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IS IT RIGHT TO MAKE A ROBIN?
James DiGiovanna
What Should a Batman Do?
Batman and Robin, the Dynamic Duo, the Dark Knight and the Boy Wonder—what could sound more natural? But no matter how familiar and right it sounds, you may ask yourself: is it really okay for Batman to train a young boy to be Robin in order to send him out to fight dangerous criminals? To answer this question, we turn to ethics, the branch of philosophy that considers questions like “What should I do? How should I live my life? What sort of person should I be?”
Let’s say, for example, that you have a superior intellect, an unsurpassed martial prowess, and a haunting memory of watching your parents being killed by a criminal. You might answer these ethical questions by saying, “I should probably put on a cape and cowl and slip into the dark of night to violently stop criminals from engaging in their nefarious deeds.” Or perhaps you might answer these questions with “I should get some therapy. I should become a less obsessed and more humane person. I should be a caring nurturer.” (But then few people would write comic book stories about you.)
What about this: suppose you find an orphaned boy living on the streets, and you want to help him. What should you do? It seems that the morally acceptable answers include turning him over to social services, finding a home for him, and adopting and caring for him yourself. But what about putting him in a costume, training him to fight crime, and exposing him to constant danger in the name of refining and improving his skills and character? This is what Batman did with Robin . . . twice (Dick Grayson and Jason Todd)! It’s harder to imagine that this would be as morally acceptable as turning him over to the state, and so on. And yet, throughout history, many people have taken a similar path in raising children. Ancient Spartans, medieval European royalty, and New Guinean warriors have all exposed young boys to potentially lethal danger in the name of making them into proper adults. While only the medieval Europeans dressed their children in capes and symbols, there’s still something rather Batman-like about the behavior of all these people.1
Can we justify this sort of child rearing? Can we excuse Batman’s penchant for taking young boys and throwing them at vicious criminals who dress up like clowns? These issues form the core of ethical questions concerning the appropriate rearing and education of Robin, and they also form the basis for this chapter.
The Duty of the Superhero
Ethics could be defined as the attempt to live by a set of rules or duties, where it’s necessary to follow some of these rules or act on some of these duties regardless of the consequences, simply because the duty itself is most important. We call this deontological ethics, from the Greek word deon, meaning “duty.” The most important deontological ethicist is Immanuel Kant (1724-1804), who famously held that the most important duties must be universal and categorical. “Categorical” means “without exception”—in other words, I can’t choose a duty and then think of cases where it doesn’t apply, or choose not to apply it in some particular instance. So, for example, Kant says that there’s an ethical duty not to tell lies. Suppose that Batman was captured by the Joker, and the Joker wanted to know where Robin was. Batman could certainly say nothing, or dodge the question, but he couldn’t lie to the Joker and say that Robin was in some location where Batman had set a trap for the Joker unless Robin was actually there, because that would violate the duty to tell no lies.2
“Universal” means that the rule applies to everyone; in other words, we should ask of any given act, “What if everyone did this?” or as Kant puts it, “Act only according to that maxim [the rule I propose to follow] whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.”3 Kant argues that if your maxim doesn’t “universalize” in this way, then it can’t be ethical, because everyone has to be able to live by the same moral rules that you do, and no one person can make exceptions for himself.
So let’s consider Jason Todd, the second Robin, whom Batman decided to train after he found Jason trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile.4 If we want to be Kantian deontologists, we’ll have to ask, “Is this in accord with a rule that is categorical (has no exceptions) and universal (applies to everyone)?” Batman’s maxim could be something like this: “If you see an orphan stealing your hubcaps, you should put him in a bright red-and-yellow costume and send him out to fight the Penguin.” This hardly seems universal, so maybe Kant would argue that it’s immoral to do this.
