While much of the scholarship on superhero narratives has focused on the heroes themselves, Batman’s Villains and Villainesses: Multidisciplinary Perspectives on Arkham’s Souls takes into view the depiction of the villains and their lives, arguing that they often function as proxies for larger societal and philosophical themes. Approaching Gotham’s villains from a number of disciplinary backgrounds, the essays in this collection highlight how the villains’ multifaceted backgrounds, experiences, motivations, and behaviors allow for in-depth character analysis across (...) varying levels of social life. Through investigating their cultural and scholarly relevance across the humanities and social sciences, the volume encourages both thoughtful reflection on the relationship between individuals and their social contexts and the use of villains (inside and outside of Gotham) as subjects of pedagogical and scholarly inquiry. (shrink)

After the West Papua National Liberation Army, the armed wing of OPM (Free Papua movement), burned a small plane and kidnapped its New Zealand pilot on February 7, 2023. The dark clouds that sealed this frontier war opened to the outside world. Across the globe, media outlets shared this information, causing people to condemn this act as evil terrorism, while others view it as stratagem used by OPM fighters to open deaf ears of the world’s communities. But at least this (...) incident exposed a half-century-old war waged by the Indonesian military government against the original Papuans. After the kidnapping, Egianus Kogoya, OPM TPNPB, and foreign intruders living off this ancient land's lifeblood became embroiled in a world of contradictory morality, ethics, and justice. There are those who regard Egianus Kogoya as a hero for the Papuans and on the other hand, there are those who view him as a criminal, depending on who is telling the story and why. ‘Metaphysics of a hero’ is a topic I wish to discuss in the following paragraphs. It may challenge your morals and ethical comfort zone and perhaps allow you to see the larger picture of human suffering that you may not have been aware of. It may help us to understand whether and how such suffering can be caused by or linked to global civilisational greed and power structures - sucking up the innocent blood of the oppressed; justified by its unconscious pathological notions of justice, morality, and peace. In a world like this (oppressor and oppressed), how can we distinguish between good and bad morality and virtue? Who defines their meaning and value and who determines how they apply to a society that is divided by racism, hatred, and injustice? It is, therefore, essential that we understand how and why concepts of 'morality, justice, and peace' function in a world where one group of society oppresses another, and how and why someone like Egianus Kogoya emerges and responds to such conditions in the manner he does, and the actions condoned by some and praised by others. The following paragraphs will be a brief discussion of how morality and virtue operate (within or apply) to human beings between the oppressors and oppressed. The kind of morality and virtue a hero must possess to meet these challenges, and what it costs to be a hero. As a conclusion, I will resolve whether Egianus Kogoya is a hero or villain in West Papua's National Liberation story, and how innocent individuals like Philip became as academic, Camellia Webb-Gannon describes as a 'pawn' in a conflict that can only be resolved by international engagement. (shrink)

The mask's role is central to the superhero narrative. The mask is a non-human identity, which replaces the civilian, human one; sometimes forever. It is what happens to the majority of Gotham's villains. While Batman can take off his mask and at least pretend to be Bruce Wayne, many of his enemies do not have the same privilege. For characters like Two-Face, Joker, Zsasz, and Clayface, the mask is carved directly into their bodies. Like masks, scars can replace one's (...) identity, but deeply and sometimes irreversibly. Bodies and masks play a central role in ancient primitive cultures, especially during initiation rituals. The two elements are distinct, but closely linked. Wearing a mask always implies a modification of the body, or at least of the way it is perceived. Furthermore, marks left on the body, whether temporary like a face paint or definitive like a tattoo, perform a similar function to that of the mask: they replace the individual's identity and communicate a message. The initiation ceremonies destroy a previous identity to create a new one. While an individuum is a Leib, a living body that is becoming and escapes an ultimate meaning, by inflicting pain and scars, the initiation rituals aim to reduce the body to a stable dimension. First an ecstasy, induced by drugs and fasting, and through the infliction of physical pain, shatters the previous identity. The Leib is reduced to the passivity of flesh. Then a new identity is literally written on the body through scars or tattoos, thus receiving an "ultimate" sense and giving him/her a role and a place within society. The scar is a new identity, like a mask carved directly on the body. (shrink)

