The Comics Professor

Read the introduction to A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Daredevil: From the Beginning to Born Again

My latest book, A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Daredevil: From the Beginning to Born Again, is now available -- if you're curious, check out the introduction below (and also see my recent posts at Psychology Today drawn from the book).

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I don’t know about you, but I’ve always envied people who seemed to “have it all together.” We all know people like this, who somehow manage to integrate all the various aspects of their life, both external and internal, into a tidy, cohesive package. Of course, we can never know how smooth and successful their lives truly are; their outward appearance may be managed and polished like an Instagram influencer’s, while behind the curtain (or screen), their actual lives are a mess.

Although some people manage their lives better than others, we all have complications that we struggle to reconcile. Even if we can balance the many external roles we fill—friend, family member, romantic partner, employee, community member—we also need to balance our internal lives, including our desires, impulses, and moral code, all of which may be multifaceted.

This process of “getting your life together” can be difficult for anybody, and most of us have struggled with this to some extent at some point in our lives. Unfortunately, some people find it particularly difficult, especially with respect to their thoughts and feelings; such people may cycle through good times and bad times their entire life, some gradually improving over time, and others spiraling downwards into ever worse states of internal disarray.

This is the point at which I introduce the subject of this book, a man who may appear on the outside to have made a successful life for himself, but on the inside, he “contains multitudes,” as Walt Whitman famously wrote in Leaves of Grass.

Matthew Murdock is, famously, a man of contrasts. He was an only child, raised in poverty and growing up to become a successful lawyer—largely due to his single father, a boxer and part-time mob enforcer who pushed his son to study rather than fight. Matt was blinded by a freak accident that also heightened his other senses, granting him a range and depth of perception that sighted people can only dream of. He uses these senses, together with fighting skills acquired in violation of his father’s wishes, to fight crime as the costumed vigilante Daredevil—and, in the process, regularly violates laws he has sworn to uphold as a member of the bar.

Beneath the surface, we discover even more fascinating conflicts. He is perpetually unsettled about who he is or should be: Matt Murdock or Daredevil, man or hero, lawyer or vigilante. He is obsessively concerned with whether he makes a positive contribution as Daredevil, or does “good” for the world, and assuming he does, he questions whether that good is his true motivation for doing it. He places a high value on rules but repeatedly finds himself in the position of breaking them—and even when he can justify doing this, he worries about the justification itself, and what it means that he had to find a justification at all. (Exhausting!) Most superheroes struggle from time to time with who they are and what they’re doing, but none as unrelentingly as Daredevil, and as soon as he comes to some resolution, something inevitably happens to make him doubt himself once again.

All of these conflicts help to create one of the most dramatic characters in superhero comics. This is unfortunate for Matt Murdock, of course, but it’s great for the creators of his comics, who rank among the best in the industry, attracted to the character because of his complexity: outwardly charming yet inwardly tortured, one moment ecstatic and the next despondent. It’s also great for his fans and gives us a chance to explore the philosophy behind Matt’s internal conflicts, as well as what they mean for the man who suffers them.

In this book, I’ll focus on the early years of Matt Murdock and Daredevil, from his first appearance in 1964’s Daredevil #1 to 1986’s Daredevil #233. The latter was the final issue of the classic “Born Again” storyline, which also marked the end of legendary comics creator Frank Miller’s time on the book. (I’ll also discuss the 1993-1994 miniseries The Man Without Fear, in which Miller expands on Daredevil’s origin with many of the concepts he introduced during his run on the monthly title.) As is true with many long-running comic book characters, the Matt Murdock we know today is not the Matt Murdock we met in 1964, but it is fairly close to the one that Frank Miller wrote. Although Miller is properly credited for crafting the modern version of Daredevil, he didn’t radically change or “reboot” the character. Rather, he refined and emphasized certain aspects of Matt Murdock that had been gradually introduced by his creative teams since the beginning. Miller made the characterization of Matt Murdock more consistent, which ironically allowed his internal contracts and conflicts to come to the surface more clearly—and dominate most of his stories ever since.

Through this short book, we’ll explore the moral character and behavior of Matt Murdock, including his belief in the importance of rules, the role of promises in his life, and his sense of responsibility, each of which he tends to take farther than he should. We’ll also see how his penchant for violence grew over the years, as well as how far he’ll take it—and why. Then we’ll look more deeply into who Matt Murdock is—why he does the things he does, in terms of both motivation and the basic character traits that influence his choices (for better or worse). Finally, we’ll see how he gradually starts to come apart at the seams, the roots of which appear early on but intensify as the years go on, reaching a climax in “Born Again” as his personal dissolution gets a little push from someone else.

Matt’s recovery from this final episode suggests ways for us to deal with the myriad internal conflicts we might have in our lives (even if they are less dramatic and colorful than Daredevil’s). Future stories in the comics—and possibly future books in this series—will reveal whether Matt manages to hold himself together in the long run. For now, though, we’ll learn how Matt Murdock became the Man without Fear we’ve come to know and love, and who continues to thrill us to this day in the comics, movies, and television series.

Copyright © Mark D. White 2024

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See here for more on the book.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Bookshop,org.

Read the introduction to A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Thor: If They Be Worthy

With the release of Thor: Love and Thunder quickly approaching, I'm pleased to share the introduction to my recent book, A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Thor: If They Be Worthy, for your enjoyment.

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Who among us has not doubted our worth or worthiness at some point in our lives? Maybe it was about our worth as a friend, family member, or romantic partner, and maybe it was as a student, employee, or volunteer. Maybe it was just an issue with our self-esteem or self-worth in general, leading us to feel inadequate in many areas of our lives. Whatever the context or degree, most of us, at one time or another, have felt we were not living up to a standard, whether set by others or by ourselves, and however reasonable (or not). When you don’t feel worthy, it can be nearly impossible to do anything, to interact with other people, and to perform the most basic tasks, even picking up a pencil, a book, or… a hammer.

Consider Thor, the Asgardian God of Thunder and son of Odin the All-Father. (Yes, I know he’s not the only Thor—I’m getting to that.) Thor must be judged worthy in order to lift his mighty hammer Mjolnir and command his full powers. Granted, his alternative is not too shabby: In the early comics, the Odinson would otherwise be Donald Blake, handsome and successful doctor, beloved by his nurse Jane Foster. In later years, other than brief periods in other mortal forms, he would remain his enormous Asgardian self, with his beloved hammer in his hand—and the worthiness it implied.