But maxims are rarely this specific; after all, if everyone followed the maxim “Become a philosopher,” the world would surely screech to a halt, but becoming a philosopher hardly seems immoral. “Become whatever makes you happy” or “Make use of your talents” would be more general and more easily universalized. Likely, we could reformulate the Jason Todd maxim to read “Do what you can to help orphans”—that’s certainly universalizable, and it fits with Kant’s general duty of helping others. Of course, helping orphans doesn’t necessarily include “Send the orphans out to fight psychotic criminals in Halloween costumes.” In fact, we would probably think that it should be a universal rule to safeguard children from harm while you help them. In this sense, a duty to safeguard children places limits on what you can do to help them. If we accept this, then Batman is not a very good Kantian, at least on this score, because he does expose Robin to harm.
Using Robin for the General Good
Ethics could also be defined as the process of figuring out which of our actions would produce the best outcome, and then following that course of action. This is called consequentialist ethics, because it’s concerned with the consequences of our actions more so than with their inherent moral rightness. Utilitarians such as Jeremy Bentham (1748-1832) and John Stuart Mill (1806-1873) argue that an action is morally good insofar as its consequences promote the most benefit, payoff, or pleasure for the greatest number of people.5 In opposition to the deontological position that says “Safeguard children,” or at least “Don’t expose children to grievous harm,” the utilitarian perspective could be used by Batman to justify placing Robin in danger if doing so promotes the general good of Gotham City. If training Robins does more good for the citizens of Gotham than it costs in time, punching bags, and injuries, then the utilitarian would find it justified.
But what about the Robins themselves? After all, Jason Todd was famously bludgeoned to death by the Joker. Isn’t their sacrifice too high a price to pay, even if their service to Gotham helps many people in return? Utilitarians are notorious for justifying the treatment of persons as means to the greater good of the majority, even if it means harming those persons who are used in the process. For example, if the greater consequence of saving the group from some evildoer requires killing one, two, or even a hundred people in the process, then, on utilitarian grounds, this seems morally correct. So we can presume that Batman may agree that putting his young sidekicks in danger is justified due to the good consequences for the community.6 But we know Batman will never sacrifice the life of an innocent bystander to catch a criminal. So he applies this logic only to those he trains, who have also volunteered for the job. (But then again, what young boy wouldn’t?) So while the training of Robins can be explained by utilitarian thinking on the part of Batman, this thinking only goes so far.
Crime Fighting and Character
Is there another way to understand Batman’s ethical decision-making process? His decision to train Robins for crime fighting could stem from virtue ethics, which emphasizes general character traits, called virtues or excellences, rather than judging specific acts (as deontology and utilitarianism do). Virtue ethics also takes into account differences, such as differences of character, the different roles people play, and the different cultures in which they live. While he strives to uphold abstract moral principles that he thinks are always right, Batman seems to understand that different sorts of characters demand different sorts of actions. Not everyone should be a Batman or a Robin. The specific character type needed to be a superhero is not suited to everyone, and society demands different roles from each of us.
It might be possible to justify Batman’s course of action because he instills in Robin a specific character that, while not appropriate for everyone, is still proper and necessary in its relation to the larger culture.7 In other words, Robin may have a role to play that makes the world a better place, and Batman may be making Jason Todd a better person by turning him into Robin, even if it’s not universally true that men who dress up like bats should turn tire-stealing orphans into living weapons of justice.
Plato (428-348 BCE) was the first Western philosopher to write in the tradition of virtue ethics.8 He believed that different ethical norms applied to different persons, depending on their role in society. Nonetheless, universal ethical rules applied to everyone, so in certain aspects everyone was ethically the same, whereas in the specific ethical demands of different societal roles, different ethical imperatives would be at play.
