Richard Donner’s 1978 movie, Superman, is considered one of the best screen adaptations of the comic-book hero. Richard Donner’s emphasis on what he called “verisimilitude” let him create a story with real emotion, a modern myth, instead of campy antics. Christopher Reeve does an amazing job of using his posture, body language, and speech patterns to portray Clark Kent and Superman as two different personas. John Williams’ score is fantastic as always. The special effects were for that era “earthshaking” (in Roger Ebert’s words).
However, the conclusion is a little odd. In it, Superman fails to save Lois Lane from a nuclear missile diverted by Lex Luthor, so he decides to fly backwards around the earth, causing the earth to rotate backwards, so he can go back in time and try again.
The earth weighs 1.317 × 10²⁵ pounds. For those unfamiliar with scientific notation, that’s… Hmm… There’s probably some convoluted analogy I could use to communicate how big 10²⁵ is, but it’s a lot. Well outside of what we can practically understand. Probably not even Superman is that strong.
And, even if Superman could exert that much force, how would he apply it? Grabbing hold of Mount Everest, for maximum torque, and giving it a shove would simply shear the mountaintop off. If he tried to get a firm grip someplace more substantial - say, the Mariana Trench - and started pushing hard enough, that would force a tunnel rather than spinning the earth. Trying to spread out the force, maybe by flying in circles really fast, as he does in the movie, would create lots of interesting and significant atmospheric and oceanic disturbances but would not affect the Earth’s rotation.
And even if it were somehow possible to spin the earth backwards, it wouldn’t reverse time or bring back the dead.
Most fans, though, would say that’s not what’s actually happening in the movie. It’s instead supposed to be a portrayal of Superman flying faster than light, thereby going backwards in time to before Lois’s death, with the Earth’s reversed rotation showing his perception of his movement through time. That isn’t how the science works; from my lay understanding of the theory of relativity, it’s about as practical as spinning back time by giving Mount Everest a shove. (It’s physically impossible to go faster than light. Going as fast as light would require infinite energy. If you could somehow go faster than light, special relativity says you’d be in imaginary time, not negative time.)
Oh well. It looks cool.
Scientific plausibility isn’t the point of the movie’s climax, of course. Rather, the point is to explore the dilemma that Superman faces: will he limit the use of his powers, restraining from interfering in human history, as instructed by his Kryptonian father Jor-El? Or will he identify with humans, following the advice of his adoptive father and acting to save the woman he loves?
Many fans and critics have pointed out similarities between Superman and Jesus. Superman was sent by his father to earth from the house of El, from the heavens. His spaceship’s arrival on earth looked like a star. He was taken in by a couple incapable of having biological children and grew up in humble, rural surroundings. His archnemesis, General Zod (the antagonist of Superman II), was cast of out the heavens by Superman’s father. Donner’s movie makes this fairly explicit; Superman’s father, Jor-El, tells him via a holographic recording:
Live as one of them, Kal-El, to discover where your strength and power are needed. But always hold in your heart the pride of your special heritage. They can be a great people, Kal-El, and they wish to be. They only lack the light to show the way. For this reason above all, their capacity for good, I have sent them you, my only son.
And, in another speech by Jor-El, many Christians see Trinitarian echoes:
The richness of our lives shall be yours. All that I have, all that I’ve learned, everything I feel—all this and more I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you all the days of your life. You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine. The son becomes the father and the father the son.
This does not bother me. Donner (more accurately, his creative team) picked themes from the story of Christ, and these themes of Christ resonate with audiences, because they’re what C.S. Lewis calls “a true myth” – a story expressing deep truths, but one that’s of real events. Certainly, Christian allusions could be done poorly, irreverently, or even blasphemously. But, if the Superman myth - or any similar work of fiction - appeals to us because it reflects and refracts the love and goodness that God shows in Christ, that elevates rather than diminishes our faith.