Being judged worthy by Mjolnir is, of course, very important to him, and it’s not hard to see why, especially when we realize this goal was… ahem… hammered into him from a very early age. In general, everyone appreciates some occasional external validation, even when things seem to be going fairly well for them. Often, it’s difficult to tell why people feel bad about themselves, especially when things look great for them from the outside. You may have just received a promotion at work, had your first child, or climbed your first mountain, and people would assume you’re on top of the world (literally, if you just climbed a mountain). But none of that matters if you don’t feel worthy, or if you see yourself as inferior, lacking in some way, or maybe even a loser. This is only compounded if you rely on someone else—or something else—to validate your worth for you, another entity with a mind of its own that makes judgments based on standards that may be irrelevant, unreasonable, or impossible.

Now imagine being Thor. After untold centuries of defending Asgard and the other realms from Frost Giants, Dark Elves, and the occasional Fire Demon, you suddenly find yourself judged unworthy by your beloved hammer. You’re unable to lift it, or even budge it, and then you discover someone else was able to lift it and has taken your place as the new Thor. (Never mind that Thor is actually his name—we’ll get to that too.) On occasion, other people have been able to lift the hammer momentarily, most notably Captain America, but even he didn’t “become the new Thor” when he did it. (As you may know, Cap prefers a shield anyway.) One notable exception is Beta Ray Bill, an alien from the planet Korbin who fought Thor and picked up Mjolnir, transforming into a larger, armored version of himself. Normally, whenever someone other than Thor manages to lift the hammer, it’s merely an affirmation of their worthiness. But this time, when the Odinson was found unworthy, a new Thor appeared after she lifted the hammer, sending the original into an emotional and philosophical tailspin—one we will explore in this book.

What about this new Thor? Don’t think we’ve forgotten about her—she’s a big part of this book as well. After months of secrecy and false leads, she was revealed to be none other than Jane Foster, originally Blake’s nurse and love interest, who had since become a doctor herself and remained in Thor’s life as a valued colleague and confidante. While the Odinson was struggling with unworthiness, Jane was undergoing chemotherapy to fight cancer, only to have her progress stalled each time she transformed into the Mighty Thor.

Why did Mjolnir regard Jane as worthy and the Odinson as unworthy? Had something about the Odinson changed, or did Mjolnir “change its mind” about what it regarded as worthy? Does the Odinson become worthy again—and, if so, how? More generally, who (or what) is Mjolnir to be judging worthiness anyway? Who is the appropriate judge of worthiness, others or oneself? And most important, what does it mean to be worthy—and how might it be related to unworthiness?

All these questions and more are raised in the seven years of Marvel Comics about Thor written by Jason Aaron and illustrated by a cadre of magnificent artists such as Russell Dauterman and Esad Ribić. In this book, we will follow the saga of these two Thors, as told by Aaron and his artistic collaborators, thinking about the philosophical concept of worthiness as we go.

We will start with how worthiness was understood in the early comics, which matches many of our basic intuitions about what makes a person worthy, but also leaves many questions that will be answered as we go on. When Aaron’s run begins, we will see Thor begin to have doubts about his own worthiness as well as the worthiness of gods in general. This will raise the topic of what being a “god” means to an Asgardian and how this version of godhood can translate to our world. After the Odinson is declared unworthy, we will follow Jane Foster’s tenure as Thor, exploring how and why Mjolnir regards her as worthy, as well as the ways her worthiness may be different from that of her predecessor. As she fights to assert herself as the new Thor on Earth as well as on Asgard—Odin is not a fan, to put it mildly—the original Thor is left to deal with his own unworthiness, which gives us the chance to discuss how one experiences and deals with such feelings and begins to combat them. Finally, we will come to a deeper understanding of worthiness alongside the Odinson, and watch as he rejoins Jane to fight beside her before she… well, let’s leave something for later, shall we?

I’m excited that you’ve chosen to join me on this philosophical journey through one of the most fascinating and exciting storylines in a half-century of Thor comics. (And that includes the ones about the frog.) Jason Aaron and his artistic partners have given us a unique way to explore many dimensions of worthiness by observing how Thor Odinson and Jane Foster each deal with the burdens of being the God of Thunder, as well as why they were chosen—or, in the Odinson’s case, rejected—as being worthy of the honor. I wrote this book to be enjoyed by anyone, whether you’re new to Thor or philosophy, or you’re a longtime fan of either (or both). Regardless, when you reach the end of the book, I hope that, not only will you feel entertained and have a deeper appreciation for the stories of Thor, but you will have new ways to think about any issues you may have about your own worth, value, or self-esteem.

Copyright © Mark D. White 2022

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See here for more on the book, including the table of contents, reviews, and related podcasts.

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or IndieBound.

My thoughts on The Batman

Being online so much finally paid off: I saw the announcement of the IMAX preview of The Batman just it was announced about a month ago, and was able to snag tickets for me and my son before it sold out (apparently within minutes). Last night we saw it, and we both walked out of the theater speechless.

In short: This is the Batman movie I'd been waiting for.

When I write and talk about Batman, I focus almost exclusively on the comics. Don't get me wrong: I love that he's represented in so many types of media, and everyone has their favorite, but mine has always been the version in the comics. Notwithstanding the craft, talent, and hard work put into the films, I have rarely warmed to them. I have always said that in my ideal Batman film, you would rarely see Batman himself—you'd see the shadow, the silhouette, and people reacting to him, but rarely would you see Batman (and never in the light). Batman has such a mystique about him that it's difficult to capture his ethereal nature on film, even for the best directors, actors, writers, costumers, and cinematographers. Less is more, basically, and they should leave the rest to the audience's imagination.

The Batman came much closer to that ideal that any screen adaptation of the Dark Knight to date, and that's just one reason I enjoyed this film so very much.

WARNING: There may be mild spoilers going forward, although I don't discuss any plot points or details.

The Batman was sumptuously photographed, with so many breathtaking shots that I wished I could have lingered on (and surely will when the Blu-ray is released). The subtle score was gorgeous, especially when it took the place of sound effects, giving those dramatic scenes the feel of a silent film accompanied by music. In this movie, Batman is very much a creature of the shadows; most of the film is shot at night or in darkened spaces, and Batman is rarely seen in direct light, maintaining that ethereal quality I prefer to see. But at the same time, when we see his face, he is undeniably human, primarily due to the focus on his eyes, which was surprising effective. (I was also surprised how well the "half cowl" worked in retaining the classic silhouette while preserving mobility, and thankfully avoiding the bulky rubber cowls of films past. Was it inspired by Daredevil's cowl on the Netflix Disney+ show, I wonder?)