Virtue ethics faded into near obscurity in the early modern era. But in the twentieth century, philosophers including Michael Slote, Martha Nussbaum, and Alasdair MacIntyre argued that there were problems with the deontological and utilitarian ethics that were alleviated by virtue ethics.9 The deontologists and utilitarians could discuss right action, but they seemed incapable of saying how it was that someone came to be able to make right decisions. Deontological and utilitarian theories are sometimes called “act” or “rule” ethics, since they deal with individual actions and the universal rules that apply to them. What they don’t deal with, generally, is the training needed to create the sort of character who would be inclined to act morally. Deontology and utilitarianism seem to imply that simply understanding the ethical theory should be enough; anyone who knew best would, or should, do best. But it’s clear that we can know something is wrong and still do it, through weakness of the will, for example.
Further, it seems clear that certain things that we think are good aren’t necessarily good for everyone in every set of circumstances. For example, police officers can arrest people, commandeer vehicles, and use deadly force in certain situations. But we don’t want ordinary citizens acting like this. So something about the specific role of the police officer requires some specific ethical rules, even if ultimately all the societal roles must abide by certain overarching rules. Importantly, police officers undergo training to learn about their role, and only after they have been properly trained and, one hopes, instilled with the proper character, are they allowed to act as police officers. This is why the founders of virtue ethics, Plato and Aristotle (384-322 BCE), emphasized building character, noting the importance of training someone to be ethical, rather than simply explaining how to be ethical.
In his book After Virtue, Alasdair MacIntyre argues that character is created over the course of a lifetime by the manner in which we act. MacIntyre agrees with Plato, who thought that first we behave morally, and then we learn morality. In brief, we don’t explain ethics to a child, we simply say no. Only when people are older and have already internalized virtuous behavior are they capable of understanding the abstract reasons for behaving virtuously or morally. At that point, one can fully engage in philosophical thinking about ethical behavior and perform the kinds of ethical thought experiments that deontologists and consequentialists think of as the heart of ethics, that is, deducing general rules and effectively thinking about outcomes.
At first, we learn ethics by being reprimanded when we misbehave, and rewarded when we behave properly. If we wish to instill certain specific virtues, like courage, we must test the person who is to be given this character. Courage comes from facing danger. So if a child is to become courageous, he must encounter some dangers. If we see that the child has a natural propensity for courage, he becomes a good candidate for the role of soldier or police officer. We then increase the training in courage, adding other virtues, including gentleness and moderation, to slowly mold the character desired.
Without experience in ethical behavior, and general experience of the world, this sort of thought is likely to be misguided, and without the moral character to carry through on our ethical thinking, it’s likely to be ineffective. Without background training in good behavior, no amount of abstract knowledge of good behavior will suffice. No matter how much theorizing we do, without the background in action, our propensity to act selfishly and without virtue will overcome our knowledge of better ways to be.
Can Batman Train Robin in Virtue?
So when Batman takes Robin under his wing, he doesn’t just explain the superhero ethic to him; he trains Robin, teaching him by example and experience the ways of the superhero. But still, we have questions about the moral rightness of this: one could, for example, train a boy to be a thief, giving him the “virtues” of the criminal. Virtue ethics also demands that we decide the kind of training we should use, what sort of ethical character we should try to create. For this we will have to, like the deontologists and consequentialists, appeal to general rules, and like the consequentialists in particular, ask, “What kind of person do we want to train a young person to be?”
Although virtue ethics concerns training, not everyone can receive the training for every role; if someone shows a natural propensity for certain virtues, those virtues can be honed. But if someone strongly lacks certain virtues, it may simply be impossible to train such a person to take on a role that requires those virtues. Take Jason Todd, for instance; Jason had the virtue of courage, but he also had the vices of harshness and rashness. He took delight in roughing up villains and made many impetuous decisions that put Batman and himself in danger. In terms of Jason’s ethical training, Batman seems to have failed in two ways: he failed in providing moderating virtues, and also in changing the underlying character of his young ward.
Batman faced a couple of difficulties in training Jason Todd. First, Todd’s character was already shaped by his life of crime. Second, Batman’s focus has always been on training in fighting, courage, and action. He was simply unprepared to train Robin in gentleness and moderation of courage. Probably as a result of these failures, Jason rushed into battle with the Joker and was killed, a tragedy that has haunted Batman ever since (even after Jason’s recent resurrection).
