Bruce with all his heart, will, and effort.26
Paradox and Peace
Never for a second does Alfred stop remembering the commitment he made to the young Bruce Wayne the night his parents died, and how he made a secret oath there and then to stand by the suffering boy until Bruce became a whole person again. This oath and this remembrance are a constant pain for Alfred, for he is the one who must stand by and watch Batman struggle to attain his faith, a faith that Batman remains ignorant of because of his complete resignation to an infinite and ideal (and therefore impossible) justice. Alfred’s pain is like that of a father watching his child grow, of seeing the naiveté and idealism of youth and hoping that someday it will take on more realistic proportions. With the same love and affection that a father would give, Alfred relentlessly tries to teach Bruce Wayne justice as love, hoping beyond hope that he can lead him toward his own work of faith someday.
In the end, the story of Batman and Alfred, like the story of Abraham and the ethic of Kierkegaard, is analogous with our own personal struggles to find purpose and meaning in life. It is a story of struggling against impossible odds, of faith despite suffering and tragedy, and the wholehearted belief that our lives can make a real difference in the world. We must aspire to become “knights of faith,” whose sanguine devotion approaches religiosity, leading us to an ethic of hope and cheerfulness: “Faith therefore is not an aesthetic emotion but something far higher, precisely because it has resignation as its presupposition; it is not an immediate instinct of the heart, but is the paradox of life and existence.”27
Abraham’s paradox is that of a completely altruistic father, who loves his child despite knowing that his son may be destined to suffer from forces he can never protect the boy from. Batman’s paradox is that he has resigned his life to an impractical justice, a completely ideal justice, that no one person could ever possibly instantiate on their own, while Alfred’s paradox is the paradox of concrete faith, of loving and believing in Bruce Wayne despite his faults, hoping that someday soon the both of them will be at peace, and that Batman will find the justice he seeks.
NOTES
1 See Batman #16 (April-May 1943), which is also Alfred’s first appearance.
2 Alfred saves Batman and Robin by pushing them out of the way of a falling boulder in Detective Comics #328 (June 1964), and he is revived by a mad scientist in Detective Comics #356 (Oct. 1966).
3 See Batman: Gotham Adventures #16 (Sept. 1999).
4 See the interview with Bat-Tzu in chapter 20 of this book for more about Alfred’s humility.
5 S?ren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling and the Sickness Unto Death (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1970), 77.
6 Ibid., 146.
7 Martin Heidegger, Being and Time (San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco, 1962), 84.
8 Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 146.
9 S?ren Kierkegaard, Concluding Unscientific Postscript (Princeton, NJ: Princeton Univ. Press, 1941), 176.
10 Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism (New York: Philosophical Library, 1947), 18.
11 Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness (New York: Gramercy Books, 1956), 439.
12 The Dark Knight Returns (1986).
13 Batman: Year Two (1987).
14 The Untold Legend of the Batman #1 (July 1980).
15 Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling, 47.
16 Ibid.
17 Ibid.
18 Ibid., 46.
19 Ibid., 49.
20 Ibid., 49.
21 Ibid., 48-49.
22 Ibid., 49.
23 Ibid., 52.
24 Ibid., 47.
25 Ibid.
26 Ibid., 54.
27 Ibid., 58.