There are several aspects of Batman that I particularly appreciate in the comics that were also represented here. This Batman is more detective than superhero, working closely with Detective Jim Gordon on a series of grisly murders accompanied by cryptic messages from the enigmatic Riddler (with occasional input from Alfred). From the beginning, we also see many instances of members of the Gotham City Police Department reacting in different ways to Batman's presence at crime scenes, in the tradition of the Gotham Central comic, combined with the corruption in the police force, well known from Batman: Year One. We can tell that Gordon and Batman already have some history together from the enormous trust Gordon has for the Caped Crusader, whom he repeatedly has to defend to his fellow police. Even when helping to investigate a crime scene or observing a medical examination of a murder victim, this Batman is still and silent, watching and only occasionally contributing an insight, as if he appreciates Gordon's indulgence and doesn't want to overstep and risk this valuable relationship.

In general, Pattinson's Batman—and even his Bruce Wayne, whom we see much less than in other films—is for the most part still and silent, which makes the action scenes all the more striking in contrast (as well as the handful of laughs, mostly from other characters at his expense). There also seemed to be less action than earlier films, which will surely disappoint some viewers (understandably): Most of the movie was a battle of wits between Batman and Riddler, with occasional action scenes and fights primarily between our hero and flunkies or mob toughs, until the final act that ramps up the action quotient very dramatically. This is not a typical superhero film; in pacing and tone, I would compare it more to the Daredevil show, or maybe Logan.

Pattinson's Batman/Bruce Wayne is a tortured soul, which he doesn't even bother to hide when he attends a public function as Wayne. Maybe he will later, but this Bruce Wayne has not yet adopted the millionaire playboy persona to travel among high society; for now he couldn't care less, clearly obsessed (as Alfred notes) with fighting crime or, as he puts it, pursuing vengeance. Thankfully, this concept of vengeance does not involve killing, which he prevents another character from doing, giving the standard explanation of "you don't want to turn into them." (He also makes his dislike of guns clear in another scene.)

Speaking of vengeance, in what was perhaps the most surprising part of the film (in the best way), Batman has an epiphany at the end regarding his mission that is set up marvelously well, using a minor character that shows up only a handful of times throughout the film but plays an integral role in tying the whole thing together. (At nearly three hours of very steady but slightly drawn-out pacing, this was very useful.) Here, this young Batman discovers a positive aspect of what he does that can complement the negative aspect of fighting crime, and could serve to add a different tone to the next installment (although I hope it doesn't change the tone entirely).

Finally, the performances were excellent across the board. Robert Pattinson wisely chose to underplay both Batman and Bruce Wayne, using his face (which we see more of, even as Batman, than before) to show the tragedy that motivates him and the steely resolve that carries him on, despite discouraging odds. Zoë Kravitz was magnificent as Selina Kyle, portraying the self-determination and instinct for survival that allows her to prosper in any situation, both amongst the criminal element and alongside the Dark Knight (with whom she has undeniable playful chemistry, reflecting the best of their relationship in the comics). Gregory Wright was delightfully gruff as Jim Gordon; Andy Serkis's Alfred was not seen enough, but his few scenes were effective and heartfelt (even without the gentle snark often seen in the character); and Paul Dano was a terrifically unhinged Riddler (though he reminded me more of James Gordon Jr.), especially in the later part of the movie when he was not in his, ahem, questionable outfit. (Speaking as a huge Colin Farrell fan, I don't know why he played the Penguin as Robert DeNiro, but the character worked well in a role that sets him up well for future appearances.)

I went into this movie more curious than anything, but I walked out astonished, and I'm very eager to see what Matt Reeves and company do with Batman next (especially if it involves the character teased at the very end, which I hope they continue to tease for a while longer).

Cap calls out Tony's self-deprecation in Captain America/Iron Man #2

Captain America is in a weird spot these days, and it has nothing to do with the Red Skull or Hydra. (At least, not that we know.) Since Ta-Nehisi Coates' run on Captain America ended in July 2020, the Sentinel of Liberty has been without an ongoing monthly title. (UPDATE: This changes in April, as revealed here.) Instead, he has been featured in miniseries with assorted friends, starting with The United States of Captain America, in which he worked with Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, and even that scamp John Walker, as well as a number of people across the country fighting in Cap's name. (It was an excellent series that I hope to write about soon.)

Currently, the Captain America/Iron Man miniseries features Cap alongside his fellow Avenger and frequent sparring partner in their first extended team-up since their three-issue story in #633-635 of Cap's team-up book in 2012 (included in the Captain America and the Avengers trade paperback). In it, they have teamed up in pursuit of Veronica Eden, an old acquaintance of Tony's who is trying to take over Hydra. Also after her is Fifty-One, a former member of the Fifty-State Initiative, an idea that Tony implemented after the Civil War, which placed a trained and government-sanctioned superhero team in every state (chronicled in the Avengers: The Initiative series). To complicate matters further, the rest of Fifty-One's team, made up for former Initiative members, is after him at the same time, which prompts some reflection on Tony's part about the Initiative itself.

Through it all, Cap and Tony engage in casual conversations that are quickly turn rather deep, revealing a little-seen aspect of a friendship that has weathered more than its share of disagreement (to say the least!).

At the start of issue #2, Cap and Tony confer with the former... Initiants (?)... who are actually calling themselves the Paladins, after this guy, I guess? (Odd choice.) After letting them go after Fifty-One by themselves (while planning to follow up with them later), our two heroes visit Tony's new pad to chat. Our host maintains the humorous, self-deprecating tone he's had since the first issue of the series, which seems like an effective defense mechanism when talking to the Living Legend of World War II, but as we'll see later, Cap doesn't allow it to go unquestioned.

I have to laugh at Tony's statement below, because this has happened so many times to him in one way or another. But it's Cap's response that I find more interesting, both existentialist in his emphasis of self-creation and authenticity, as well as Stoic in his recommending acceptance of events outside your control (both of which are reminiscent of the Serenity Prayer).

Next, Cap questions the wisdom of Yoda, again from the Stoic (and, later, Kantian) point of view that all we can do is try, acting on our best intentions, and whether we succeed or not is out of our hands, determined by the interaction of our efforts with the external world.

