Against Cynicism: Batman's No-Kill Rule and Superman's Goodness as Enduring Moral Ideals

Batman wasn’t someone I expected to enjoy reading, and the same was true for Superman. I first got into DC through Nightwing (and Teen Titans), and through Nightwing’s relationship with Batman, I gradually became interested in the Dark Knight himself. To be clear, I haven’t read many Batman comics - only about four or five - but I still felt compelled to write this because I think people often fail to realise how deeply human Batman really is. As Grant Morrison argues, Batman "psychologically is still the boy deep inside who watched his parents' murder in Crime Alley. That Batman puts himself in danger every night but steadfastly refuses to murder is an essential element of the character's magnificent, horrendous, childlike psychosis." Morrison adds that if Batman killed, he would simply become "a crazy criminal in a weird costume and Jim Gordon would have to hunt him down." People often ask why Batman doesn't simply kill Gotham's criminals, especially the Joker, after everything they have done. And honestly, it is a fair question. Imagine allowing the man who tortured and murdered your partner - someone you regarded as your own son - to keep living. It is difficult not to want revenge. These criticisms are understandable because Batman is forced to choose between avenging his son and remaining faithful to the promise he made after his parents' deaths. Ultimately, he chooses the latter, even if it means living with the pain of never truly avenging Jason. You are free to criticise that decision, and many characters within the comics do. But it is just as important to understand why Batman holds onto that rule. I promise you, it runs much deeper than childhood trauma.

Batman’s no-kill rule aligns closely with deontological ethics, particularly Kant's idea that moral actions must be universalizable. If Batman kills, he cannot consistently kill to become a universal law without betraying the very tragedy that shaped him. As Mark D. White argues in Batman and Ethics, Batman follows deontological ethics: the ends never justify the means, and killing is fundamentally wrong regardless of its consequences. White also argues that Batman's overall mission is utilitarian - minimising suffering in Gotham - while his no-kill rule remains deontological because it treats human life as inherently valuable. This makes Batman "a deeply conflicted hero," balancing utilitarianism and deontology while revealing how difficult it is to satisfy both at once.This is precisely what makes Batman so compelling. We are constantly wondering how much suffering he can endure before abandoning his principles. The Joker's nihilism, representing moral chaos, and Jason Todd's utilitarian belief that Gotham would be better if Bruce simply killed the Joker, both challenge Batman's moral rigidity. His refusal to kill is not a sign of weakness but a principled refusal to become what he fights.

Another hero frequently dismissed by cynicism is Superman. Like Batman, he is one of the most influential superheroes ever created, yet he is often misunderstood. When James Gunn's Superman was released, many complained that he differed from Zack Snyder's darker, more emotionally conflicted version. I disagree, at least in terms of comic accuracy. Gunn's Superman embodies virtue ethics in one of its clearest popular forms. He reflects exactly how DC describes him: "the gold standard of heroism, compassion and responsibility." His famous motto has also evolved from "Truth, Justice, and the American Way" to "Truth, Justice, and a Better Tomorrow." One philosophical reading sees Superman as embodying Rousseau's optimism that people are fundamentally good, while Batman reflects Hobbes' more pessimistic belief that people cannot be fully trusted. Superman possesses extraordinary power. His near invulnerability allows him to act without fear of consequences. Yet he chooses restraint. As Plato argues through Socrates, the truly just person acts justly even when they could benefit from injustice. Superman does not merely know what is good; he delights in doing good. In that sense, he reflects Confucius's hierarchy: to know virtue is not enough, to love it is better, and to delight in it is best.

Ultimately, Superman's enduring relevance lies not in his physical invincibility but in his moral vulnerability. He possesses almost limitless power, yet willingly binds himself to humanity's fragile moral code. Modern deconstructions of Superman—such as Homelander in The Boys, Omni-Man in Invincible, or even Snyder's Man of Steel—ask the same question: What if immense power had no moral foundation? These stories are valuable thought experiments, but the deeper question has always been: Why isn't Superman evil? Aristotle writes in the Nicomachean Ethics that "the good for man is an activity of the soul in accordance with virtue." Power without virtue does not lead to flourishing but to destruction. Batman's no-kill rule and Superman's goodness endure not because audiences are naïve, but because they answer a genuine moral need. In a culture that relentlessly deconstructs its heroes, mocks sincerity, and strips every virtue of its sacredness, it becomes almost radical to say something simple:

Let's believe in something again.