Is Clark Kent really Superman? Or is Superman really Clark Kent? In other words, which of the two personas better reflects the person he really is? We tend to assume that Superman is the “real” identity. It’s in the name: moviegoers in 1978 didn’t line up to watch Clark. We tend to define people by what they do, and it’s what Superman can do (faster than a speeding bullet, etc.) that fascinates us. Donner’s movie takes this approach; Clark’s bumbling, self-effacing persona is a mask to distract from Superman, but Superman is who he really is: the son of Jor-El, sent to be a light to humans. Lois calls him a “god,” and from a human perspective, he is a small-g god; virtually unkillable, unbound by natural limitations, possessing powers that defy belief, able to act however he pleases.
In other works, though, such as the 1993-97 TV series “Lois & Clark” or the current animated series “My Adventures with Superman,” Clark Kent is his true self, and Superman is a mask he puts on so that he can use his powers to help others. It’s a fascinating idea: despite his alien origins and incredible abilities, who he really is is an unassuming Midwesterner, raised by loving parents, who could do whatever he wants but instead wants to use his gifts to serve those around him.
Jesus is fully God, the eternally preexistent Son of God. In the Incarnation, he became fully man, a first-century Jew. Which of these - if you’ll forgive the theological sloppiness involved in such a question - better reflects who Jesus really is? We rightly emphasize Christ’s divine nature to defend against those who deny or diminish it. And we, too, can’t help but define Jesus by what he can do; his divine powers, which he uses for our good, understandably fascinate us. But, as theologian Hans Küng observes, “For not only dust, but also too much gold can cover up the true figure.” Paul describes Jesus’ dual identity in Philippians 2:6-7:
who, though he existed in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be grasped,
but emptied himself
by taking on the form of a slave,
by looking like other men,
and by sharing in human nature.
Theologian Alastair Roberts suggests that we, prone to thinking in terms of power, misunderstand this: it’s not that Jesus was God but became human, it’s that Jesus became human because he is God:
The full force of Paul’s teaching cannot be appreciated unless we recognise that Christ’s emptying of himself was, far from a departure from divinity, a true manifestation of it. Christ, who was in the form of God, took the form of a slave. The seeming contrast could not be sharper, but the contrast is a revelatory one, and isn’t fundamentally opposing.
The character of God is revealed in Christ’s assuming the character of a slave. What the form of a servant involved becomes clearer when we are told that he was born in the likeness of men and was found in human form. However, this wasn’t the measure of the depth of Christ’s self-humbling.
He, like a slave, took the path of obedience. The path of obedience to the cross itself, practically the most humiliating death imaginable. The annihilation of all dignity, status, honour, glory, belonging, all these sorts of things.
In his disobedience, Adam had taken from the tree to grasp at equality with God. In his obedience, Christ went to the tree, not merely to reverse Adam’s action, but also to reveal what God is truly like. In John’s Gospel, for instance, it is in the cross that Christ is lifted up.
God humbling himself, emptying himself, to be with us and to show his love for us, is a truer expression of who he really is than our naive concepts of a godlike being flaunting his powers to do whatever he wants.
In a recent episode of the Holy Post, pastor and author Brian Zahnd describes what Jesus accomplished on the cross:
The Father and I are one… The Son never acts as an agent of change upon the Father, because the Father is immutable. The Father doesn’t change. If anything, what changes is, we’re changed. But that can be difficult to discern. So, you know… what’s the most recognizable fact in nature, where the sun rises in the east and it sets in the west and it happens every day? Except that’s not true - that’s not what’s happening! Actually, we’re the ones that are moved. But that’s so counterintuitive, we never say, “I saw the most beautiful earthturn this morning.” We say “sunrise” because that’s how we see it. But, if we perceive in God some sort of change in disposition, from one of antagonism or vengeance towards one of love and mercy, understand the change occurred in us. We are now coming to understand who God is. We’re the ones that are moving.
This beautiful description reminded me of Superman spinning the earth backwards in Donner’s film. Jesus does the utterly impossible; turning back the crushing, unstoppable mass of sin and death; turning the world, the entire cosmos, so that we can see the light of the Son.