Let me put in a good word for Tony, though: What he (and Yoda) may have meant is that, from a motivational point of view, we shouldn't intend to try to succeed at something, because that openly acknowledges the possibility of failure. That possibility is always there, of course, but we need to put it out of our minds to maximize the chances of success. This also applies to making a promise, whether to yourself or someone else: Declaring "I'll try to do better" is not an effective as "I'll do better." Both acknowledge the possibility of failing to follow through on the promise, but the language of "try" makes this possibility explicit, and therefore can suggest a less wholehearted intention. (Wedding vows can be seen the same way: You can promise to love each other "til death do you part" while implicitly acknowledging that this may not happen, because it's only the intent that counts.)

I just love the next panel—all too often, Cap pokes fun at his habit of speechifying, and here he simply embraces it, but not without a touch of self-awareness that he can sometimes be a bit over the top.

After they catch up with the Paladins at a decommissioned SHIELD bunker where Eden and Fifty-One are holed up, Cap proves himself extraordinarily perceptive, seeing through Tony's armor that he's upset, this time about the failure of his Fifty-State Initiative, which ironically ended up creating the same problem that led to the Civil War in the first place.

Cap raises a practical issue about the Initiative, that the hero business is driven by demand, not supply...

...and then Tony goes and makes a completely unwarranted crack about my home state and I lose any sympathy I may have developed for him. (You were so close, Tony, so close.)

Cap acknowledges that Tony's idea behind the Initiative was sound; after all, Cap often recognizes that superheroes are too concentrated in New York City and on several occasions he has toured the country to see the rest of America and help people wherever they need it. Instead, his issues with his Initiative focused on how it was implemented, reflecting his opposition to registration itself during the Civil War.

I'm curious, though: Tony says Cap hated the Initiative, and it makes sense why he would think that, but I don't remember this being shown in the comics. After all, Cap was "dead" for most of the time the Initiative existed, and while he and Tony discussed the general principles behind the Civil War after his return (mainly in the Avengers Prime miniseries), I don't remember them discussing the Initiative specifically, which was all but forgotten after the Siege on Asgard ended Norman Osborn's "Dark Reign" and launched "The Heroic Age" with Steve Rogers running the show.

As they fight Eden's goons, Cap continues to try to make Tony feel better, but Tony deflects the praise with self-deprecating comments.

Cap isn't having it, and calls him out on it, but Tony continues, in a strangely humble-bragging way.

But Cap doesn't relent, telling Tony he knows who he really is, not just inside his Iron Man armor, but the emotional armor he wears... around his heart.

This exchange ends with Tony profoundly uncomfortable, as many of us are when "confronted" with sincere compliments, and he confronts Cap in turn in an attempt to change the subject.

All joking aside, this can seem weird, especially if you're used to seeing Captain America and Iron Man throw down over ideological differences (as I have certainly emphasized myself). But most of the time they have worked together over the years, Cap and Tony have been good friends, if uneasy ones at times, and I really appreciate that this miniseries has shown them reconnecting on this level as they work a case together, delving deep into both of their characters in a way that is better shown in their interactions than by looking at each character in isolation.

My thoughts on Spider-Man: No Way Home

SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: NO WAY HOME BELOW! SO MANY SPOILERS!

My son and I saw the new Spider-Man film yesterday afternoon in a large theater with about twenty other people—which was a Christmas miracle, given how most showings sold out over opening weekend and our hesitation to see it amongst a large crowd in the current environment. In anticipation of this event, we rewatched all the earlier Spidey flicks over the last couple months, which really paid off, given how well No Way Home wrapped up the entire franchise to date, while setting an interesting direction for future installments.

Below I share a few of my thoughts about the movie. Before I start, I should warn you: I haven't read any other commentary or reviews yet, so it's quite likely that everything I have to say has already been said. (Still, no refunds!)

1. Generally, everyone involved with this film pulled off an incredible juggling act, balancing the core story of Spider-Man and his amazing friends MJ and Ned with the multiversal spectacle of numerous guest-stars from the pre-MCU films. I had heard the rumors and had seen the set pictures, but I successfully avoided getting confirmation of who showed up in the movie before I saw it. Perhaps the most impressive aspect of this was that, with one notable exception (see #5-7 below), none of the invited guests were mere cameos; all of them had meaningful character beats and important roles to play in the story. Specifically, I was expecting the earlier Spideys to show up at the last minute to help out with the final fight, and was pleasantly surprised that they arrived early enough for some great character work between them.
2. Continuing with that thought: The casual interactions between Tobey Maguire, Andrew Garfield, and Tom Holland, some touching and others funny, were some of my favorite moments of the movie. Tobey was the chill, elder statesman of the three, a more confident and competent version of Jake Johnson's Spidey from Into the Multiverse. In contrast, Andrew was still tormented by the death of Gwen Stacy in his second movie, now living a self-imposed life of solitude and self-loathing. Tobey sweetly tried to counter this ("You're amazing! Say it! Say you're amazing!"), but it takes the opportunity to save MJ from a similar fall that allows Andrew to start to move past his grief and guilt. And Tom took the leadership role while casually throwing out references to going into space and being an Avenger, which the others hilariously did not understand—but even better was seeing Andrew and Tom marvel at Toby being able to shoot webs out of his wrists instead of relying on homemade webshooters and webbing. (Now that's what I call fan service, given the endless debates about organic vs. mechanical webshooters on message boards.)
3. I was relieved to see that Doctor Strange was not the co-star of the movie, as the trailer suggested. (I get it: After all, they couldn't show much else). I was afraid he'd play the father figure that Tony Stark and Quentin Beck did in Holland's first two movies; instead, there was a great older hero/younger hero dynamic between them that thankfully stopped short of mentor/mentee. (And hey, was that Zelma, from the Jason Aaron and Chris Bachalo run of the comics, cleaning up the snow in the Sanctum Sanctorum?)
4. Holland's dedication to trying to save.help/cure the assorted villains, as opposed to Doctor Strange's plan to return them to their home universes to face their deaths, was perhaps the most positively surprising aspect of the story. This reflected the traditional Spider-Man idealism (especially during the Dan Slott "no one dies" period) and exemplified the less reactive or defensive approach to superheroing we often see these days among the younger set, such as Ms. Marvel or Squirrel Girl. (Although, to be fair, one of Batman's greatest regrets is not being able to help or redeem his worst villains, especially those like Two-Face who were once on the side of good, as I discuss in Batman and Ethics.) It was also nice to see that, other than Norman Osborn, the villains weren't truly evil; rather, each had been "turned" in his own way, which the Spideys were able to reverse, setting them back on the righteous path.
5. MATT MURDOCK!
6. CHARLIE COX AS MATT MURDOCK!
7. "I'm a very good lawyer." Fantastic line at the perfect time. (But I'm sad they missed the chance to have Matt turn in Happy's direction, take a sniff or listen intently for a second, and say "Foggy?")
8. Most important, this movie fixed what I've regarded as the biggest flaw of the first two MCU Spider-Man films: the absence of a motivating tragedy that serves to convince Peter to dedicate himself to helping people and doing what's right, regardless of the personal cost (which is consistently high). In the comics and the last two iterations in the movies, this crucial event has always been the death of Uncle Ben, which Tobey references as his greatest loss, while Andrew understandably focuses on Gwen. But the MCU movies chose for some reason to neglect Uncle Ben altogether (other than occasional suggestions of his past existence in this universe), leaving Peter to be a more carefree, happy-go-lucky wallcrawler, reveling in playing dress-up with Iron Man and the Avengers but not really motivated to be a hero for its own sake. But with this movie, Aunt May takes Uncle Ben's place, and her death becomes the horrible tragedy that Peter feels responsible for and will spend the rest of his life trying to rise up from. To paraphrase a popular political saying, with this movie Peter Parker became Spider-Man...
9. ...and he proves this by making a tremendous sacrifice at the end to save the multiverse, asking Doctor Strange to erase all memory of Peter Parker's existence, including MJ and Ned, the two closest people to him left in the world. (It will be very interesting to see how Peter goes about rebuilding these relationships in the upcoming "college trilogy.") The fact that he did so without hesitation and with full awareness of the incredible personal cost shows that this Peter Parker has become the Spider-Man we know and love.