Sometimes Heroes Fail
But how could Robin have been saved? In the end, sometimes moral character will escape us no matter how good our intentions, or those of our teachers. Yet virtue is always worth pursuing; had Batman not made the virtuous choice in his own intense training, he would never have become Batman.10 While the deontologists’ rules and the consequentialists’ emphasis on outcomes can help us make moral choices, they make it seem as though morality was simply a matter of making the right choices. Sometimes, virtue ethics admits, even the best intentions are incapable of producing a morally good outcome because of the multitude of constraints upon the development of character. As Jason Todd discovered, sometimes failure is simply a fact of the moral life. Perhaps Jason was simply unfit for the role of superhero, lacking the natural propensity or inclination. (Indeed, after his resurrection, he became more of an antihero, choosing to kill criminals.) In that case, Batman should have placed him in some other role—as it happened, he did ultimately suspend Jason from superhero training late in his career (but by then it was too late). Or perhaps Jason Todd simply needed a kind of training that Batman could not give him.
We can now return to a question from the beginning of this chapter: Is Batman’s decision to train Robin morally permissible? No matter how you may answer based upon a particular ethical perspective, what seems clear is, in the context of this issue, Batman is a lousy deontologist, a decent consequentialist, and, most assuredly, some kind of a virtue ethicist. And without being the world’s greatest detectives (or philosophers), we’ll have to leave it at that!
NOTES
1 See Barbara Greenleaf’s Children through the Ages: A History of Childhood (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1978).
2 See Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals [1785], translated by James W. Ellington (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Co., 1993). Kant gives almost this exact example in his essay On a Supposed Right to Lie from Philanthropic Concerns (1799), where he said that you could not lie to a murderer who asked you the location of his intended victim (who is hiding in your house). (This essay is included in this edition of Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals).
3 Kant, Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, 421.
4 We’ll focus on Jason because of his beginnings as a street punk (at least in post-Crisis on Infinite Earths continuity), and because of his tragic end (in 1988’s A Death in the Family).
5 Jeremy Bentham, The Principles of Morals and Legislation [1781] (Buffalo, NY: Prometheus Books, 1988); John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism [1863] (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing Company, 2002).
6 For utilitarian arguments defending use of people for various means, see Peter Singer, Practical Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1993). Kant argued strongly against this position, requiring that persons must never be used simply as means to an end, without also being considered as ends themselves (Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, 429).
7 One of the leading figures in twentieth-century virtue ethics is Alasdair MacIntyre, who, in his seminal volume After Virtue (Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame Press, 1984), defined “character” as the fusing of role and personality (p. 28). In other words, in character we have what someone does, which could be their job, vocation, or calling, and their underlying inclinations, desires, and attitudes coming together to form a whole. MacIntyre notes that the Greek word that forms the basis for “ethics” and the Latin word that forms the basis for “morality” both roughly translate as “pertaining to character” (p. 38).
8 See Plato’s Republic, trans. G. Grube (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1992). The writings of the Chinese philosopher Confucius (551-479 BCE), which predate those of Plato, are often considered in the realm of virtue ethics. Homer (seventh century BCE) also wrote works that contribute to the virtue ethical tradition, but as a poet, and not in the form of philosophical writings that argue for the place of virtue ethics.
9 MacIntyre’s After Virtue is a sustained attempt to criticize the ethics of the modern world. Martha Nussbaum’s The Fragility of Goodness (Cambridge: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1986) is less polemical and tries to lay out what a virtue ethic that respected human fragility would look like. Michael Slote’s From Morality to Virtue (Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1992) tries to recapitulate and justify the movement back toward thinking about the virtues in twentieth-century ethical thought.
10 See the chapter by Ananth and Dixon in this book for more on the ethics of the decision to become Batman.