The “scarred villain” trope, where facial differences like scars signify moral corruption, is ubiquitous in film (e.g., Batman’s The Joker). Strides by advocacy groups to undermine the trope, however, suggest cinematic representations of facial differences could be improving with time. This preregistered study characterized facial differences in film across cultures (US vs. India) and time (US: 1980-2019, India: 2000-2019). Top-grossing films by country and decade were screened for characters with facial differences. We found that the scarred villain trope has actually (...) worsened with time, although in tandem with progress in also representing non-villainous characters with facial anomalies. Country of origin did not predict the presence of facial differences in villains or heroes. “Action” and “fantasy” movies were the most likely genres to depict villains with facial differences. Finally, villains’ facial differences crossed more facial subunits and were more likely to involve lips, chin, and mandible than when present in heroes. Our findings underscore the need for critical reflection on the role of cultural practices—even when seemingly innocuous—in shaping and maintaining negative biases against already stigmatized groups. (shrink)

Nussbaum seems to have had a spell during which she made villains heroes (and sometimes visa versa). Thus she has argued, in effect, that Steerforth is the hero of David Copperfield, and Heathcliff the most admirable character in Wuthering Heights. Here I discuss her more or less explicit claim that Alcibiades is the hero, (and Socrates the villain) in Plato’s Symposium. -/- .

Study of Batman´s villain Scarecrow through the lens of ancient Stoicism, particularly according to the Stoic theory of passions.

Films frequently employ nicknames not only for villains but also for non-criminal characters. In this paper, I present a classification of nicknames used in films, along with various examples, mostly from crime-related films. I argue that the use of nicknames in films is important not for the sake of reference, but for the sake of an additional narrative told by the nickname as a shorthand description of a character's background (cf. Tony “Two-Toes”, “Dirty” Harry, “Doc” Erwin or “Hatchet” Harry (...) Lonsdale). The first role of nicknames is their use as a case of Russell's definite descriptions, which require context to be meaningful, in this case, the film story itself. Such descriptions do not need their object to necessarily exist, but they are still meaningful. This role will be tied to the pragmatic context employed. The second role of film nicknames is to concisely present the audience with a background story, by enriching the identity of a character with additional background information, without unnecessary storytelling. Such a device is connected to the philosophical theory of narrativism, providing an additional layer of the character’s identity. (shrink)

In fairy tales, villains usually come to a bad end, snared in a trap of their own making, or visited with a disaster nicely suited to their particular villainy. Read a story of this kind to children and you will be struck by the profound satisfaction with which this predictable of events is greeted. Yet, if children cheer when the villain is done in, they are just as satisfied when the hero manages to get the villain by the throat (...) but takes pity and spares him. These tales of retribution and mercy, even reduced to their barest bones, seem to have an intrinsic significance; they strike some inner chord, resonate with something fundamental in our inarticulate understanding of the world, reveal something about the basic make-up of the world. This is not to suggest that they are 'realistic' in the ordinary sense. They do not tell us what 'really happens' in the world of experience, where the villain all too often flourishes and the innocent are trampled underfoot. Rather, fairy tales reveal to us the injustice of the human world by testifying to the true nature of justice. If we did not know that villains ought to get their comeuppance, we would have no reason to think it wrong that they often escape to enjoy their spoils. Tales of retribution and mercy speak of the reality of a world beyond the world of everyday experience; so doing, they show the world of experience in its true light. In the best sense of the word, they are 'myths': stories that, even when told in their simplest form, carry a profound inner significance. (shrink)

Early modern critics of materialism (and of associated doctrines like determinism and mechanism) sometimes employed a transcendental argument form. If materialism were true, then some valuable feature of reality could not exist; but that feature does exist; therefore materialism is false. Depending on current context and concerns, the valuable 'X' in question might be God, the soul, hell, objective morality, free will, conscience, truth, knowledge, social order, or justice and the law: all, in the critics' eyes, obvious and unchallengeable realities (...) which materialism would, impossibly, extinguish.1 As David Hawkes notes in his delightfully provocative essay, it is because Hell is so manifestly real, in both the play and its world, that Faustus manifestly refutes himself in telling Mephistopheles that it is a fable. The success of such transcendental arguments relies on the truth of both their premises: Hell really must exist, and Faustus's materialism must really be incompatible with its existence. Hawkes celebrates early modern moralists who focussed on the alleged worldly and carnal roots and consequences of 'philosophical materialism', who attacked its proponents as villainous, self-interested, and depraved. (shrink)