All in all, Spider-Man: No Way Home was a stunning achievement by all involved, and it only heighten my excitement for what director Jon Watts does with the upcoming Fantastic Four film.

New book: A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Thor: If They Be Worthy

I'm very pleased to announce my next book, A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Thor: If They Be Worthy, coming out next year from Ockham Publishing ahead of the highly anticipated film Thor: Love and Thunder. (Information about pricing and pre-ordering are coming soon.) UPDATE: It's now available.

From the publisher website:

We all know the Mighty Thor: Prince of Asgard, son of Odin the All-Father, and God of Thunder. He has long been one of the few in the universe worthy to wield the mystic hammer Mjolnir… until, one day, he is not. Soon, a new Thor emerges, a woman who commands the thunder and the hammer in ways all her own. She is none other than Jane Foster, and as she learns to be her own version of the Mighty Thor, the Odinson can only watch and wonder why he is no longer worthy, while this new Thor clearly is.

This is not just the story of two Thors, though. This is a tale of worthiness: what it means, how it can be lost, and how one can reclaim it. This is the journey of a god-prince, born and raised to be a hero who wields the ultimate weapon, who suddenly finds himself unable to even budge it and has to struggle to relearn who he is and what it means to be a god. This is also the adventure of Dr Jane Foster, battling the scourge of cancer whilst juggling the responsibilities of being a god, before being forced to choose between the two.

In this book, philosopher Mark D. White, author of A Philosopher Reads Marvel Comics’ Civil War and The Virtues of Captain America, introduces you to the world of Thor and leads you through the legendary saga of Jane and the Odinson, written by Jason Aaron and drawn by Esad Ribić, Russell Dauterman, and many others. Along the way, White draws on Western and Eastern thought, ethics and existentialism, as he explores the philosophy of self-worth and worthiness, as well as questioning the nature of gods in the Marvel Universe.

Written in his characteristic light style, A Philosopher Reads Marvel Comics’ Thor is the perfect mix of superheroes and philosophy, accessible to new fans as well as experienced Asgardian travelers.

This is the long-awaited second entry in the A Philosopher Reads... series, following my book on the Marvel Comics "Civil War." It is a slim volume, about a third as long as the Civil War book (as well as my other books on Captain America and Batman); as the series moves forward, I will alternate between "full-length" books, covering the entire history of a superhero or team, and "novella" length ones, focusing on a specific storyline or period. (The third entry, already in the works, is planned to be full-length, but more of them after that will be novella length.)

As the description above says, A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Thor: If They Be Worthy covers the seven years of Thor comics written by Jason Aaron in collaboration with magnificent artists such as Esad Ribić and Russell Dauterman, starting with Thor: God of Thunder #1 in January 2013 and ending with King Thor #4 in February 2020, covering four volumes of Thor comics plus miniseries such as The Unworthy Thor, War of the Realms, and King Thor. (To provide background for these stories, as well as the characters and concepts in them, I discuss plenty of older Thor comics too—the reference list is quite exhaustive, trust me!)

It is also the first superhero-and-philosophy book of mine that is not based primarily on ethics, focusing instead on different philosophical aspects of the concepts of worth and worthiness as suggested in the adventures of Thor from 1960s to today, plus other concepts relevant to the story, such as godhood, humanity, and mortality, all of which Jane Foster and the Odinson struggle with in their own unique ways.

I'm sure I will have much more to say about this book in coming months, possibly including podcasts and videos (!), but for now I'll just say this: A Philosopher Reads... Marvel Comics' Thor: If They Be Worthy is a love letter to the concept and legacy of Thor, including both the Odinson and Jane Foster, and especially the incredible storytelling of Aaron, Ribić, Dauterman, and others. It is an honor to write about these characters and concepts, for which we all owe an Asgardian-sized debt to Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, and I can only hope I have done them, and everyone involved, justice with my words.

Putting law, corruption, and power into context in Devil's Reign #1

SPOILERS FOR DEVIL'S REIGN #1 BELOW!

In last week's Devil's Reign #1, the first installment in the Daredevil-centered Marvel Comics event by writer Chip Zdarsky, artist Marco Checchetto, and colorist Marcio Menyz, Wilson Fisk—better known as the Kingpin, and currently the Mayor of New York—has enacted a citywide ban on superheroes to get revenge on Daredevil for erasing his secret identity from Fisk's files (as explained in Daredevil, vol. 5, #20, July 2017).

