Superman and the Human Hero

They’re few and far between—summer films with a high-flying spirit of pure optimism and bright hope. Seldom do movies say, “Look up,” as this summer’s smiling blockbuster does. And if the box office is any measure, audiences are appreciating it.

Part of the reason the superhero genre is so fatigued is that it’s been burdened with tiresome ideologies for decades. But now, soaring above that moral miasma and preoccupation with realism—it’s a bird…it’s a plane…it’s James Gunn’s Superman. (And, no, it’s not “superwoke.”) What’s of Catholic interest in this colorful, over-the-top, popcorn picture is that it presents the human side of heroism in a joyful—instead of a jaded—outlook that jives with Catholic anthropology.

As much as movies can be a total waste of soul-sucking time, Superman is just fine old-fashioned fun. It’s fast, buoyant, and wacky, where Metropolis faces a different existential crisis every day—whether from kaijus, space invaders, trans-dimensional rifts, or mecha-suited terrorists—and a host of heroes to save the day, wresting mankind from death and destruction on the regular.

But what makes Superman different is its vibrant and jubilant tone, contrasting it from the serious and grounded trend for superheroes. It has that B-movie energy that forces a smile; and for Catholics, there is something to the whimsical (albeit unintentional) allegory of the spiritual life that comic books were, where supernatural conflicts loom every day, threatening souls that need saving by higher beings—even if one of them is called Mister Terrific. 

It’s good stuff, and its lightheartedness doesn’t make it meaningless. As it dispels the darkness that has overshadowed the field, Superman brims and beams with the simple human confidence of good conquering evil. And that’s something nowadays—and what makes this flick so uplifting as it makes a fresh statement on an ancient trope of the role of humanity in heroism.

It’s fair to ask, though, why Catholics would care about Superman for a second. (Remember, nerds can be Catholic, too, so buckle up.)

Comic books might be the closest thing that our culture can claim as a mythology—a body of fantastic or epic tales that reflect ideals of heroism, the supernatural, and culture. But if comics are mythological, they are reflecting a world that has fallen from the Faith. That said, there is still a need for Catholics to encounter the world as it is. The comic hero is a far cry from the Homeric hero, and neither is the modern-day saint the same as the saint of old.

Though the Gospels are the clear fulfillment of the myths of old, whether a “comic mythology” has a place in human redemption is to be seen. In any case, the expressions of heroism in culture are still of Catholic concern insofar as Catholics are concerned with heroic virtue. But there is cause to be wary if comic-book heroes are a litmus, for the concepts of right and wrong—of good and evil, for that matter—are confused in comics because they are confused in society. 

For these reasons, there is a natural Catholic reaction against worldly figures like Superman. Especially since they emerged from a movement that proclaimed God was dead and people were the architects of morality. Nietzsche’s Übermensch was taking over the world, as the square-jawed Americana godmen seemed to represent from bubblegum-scented comic strips.

As a pop-culture icon, Superman—faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound—is mythically impotent by being a god unto himself in the humanist, can-do determination of the post-Depression American Dream. Ours may be the first civilization to have heroes that are not religious. Instead, “God” is only a phonebooth away. Of course, the man-as-god concept was furthered by science, making “God” now only a yellow utility belt or green gamma ray away.

Heavy as that may be, comic books have typically been light affairs—fun, flashy, and optimistic. Three decades ago, the film industry bought into Alan Moore and Frank Miller’s noir realism for comic book movies, almost in a subconscious desire to have heroes that meant more than Spider-Man silliness. But whether bleak or colorful, lasting expressions about humanity are always worthy of Catholic attention. 

Giving the Gospel its place of supremacy and comics the caution they deserve as godless myths, there is still enjoyment and cultural significance in their exuberance and the connection they have to traditional morality—and this is where Superman comes in.

The thing about Superman 2025 is its emphasis on “man” instead of “super.” Superman here is not the unstoppable force that he often has been, without going into the Doomsday arc. He has weaknesses, is often defeated, and he makes mistakes. But he is humble and honest, and his powers are more of an occasion for never giving up than dominating. In fact, the focus isn’t so much his overwhelming presence but, rather, his overconfidence and character correction. In this, Gunn’s Superman is far more human than any other cinematic iteration of the character.

Humanity should feature in every hero’s tale to connect with humans, to inspire while serving as tangible paragons. The Greek mythical heroes typically had flaws or tragic fates to ground them and make them more accessible and applicable to the human experience, from Heracles’ madness to Theseus’ emotional betrayal of wisdom. Even Achilles, famed for invincibility, is given a grazing wound in the neck and bleeds in The Iliad just to show that he is mortal despite what the legends say about his heels.

Christ is the ultimate Hero, of course, and like us in all ways save sin. Christ’s humanity connects us to Him: it makes His friendships relatable, His fears and tears resonate, and His Passion momentous. It makes Him a God that we can know and love. Superman is going for this heroic image, trying to dial down the over-powered nature of the character which has the tendency to drive down interest in the character.

That disinterestedness is worthy of comment, as many turn away from the almightiness of Superman and turn to the vulnerability of Batman because people struggle to appreciate perfection. Like Achilles, Superman has been hard to love, and it’s the godlike nature that creates a difficult dynamic on a pre-Christian and post-Christian mythological level. Gunn’s Superman is not hard to love. He is more human and less godlike and connects as a character with humor, hope, and the simple yet strong desire to be and do good—and he has a dog that he just can’t control.

While this may seem to be another deconstruction rendering the hero less perfect and more human, Gunn’s Superman doesn’t fall into the trend to subvert. Though it does bring Superman’s humanity to the fore, it’s in a very different way than Christopher Nolan did for Batman or James Mangold did for Wolverine. Gunn’s Superman is a man, but a man of great power. He errs, but he never despairs. He gets frustrated and beaten down, but he always gets up. Superman is more human in this outing, despite his other-worldly powers, and that is what makes him a hero—the one who overcomes the weaknesses of humanity to affect some godly salvation.

Is this Superman a Christ figure, then, as he often has been? Marlon Brando’s “my only son” language made Christopher Reeve one back in 1978. Brandon Routh’s cruciform descent in Bryan Singer’s 2006 sequel was on the nose. Zack Snyder was explicit in 2013’s Man of Steel with the sacrifice of self to save humanity. James Gunn’s Super, not so much—which is interesting given the focus on imperfection as an occasion for being great. To shift Superman from being less like Christ to being more like a Christian is an innovation that makes this film significant (for a comic-book movie).

God became man so that man might become God, as St. Athanasius said, and that makes humanity something to take solace and have hope in. Toward the end of the film, Superman says with feeling:

I’m as human as anyone. I love, I get scared, I wake up every morning and, despite not knowing what to do, I put one foot in front of the other and I try to make the best choices I can. I screw up all the time. But that is being human. And that’s my greatest strength.

This new Superman is human, and that is why he is a hero, hearkening to a venerable mythical tradition of having heroes with flaws and fortitude so that they can be both relatable and rousing. Being a hero is not so much about coming to grips with fallen human nature; rather, it is about looking up with the humanity that Christ took on so that what is good in us may be redeemed.