And now, Batman

I'm trying to remember 1989 and the excitement generated by Tim Burton's Batman. The character had more or less been permanently redefined by Frank Miller's unmatched (even by himself, when he tried with The Dark Knight Strikes Again) The Dark Knight Returns, and that masterpiece, along with Alan Moore's nightmare-inducing The Killing Joke, had seized my imagination. (In my not-so-humble opinion, these three works continue to stand the test of time, and I find myself regularly re-reading the two graphic novels.) Given my age and that late-eighties explosion of high-powered artistic genius focused on an archetypal character, it would have been nearly impossible not to have become obsessed with Batman.

But as I said, I'm trying to remember what it was to be 19 years old and seeing Batman on its opening weekend, and I'm trying to remember because he no longer means nearly as much to me. I think that's because Batman is an extremely difficult tightrope to walk. Push the darkness even a little too hard, and the result is pointless nihilism. Back up an inch too much, and he's just a clever dude figuring stuff out while being in super-good shape. You don't have to be Tim Burton or Alan Moore or Frank Miller to get it right: Jeph Loeb and Keith Giffen nailed it in The Long Halloween and Justice League International, respectively; Christopher Nolan and Christian Bale turned in admirable work with their own Dark Knight trilogy. While it may be difficult, it's not impossible.

For me, then, there's something more going on in my turn away from Batman, and that's my turn toward Superman and Captain America. My ongoing Superman obsession can perhaps be understood by an explanation of what makes the Zack Snyder/Henry Cavil "Superman" of Man of Steel and Batman v Superman so abysmal. By the second of those films, it became obvious that their Superman has no existential reason to fight for the good other than the possession of superpowers and not being bad. Meanwhile, his elevation of Lois Lane above the rest of humanity makes him just as self-centered as Lex Luthor. Contrariwise, the archetypal Superman's greatest power is his innate decency. Like Captain America, he is a Boy Scout and an American in the best possible sense of both terms: someone who lives in service of an ideal, and therefore of humanity.

In adolescence, I thought I had come to terms with the world's darkness, and so embraced the Batman who dwells in the liminal penumbras of shadow. With age, I've realized the best response to the darkness is a turn toward the light.

Learning from the priests & Levites

The priests and Levites who come to John the Baptist in John 1:19-28 are not interrogators, but inquirers. As servants of the Temple, they are experts in Biblical worship, and in John's practice of baptism, they recognize a new ritual. Notice that they don't challenge baptism's propriety or John's right to perform it; in fact, they seem to implicitly grant it. Instead, they want to understand what this ritual reveals about John's identity.

John the Baptist could be Elijah, who they thought would inaugurate the eschatological Day of the Lord (Malachi 4:5-6). He could be the Christ, who would defeat the enemies of God and his people and establish a reign of eternal peace (Psalms 2 & 45). He could be the Prophet like Moses who will bring a new, perfect and final Law (Deuteronomy 18:15-18). In other words, John the Baptist appears to be a, if not the, subject of prophecy who will inaugurate the eschaton precisely because he has introduced an new ritual which signifies citizenship in a kingdom and entrance into a new age.

Of course, John is merely the herald of that figure. But as he does not challenge the priests' & Levites' assumptions, he effectively affirms them. By so doing, he lets us know that we all could learn a lot from the liturgical expertise of the priests and Levites.