In effect, it's Civil War and the Superhero Registration Act (SHRA) all over again, but with less nuance. There's no pretense this time toward registering heroes and holding them accountable, although Fisk does argue for his law on the basis of public safety and respecting public servants. Also, no heroes are supporting it this time around (otherwise than a few, such as USAgent, who are working for him as an enforcer). Hence, there's no juicy ideological conflict here—just an example of the nakedly corrupt exercise of power and the imperative of good people to stand up and resist it.

And, knowing Fisk as they do, the (real) heroes are resisting. As detailed in my books on him as well as Civil War, Captain America opposed the SHRA, even though it was legitimately passed by Congress in response to a series of disasters related to superhero activity, because he felt it violated the liberty and privacy of people trying to save lives. So naturally, he finds the current law, with the same effects, even less acceptable, given the source.

We see just how unacceptable he finds it after Spider-Man (Miles Morales) saves a child from a burning building and Fisk's shock troops try to arrest him... until a higher authority steps in (while also saving lives).

When Fisk's officer asserts that the heroes are actually criminals now, Cap explains (with undue respect) that if he has to make a choice between following the law and saving lives, he will always choose the latter.

This doesn't mean that Cap is dismissing the importance of law in general, much less placing himself above it. He's merely recognizing that law is not an intrinsic good in and of itself, but rather a means to the end of ensuring social order, at the least, as well as protecting lives and promoting broader well-being. Heroes pursue those same ends, as do public servants and first responders, all of whom are justified in making judgment calls in emergency situations to set the law aside for the greater good (such as saving lives). Ideally, they will be held accountable for those choices after the fact if there is any doubt to their propriety, and sometimes those choices will be found improper (if not egregiously wrong). But it does not serve society's interest to set the law above the goals the law is meant to promote.

Of course, this is all the more apparent when a particular law is the expression of the vendetta of a corrupt public official rather than a response to valid democratic concerns. Cap makes this clear to several fellow heroes afterwards when Daredevil claims responsibility for Fisk's actions, explaining how Fisk lost the knowledge of his secret identity. Knowing all too well what it means to take on too much responsibility, Cap tries to tell Matt that it's not his fault, and then reasserts his commitment to doing what's right, regardless of any counterproductive law that Fisk chooses to put in his way.

In the end, though, it's Luke Cage who gets to the heart of Fisk's actions, as he explains to a group of gawking New Yorkers assembled around him and his family what the mayor's true plan is: to manufacture a crisis and then claim to be the only one who can prevent it from getting worse (like a mobster selling "protection" against his own threats of violence).

Even Tony Stark, poster boy and point man for the SHRA during the Civil War, sees through Fisk, suggesting a novel way to work the system against him: He's running for mayor. (Can Luke run instead?)

Before I sign off, I have to share this fantastic scene (sorry) featuring the ever-lovin' Thing as Fisk's stormtroopers break into the Fantastic Four's home:

If there's one thing that will get gentle Ben mad, it's someone threatening children, especially his family—just look at his face in the bottom panel.

Needless to say, it is clobberin' time indeed.

Daredevil nails a crucial difference between utilitarianism and deontology in Daredevil #36

SPOILERS FOR THE CURRENT RUN OF DAREDEVIL BELOW!

For the last year, Daredevil has been in prison, where he was sentenced in Daredevil #24 for second-degree manslaughter, resulting from the eventual death of a burglar he beat up in the first issue of the current run. Since he's been incarcerated—as Daredevil, mind you, avec mask but sans costume—Elektra has been protecting Hell's Kitchen as the new Daredevil (as seen on the cover to the right), and his twin brother Mike has been posing as Matt Murdock to preserve his secret identity. (If you think Mike Murdock was simply a farcical disguise Matt used in the past to do this, you obviously haven't read 2020's Daredevil Annual #1.)

In Daredevil #36 (released December 1, 2021), by writer Chip Zdarsky, penciller Manuel Garcia, inkers Cam Smith, Scott Hanna, and Victor Nava, and colorists Marcio Menyz and Bryan Valenza, the Man without Fear is once again a free man, although he was preoccupied the last few weeks of his sentence with battling against both corruption inside the prison and clones of Bullseye outside of it. After wrapping up both matters in the previous issue, the authorities tried to arrest Daredevil for being a fugitive from justice; several of his fellow superheroes argued the necessity of his breakout and the good he did, and a video recording of their argument with the police soon went viral. In the end, Matt turned himself in, presumably to show, as he did when he submitted to his initial trial and accepted the prosecution's plea offer, that superheroes must be accountable to the same laws they help enforce—although, over Zdarsky's run of the book, he has become more and more skeptical of the criminal justice system that ultimately carries that responsibility.

After reconnecting with both his brother and Elektra, Matt—now very furry of face, which I hope is not a permanent state of affairs—returns to patrolling Hell's Kitchen, and comes across two young men who had just knocked over a bodega. More concerned with helping them turn their lives around then sending them to prison, especially given his recent experiences, Matt lets them go and gives the bag of stolen loot back to the store owner... which comes as a surprise to Reed Richards, who by then had also arrived on the scene.

Reed shares Matt's concerns about reassuring a worried public that they can trust superheroes, but they differ on how much deference they should show "the system" in order to do this. As he did during the fight over superhuman registration that he references—and despite the fact that his support of registration almost ended his marriage—Reed stands by the legal system, despite its flaws, and wants to devise an optimal strategy in accordance with it, as well as optics of the current situation.

In contrast, Matt asks a simple question—"What's right?"—and then draws out the difference between what philosopher W.D. Ross characterized as "the right and the good" (in his book of the same title). Effectively, Matt is contrasting Reed's utilitarianism, in which he calculates the myriad contributing factors to an issue to arrive at a conclusion regarding the best course of action to take, with Matt's own deontological approach, which dismisses empirical contingencies in favor of using principle to determine the right thing to do.

Matt drives the point home when he acknowledges Reed's brilliance, but suggests that it's distracting him from the simple moral truth.

To be fair, determining what's right is not necessarily simpler than determining what's good or best; both require the use of judgment to weigh the various moral factors that are relevant to a problematic situation. (I discuss this reference to Captain America and Iron Man's conflicting moral perspectives, very similar to Matt's and Reed's, and the different use of judgment they each require, in my book A Philosopher Reads Marvel Comics' Civil War.) But Matt obviously feels, at least in this case, that he has identified the right thing to do—showing mercy to the two young men and sparing them the "justice" of the system that Matt feels is broken—and he has decided that no other factors, including the effect of his actions on public opinion, are relevant to that decision, amounting to mere "noise" that's "drowning out what's right."

