After years languishing in pop culture limbo, the Man of Tomorrow has returned to the public consciousness. Thanks to an upbeat new cinematic offering, this time starring David Corenswet in the cape, Superman is suddenly cool again. Interestingly enough, it wasn’t long ago that studio executives at Warner Brothers believed the character was no longer relevant to modern audiences, citing his old-fashioned sense of morality and godlike invulnerability. This time around, however, director James Gunn put the spotlight on Superman’s humanity, leaving behind the existential gloominess of the Zack Snyder-era films. It appears Gunn’s vision struck a chord with audiences: the movie grossed $615 million at the box office, became an instant streaming hit on HBO Max, and already has a sequel in development.
Attempts to explain Superman’s unexpected resurgence have varied considerably. Some have pointed to the “vibe shift” in recent months, with Superman standing in for “normie” optimism in keeping with the current zeitgeist. Prior to the movie’s release, Gunn made waves discussing Superman’s status as an immigrant, brushing up against contemporary concerns and prompting conservative ideologues to decry the movie as “superwoke.” Still others have argued for the character’s perennial appeal as a contemporary Christ analogue, a sci-fi savior in spandex here to save us from ourselves. While these perspectives certainly highlight particular elements of the character, each struck me as somehow incomplete, something less than the whole story. I began to wonder: could there be more going on here?
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Throughout the movie’s development process, Gunn frequently described the character as “purely good,” having an unshakable moral center. Indeed, ever since his 1938 debut in the pages of Action Comics #1, Superman’s moral devotion has arguably been his preeminently defining characteristic. At first glance, this may seem unremarkable: by definition, plenty of superheroes claim the moral high ground in their stories. What makes Superman unique, however, is how paramount that moral code has proven to his character over time. As the past few decades have demonstrated ad nauseam, attempts to stretch the character beyond his “Big Blue Boy Scout” image have only succeeded in producing something less than the character; if he’s even marginally short of “purely good,” he’s no longer Superman, but a villain to be feared and opposed. Similarly, many modern superhero stories involve characters wrestling with morally dubious choices, but this kind of moral ambiguity in Superman stories has a tendency to go over like a lead balloon. This begs the question: why should this be the case? What (if anything) sets Superman apart?
As it turns out, the answer comes from another beloved hero, this time from our own tradition. In the 1941 radio broadcasts that would go on to become Mere Christianity, Lewis addressed what he called “the Law of Human Nature,” the idea that “there is something above and beyond the ordinary facts of men’s behaviour, and yet quite definitely real—a real law, which none of us made, but which we find pressing on us.” He would later revisit this idea in The Abolition of Man, challenging the dangers of subjectivist ideology by stressing what he perceived as an objective moral order embedded within the cosmos:
It is the doctrine of objective value, the belief that certain attitudes are really true, and others really false, to the kind of thing the universe is and the kind of things we are. Those who know [this] can hold that to call children delightful or old men venerable is not simply to record a psychological fact about our own parental or filial emotions at the moment, but to recognize a quality which demands a certain response from us whether we make it or not.”
Lewis called this objective moral order “the Tao,” in part because he saw its proponents were not limited to those who practiced Christianity, and were in fact represented across every world religion and culture. In other words, Lewis held that reality itself was hard-wired to ascribe value to things in such a way that had nothing to do with one’s personal opinions or emotions. An old man is not only to be venerated if I deem him worthy of veneration; he simply is venerable. A life is understood to have inherent value because it is a life, not because I or anyone else says so. As Christians, we know this because we believe the law is written on every human heart (Romans 2:15). But since the Tao (or natural law) is also woven into the DNA of the created order, we can observe that even those who do not know God will at times be enticed to believe truths that are rooted in Christian moral teachings, even if they refuse to ever acknowledge this.
In this way, Lewis inadvertently provides us with the necessary clarity to understand our Superman dilemma. Rather than labeling him as merely a Christ figure or immigrant surrogate, Superman is perhaps better understood as the Tao incarnate: he does not create, but rather submits to, the law he regards as prescriptive for personal duty and responsibility. He acts in response to what his conscience tells him he ought to do. Fundamentally, this is the Tao in action: it pulls us in the direction of reality, regardless of how we may feel in the moment.
This is something Gunn gets very right about the character. At one point in the movie, Superman goes out of his way battling a giant monster to save a squirrel caught in the crosshairs. The scene reportedly garnered negative feedback from test screen audiences. Because honestly, how absurd is it that an all-powerful hero would make time to prioritize a squirrel? Except for Gunn, this is exactly the point. Ostensibly, saving a squirrel while fighting a monster makes no rational sense. But then, neither does loving your enemies, or fasting, or forgiving the man who murdered your husband. Having Superman make time to save a squirrel illustrates the comically high standards our living up to the Tao would actually require. We know full well the good we ought to do, but it’s clear we all fall woefully short of the mark.
This is ultimately why Superman endures, because the Tao will always be a part of our world. For as long as the Lord tarries, the Tao will stand in witness to the glory of God and the divine ordering of the cosmos. It simultaneously shows us who we are not, and who we ought to be. That’s Superman in a sentence.
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If my suspicions are correct, and Superman really is the Tao made flesh, I believe there are two principles Christians can glean from his return to the public imagination. First, it serves as a reminder that Christians ought to extol any and all faithful expressions of the Tao we see venerated in culture. Any time something really true, good or beautiful is embraced by the world, we should acknowledge that a thing essentially possesses that quality because it operates in harmony with God’s created order. Christians can freely cheer cultural expressions of the Tao because we know they genuinely make society better, as evidenced by Nike’s recent Scottie Scheffler ad extolling the virtues of fatherhood. Simply put, whenever the kingdom of God infiltrates our world, the people of God should rejoice and be glad, saying along with the psalmist, “The earth is the Lord's, and everything in it” (Psalm 24:1). Insofar as Superman reflects this reality, it should be celebrated.
Second, Christians should use public affirmations of the Tao as an opportunity to practice creative evangelism. Intentionally or otherwise, cultural affirmations of the Tao like Superman offer a window into the social imaginary of our current moment. This provides Christians with unique insight into how contemporary culture views the Christian ethic, since we know Christ is really the author of the Tao (Colossians 1:15-18). In effect, these affirmations establish a shared point of contact for the believer to work off when engaging nonbelievers by functioning as a praeparatio evangelica; it shines a light on those signaling their readiness to receive the Truth that ultimately stands behind the Tao. Today, we might look to those who James Wood has dubbed “reality-respecters” as particularly well-positioned to receive the message of Christ. Those who affirm the natural ordering of creation have unwittingly adopted the intellectual scaffolding that frames the much-weightier spiritual conversation. Teaching them to build the structure itself is where evangelism truly begins.
To be sure, the Tao itself is not the Gospel. But just as John the Baptist acted as a forerunner for King Jesus, so can the Tao provide opportunities to engage those who may readily affirm it, but cannot account for why they believe it. Perhaps this will lead us into even deeper conversations with friends and loved ones, mediated by the Holy Spirit, as we faithfully witness to those who are far off. We may even come to see they were not so far off as we had once believed.