written by JOHN MARK MINES | MATURITY, IDENTITY, REDEMPTION
I dare do all that may become a man.
Macbeth
Who dares do more is none.
No Capes
Growing up comes with big expectations. Like most romantic idealizations, these expectations reach beyond the realm of possibility. For men, the masculinity paradox is embodied by a modern motif: the superhero.
Superheroes are more than human. Whether by birth on Krypton or radioactive spider bite, fate has destined them for greatness. They aren’t just human; they are more.
su·per /ˈso͞opər/
prefix: above; over; beyond.
On the surface, superheroes are just people with special powers. They fly, climb, or run really fast. At first, the powers are gimmicks. Over time, they use their very particular set of skills to save the world.
But that’s not all. These powers mean superheroes have something to hide. The alter ego allows superheroes to be normal and special at the same time. “He’s completely covered,” creator Stan Lee said in an interview describing his character Spider-Man, “so any kid could imagine he’s Spider-Man.”
The secret identity allows Superman to be both super and man. In reality, he is neither: he’s an alien that doesn’t belong. Yet he can oscillate between personas at will. Superiority and humanity are just a wardrobe change away.
When boys dream about growing up, they don’t dream about becoming men. That’s not enough. They want to be more.
Which begs the question: why is being a man not good enough?
Man vs. Wild
“I don’t have money,” fictional father Bryan Mills says intensely in the movie Taken. “But what I do have are a very particular set of skills… Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you.” Mills demands the kidnappers release his daughter, or else: “I will look for you. I will find you. And I will kill you.”
Spoiler alert: he does. Ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low enough to keep him from getting to her. In the end, he’s a hero.
In a movie like Taken, audiences are amazed at Mills’ heroics. Here’s what’s not shocking: that kidnapping exists in the first place.
Like Star Wars, masculinity has a dark side. Unlike Star Wars, it’s real. The term “toxic masculinity” is relatively new; the practice isn’t. Ever since Cain killed Abel, the difference between hero and villain is as narrow as the space between kin.
History is smothered in male toxicity. Hitler, Stalin, and Mao killed over 100 million people through war, famine, and genocide. Men orchestrated the enslavement of 12.5 million Africans in the Atlantic slave trade. Prejudice and inequality were enshrined in laws written, passed, and enforced by men.
Today, the toxicity continues. Modern-day men commit 90% of murders in America. The prison population is 93% male. Men are four times more suicidal than women. They are lagging in employment and education. Children are about four times more likely to be without a father than a mother.
Boys notice. They realize that in movies like Taken there’s a thousand bad guys for a single good guy. Statistically, they are more likely to be Cain than Abel. The odds are not in their favor, and they know it.
Somewhere I Belong
Superpowers provide a way out. With their capes and colors and costumes, superheroes aren’t statistics. They break from the mold. To be super is to be free from the status quo. It’s a license to be different.
Superheroes come in all different shapes and sizes. They can be strong like Superman or disabled like Professor X. They can be beautiful like Wonder Woman or blue like Mystique. Superheroes transcend stereotypes.
Which brings us back to the secret identity. Like the rest of us, kids want to stand out and fit in at the same time. They want it both ways.
Fortunately, standing out doesn’t mean standing alone. Deemed too spoiled and preppy, Carlton Banks was rejected by a fraternity for not being “black” enough in the ’90s sitcom The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. His response was simple: “Being black isn’t what I’m trying to be. It’s what I am.”
In his way, Carlton is a superhero. He embraces his personality and privilege while honoring his race and heritage. He is black and more at the same time. He found what every boy longs for: to be man and more; to belong without having to conform. And he found it by being himself.
Not all of us have Carlton’s confidence. Unfortunately for kids, and some adults too, they don’t know who they are. Or, rather, they haven’t decided yet.
The War Within
Superheroes fight bombastic battles. They save the damsel in distress, the fate of mankind, or 50% of the universe. To get to the boss round, they must win another battle entirely: a dance with their own demons.
The dramatics are just window dressing. The outward battle is symptomatic of an internal struggle. The superpowers force the individual to decide: should I be a hero, or a villain?
In fiction, villains always mirror the hero. Batman exercises restraint; the Joker spreads chaos. Peter Pan embodies optimistic youth; Captain hook is old and bitter. Professor X creates safety through freedom; Magneto offers protection through control.
The protagonist and antagonist waltz with symmetry. As father and son, Darth Vader and Luke Skywalker fight the fears inside them more than they fight each other. In the end, evil isn’t an enemy; it’s a temptation.
Power is impartial; both heroes and villains can be super. The same Force flows through Jedi and Sith alike. The difference isn’t their ability, but their choices. Power doesn’t make you a hero; decisions do.
I Get Up Again
There’s one last piece to the superhero puzzle. After the superpowers, secret identities, and moralities have all been addressed, there’s one more challenge: redemption.
“We’ve all been raised to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars,” Tyler Durden says in Fight Club. “But we won’t… And we’re very, very pissed off.”
Fight Club captured the angst of a generation of men. Fueled by frustration over their own impotence, they hurt themselves to feel alive. They bring the world down to their level. If they can’t be Batman, they’ll settle for being the Joker.
Fight Club is a movie about identity. The protagonist and antagonist are literally the same person. He can be good or evil; either way, he’s being himself. Both are manly; one is toxic, the other is not.
No one is exclusively good or evil. No one is immune from toxicity. The heroic arc, then, isn’t about perfection, but redemption.
Even heroes need vindication. Bruce Wayne blamed himself for his parents’ death. Peter Parker let Uncle Ben’s killer go free. Simba fled Pride Rock in shame. Even Mills was an estranged father. Despite their best intentions, these heroes had some making up to do.
Though the righteous man falls seven times,
Solomon
he rises again.
Mistakes move us one step toward the dark side. But being capable of evil does not make you a villain. It makes you human. You don’t drown from falling underwater, but by staying there.
Superheroes embrace their identity, then refine it. They choose the self they want to be. We can all be part of the problem; indeed, we all have been and will be again. But we can also be part of the solution. That choice doesn’t make you super, but it can make you a hero.