This is not to say Reed doesn't have a point as well. As we saw above, Reed recognizes the flaws in the system, which we can safely assume he has included in his determination of what is the best thing to do overall; it simply wasn't the conclusive factor in the end. For his part, Matt also showed he realizes the importance of optics when he turned himself in again after putting down the prison riot and helping to defeat the Bullseyes; nonetheless, he didn't find it relevant to his conclusion (which is a different moral logic than Reed's considering the flaws of the system but finding other factors more significant). Both heroes weighed the same options, but in different ways and with different conclusions, which shows how equally moral persons can nonetheless disagree, in good faith, on ethical problems based on their unique ethical perspectives.

Don't believe for a minute that this issue is settled, especially for Matt Murdock. After all, he has seen the criminal justice system from many sides—defense attorney, prosecutor, defendant, and incarcerated felon—and he has long had to deal with the conflict between the law he is dedicated to upholding and the ideal of justice to which the law is only an approximation, as well the conflict between the law, ideally based on justice, and the imperfections of the criminal justice system, designed and implemented by human beings to enforce that law in the real world. (And we didn't even mention the conflict presented by the dual roles he has chosen to play in this drama!)

Why We Relate to Batman

Batman is celebrating his 80^th anniversary this year, and while he has served admirably as the protector of Gotham City, there is one mystery that the world’s greatest detective has never been able to solve: his own moral inconsistency. Many focus on his all-too-human motivation and lack of superpowers to explain why he’s more relatable than other superheroes, but most of us also share his struggle to reconcile the various elements of his moral code, which serves to make him a different sort of role model from most of his costumed colleagues as well.

Let’s start with Batman’s mission, the guiding principle of his life, sworn over his parents’ graves after their untimely deaths at the hands of a mugger: to save the lives of the people of Gotham, chiefly by fighting the scourge of crime. This is broadly consequentialist in its ethics, striving to do as much good as he can, both as the costumed crimefighter Batman and as wealthy philanthropist Bruce Wayne. At the same time, he breaks many common-sense moral rules in the process—he practices violence, often to the point of inflicting torture, and generally ignores the law when it is inconvenient—all of which would fly in the face of deontological ethics, which focuses on the right and wrong of actions rather than their consequences.

None of these actions, however, is the cause of his moral distress or inconsistency, because Batman justifies them all by how they help him further his mission. To him, the end does justify the means in such cases, which may be disagreeable to some (especially deontologists), but it is not morally inconsistent within Batman’s consequentialist mindset. If he believes that beating a reluctant informant senseless will help him save an innocent life, then he will do it (and he does it a lot).

For Batman, this reasoning justifies a lot of behavior that many others feel is wrong, but even the Caped Crusader draws the line at one wrongful act: killing. Countless times in the comics, Batman has refused to kill even his most homicidal foes, including the Joker, and even risks his own life to save theirs (yes, including the Joker). In other words, Batman will do almost anything to further his mission to save the lives of the citizens of Gotham, but to paraphrase the philosopher Meat Loaf, he won’t do that—he will not take a life, even to save many others.

This is the central moral conflict in Batman’s life: He refuses to perform the one wrongful act that would most significantly advance his mission and further his idea of the good. Here, his deontological convictions about means—perhaps his only one—run into his underlying consequentialist ends.

What accounts for his refusal to kill? Most of Batman’s explanations in the comics focus on the effects that killing would have on his moral character. For example, he worries that crossing that particular line will make him like the people he fights (as if their shared predilection for violence and lawbreaking weren’t enough). This concern is a key feature of virtue ethics, yet another school of moral philosophy, but Batman’s skewed version of it reflects an obsession with maintaining a virtuous self-image at the expense of the mission he has adopted as his version of the good life, and in the end, it furthers neither.

We could debate whether or not Batman should kill the Joker and his other murderous enemies until Bat-cow comes home. (Yes, there is a Bat-cow.) Certainly, comics fans have been doing this since before the first poisoned fish with a Joker grin popped up in Gotham Harbor. More important, however, Batman has long been debating this as well, both to himself and with his friends and fellow heroes, making much the same arguments I outlined above. He is keenly aware of this essential moral conflict, which is much harder to dismiss than using violence or breaking the law to further his mission. In this case, Batman has to explain what makes his concern with his virtue more important than his mission, or what makes the life he would take more important than the lives his foes would take.

Batman’s ongoing struggles with moral inconsistency provide us with a point of reference to consider our own. Most of us have a concept of the good we want to further, whether it’s saving lives as first responders, curing disease as medical researchers, or pursuing justice as policymakers or activists. At the same time, we all have moral lines we refuse to cross, such as those at the borders of lying, cheating, or stealing, and we also have ideas of who we want to be as people that includes but also supersedes all of these considerations.

All of this moral “material” is incredibly difficult, if not impossible, to reconcile and make consistent, especially when we have to marshal it in the face of hard choices. As many philosophers acknowledge, a faculty of judgment is necessary to combine, prioritize, and balance all of these moral criteria to make an actual decision. Philosophy professors teach the basic elements of ethics to our students, but as Immanuel Kant wrote in the Critique of Pure Reason, “judgment is a peculiar talent which can be practiced only, and cannot be taught.” Judgment is developed through experience over time (and many mistakes), and it is also be learned through example—and not necessarily by those who exercise it well. It is more important to see the process of judgment than its results, and fiction can be just as valuable to this end as the stories of real people, if the characters portrayed in it are sufficient complex.

Batman is indeed complex. Over his eighty years, he has developed into a fascinating character with a multifaceted ethics, and because of this he can not only entertain us but also inspire us. His struggle to reconcile his conflicted moral code, likely as impossible a task as eradicating crime in Gotham City, is yet one more reason he is considered so relatable to millions of fans around the world. His moral and psychological extremes may not qualify him as a role model similar to Superman or Wonder Woman, but his awareness of his own conflicts, especially regarding trying to be moral in several different ways at the same time, is certainly worthy of admiration and emulation. Among superheroes, no one lives a more thoroughly examined life than Batman.

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See here for more on my book Batman and Ethics, which you can buy at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or IndieBound.

A Sentinel Centennial: Thoughts upon the 100th post at the Virtues of Captain America blog

Thanks to Vince Skolny for the title of this post!

Today's post on Captain America #176—the pivotal issue that bridges the "Secret Empire" and "Nomad" storylines—marks the 100th post at the Virtues of Captain America blog. The blog launched on July 9, 2018, just under eleven months ago, with Avengers #4, and I've regularly posted twice a week (occasionally thrice).

Before we get to the more substantive thoughts, please allow me to indulge in a bit of personal satisfaction in this. I always imagine and plan grand ongoing projects, but I've had very little success actually starting them, much less sticking with them very long. (I tend to write my books in a few months, although the research periods have been longer, especially with the Cap and Batman books, in which 40-50 years of comics had to be read or re-read. "Nice work if you can get it," I know.) Being aware of this, I wrote about fifty posts before I even bought the Wordpress site or mentioned the project online, just to make sure I would maintain interest long enough to make it worthwhile. Now, nearly a year later, with a hundred posts online and over forty more in the can, I see no end in sight, and there are a lot more comics to cover: Today's post is an August 1974 issue, and the prepared posts go through the end of 1977. (What year is it now? I don't even know anymore.)

The motivating premise of the Virtues of Captain America blog was that almost every substantial appearance of Captain America in a Marvel comic since his defrosting in 1964—those in which he does more than simply appear in a large group scene or shout "Avengers Assemble!"—explicitly reflects some aspect of the his moral character (as described in my book of the same name), because the character of Captain America is defined by his ethics to a greater degree than is any other superhero. That claim was tested in these first 100 posts, as a significant number of his earliest appearances, both in his own titles and Avengers, certainly showed general heroism but few specific virtues. On the whole, though, I think I've been able to draw enough ethical content of interest out of even the "thinnest" issues to make their blog posts worthwhile (albeit not dedicated posts to those single issues), while having fun with them all. The blog is currently in the middle of Steve Englehart's groundbreaking run, which is generating longer and more substantive posts, and this trend will only accelerate when I get to the runs by Roger Stern, J.M. DeMatteis, Mark Gruenwald, and Mark Waid, just to name a few.

Because I did cover several comics at a time in many posts, I have discussed more than 100 issues so far. In fact, if my count is correct, I've covered 242 comics: 119 issues of Tales of Suspense and Captain America, 99 issues of Avengers, and 24 other comics in which Cap appeared, spanning just over a decade, from March 1964 through August 1974. Out of these first 242 comics, I cited only 41 in my book, which suggests that, even though nearly every appearance of Cap contains some reflection of his moral character, many of these are mere passing references that didn't merit mention in a book that relied on the most prominent and definitive strongest statements. (Or maybe the book should have been a lot longer.)

As the comics I cover gradually have more material of ethical interest, I have also found that I have to synopsize the stories more than I expected, if only to provide sufficient context for the panels and quotes I want to discuss. I don't mind that, and I have enjoyed doing that in the books, especially when the focus is on Cap's behavior through an entire story, but I didn't expect to do it as much at the blog. Even more enjoyable have been the posts in which I can indulge in a little comics history, which you'll see a lot more when coverage of Roy Thomas's Invaders run starts soon, a masterclass in retroactive continuity in the classic sense as gaps and inconsistencies in comics history are explained and forgotten characters revived for new readers. (We already got a taste of this in the post on Captain America #155, written by Steve Englehart based on a Roy Thomas idea, which explained the 1950s appearances of Cap and Bucky even though, according to 1964's Avengers #4, they were "killed" before the end of World War II; we see a bit also in the post on Giant-Size Avengers #1, which previews the two men who served as Captain America in the late 1940s, explained in What If? #4 in 1977.)

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As work on the Virtues of Captain America blog progresses, I sometimes think, "I really ought to consolidate some of these posts and write something covering a larger number of comics, possibly centered around one aspect of his ethical behavior"... until I realize I already did that when I wrote the damn book. There are, of course, great comics that came out after I finished the book, such as Captain America vol. 7 #14, from which the images in this tweet from @widowsmaximoff are drawn. (I managed to slip in issue #10 from that run at the last minute during production of the book, but #14 came out too late.) Perhaps I may write some overarching posts once I get to comics from 2014 and on, but until then, I stand by the book as far as a summary of Cap's moral character is concerned. (That is, unless Wiley wants an updated second edition.

<clears throat>

I said, unless Wiley wants an updated second edition.

<crickets>

Oh well.

But that got me thinking: What would it be like to write a book that way, first blogging about individual issues and then consolidating the ideas from them into a book? As it is, I take copious notes on comics in preparation for a book, so this would just involve making my notes public and presentable. It seems like much more work—but then again, I already spend a lot of time retyping, coding, and sorting the notes, so the blogging about the issues may not be that much additional work (depending, of course, on how much content and polish I put into each post).

One advantage to doing the book before the blog, though, is that I can write each blog post with the knowledge of the complete scope and history of the character. When I write about Cap's 60s and 70s comics, I know what's coming, and I can put the early stories in the context of what comes later—something I couldn't do as well if I blogged as I read (even if I have some knowledge of the entire run). It might work for the Fantastic Four, because I've read the entire run, and might have worked for Batman, because I'd read most everything before I started re-reading for the book, but not for Iron Man, Thor, or Daredevil, to whom I am just as devoted but about whom my reading is less complete. Also, the blog-first method would probably not work well with respect to a publishing deadline (absent a very strict and manageable blogging routine on my part, ha), so it would be best to try with a project I would plan to self-publish—especially if it turns out that, at the end of the day, I don't want to write the book anymore!

I joke, but that's a serious consideration (complementing what I said earlier about finding it difficult to sustain interest over a long period of time). Part of the appeal of writing a book for me is discovery. Although I usually have some idea of what I'm going to say, books always end up significantly different than imagined or planned. Writing a book when I know exactly what it's going to say feels like an exercise in transcription (although in actuality the focus simply changes from figuring out what to write to figuring out how to write it well, which is no less important a task). Obviously, consolidating the themes of hundreds of blog posts is still work, but if nothing new comes from seeing the forest over the trees, I don't know if I'd be motivated to take this huge step. But it's an interesting thought nonetheless, and I might consider it for a "passion project" that is for me—and up to me—alone, even if other people like it too.

Kind of like the Virtues of Captain America blog itself.

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Anyway... here's to the next 100 posts! Thank you to all who have been reading, whether you've been there from the first or have just found the blog recently. If you have any ideas how to improve the site, either in terms of content or appearance, please feel free to let me know in the comments below. (I would like to spruce the site up, but my talents, assuming I have any, definitely lie elsewhere!)

And if I see you around, as Cap says...

(Oh Thor... and you wonder why you're not worthy anymore.)