Everyone thinks they know who Prince Zuko is and can be. His father, Fire Lord Ozai, and sister, Azula, think him weak, disobedient, and undeserving of the crown. His Uncle Iroh thinks him good, if troubled, but ultimately worthy of his faith. The kids initially think him a villain, but eventually come to see him as a person – neither monster nor saint – someone who can choose to go in a new way. Zuko himself shows great ambivalence between these (...) conflicting stories about who he is, though each one helps to craft his own self-understanding. In this paper, we apply Hilde Lindemann’s narrative account of the self to explore the ways that others “hold” Zuko in one identity or “let him go” from others. According to Lindemann, our personal identities consist of the first- and third-person stories that cluster around significant acts, relationships, and commitments in our lives. Our identities are fundamentally relational, formed by the interaction between our own self-conception and the ways in which others see us. As such, others’ stories can enable or prevent us from imaginatively projecting ourselves into a particular future. This can lead us to becoming trapped in our identities; without the possibility of being perceived differently by others, we might find ourselves unable to try different ways of being or acting. The converse is also true, in that others can open up new possible identities by seeing things in us that we have trouble seeing in ourselves. If others in our moral community see us as wicked, beyond redemption and unable to repair our wrongs, we are held in the role of the villain and might come to live into that role without question. Zuko’s story is a perfect illustration of Jean Harvey’s reminder that, “it is just not true that once a thief, always a thief” and that agents can choose to go in a new way, can choose to change. How does Zuko change? We argue that Zuko’s redemption is enabled by those in his moral community holding him in identities in which he is a good person, capable and deserving of care, friendship, and love. While the identity he has in relation to his father and sister closes down many possible futures, his uncle Iroh in particular persists in holding him in an identity in which he is loved and worthy of love. And in doing so - in holding this space for him - Iroh opens up a way for Zuko to exercise agency and choose to become a different kind of person than the one he thought he was destined to be. (shrink)

Earth scientists have declared that we are living in “the Anthropocene,” but radical critics object to the implicit attribution of responsibility for climate disruption to all of humanity. They are right to object. Yet, in effort to implicate their preferred villains, their revised narratives often paint an overly narrow picture. Sharing the impulse of radical critics to tell a more precise and political story about how we arrived where we are today, this paper wagers that collective action is more (...) effectively mobilized when we identify multiple agencies and diverse historical processes as sites in need of urgent intervention. (shrink)

The aim of this chapter is to analyse the concept of love —understood in the broad and Christian-inspired sense of love as agape-charis love— in relation to the animes Dragon Ball and Dragon Ball Z. I first comment on the character of Piccolo —and how his friendship with Son Gohan— leads to him losing all his original villainous traits. I argue that the evolution of the character of Piccolo through his friendship with Son Gohan illustrates the philosophical claim that a (...) loving and giving of oneself to the other —far from being a sign of weakness— is a courageous and self-affirming exercise. The result may move the individual to an inner transformative experience that leads to the enjoyment of a renewed and authentic life that is worth living. I then argue that Son Goku’s respectful attitude towards his opponents is ultimately a loving attitude. Last, I argue that it is the inspiring and loving example of Son Goku that ultimately explains why characters such as Vegeta —who are at first presented as villains— end up losing their villainous traits after fighting against Son Goku. (shrink)

It seems better to love virtue than vice, pleasure than pain, good than evil. Perhaps it's also better to love virtuous people than vicious people. But at the same time, it's repugnant to suggest that a mother should love her smarter, more athletic, better looking son than his dim, clumsy, ordinary brother. My task is to help sort out the conflicting intuitions about what we should love. In particular, I want to address a problem for the no-reasons view, the theory (...) that love cannot be rationally justified. Since it seems better to love good people rather than evil villains, it appears that there are indeed reasons for (or, at least, against) love. Is it coherent to talk this way and deny that love can be justified? I think so and will explain how. (shrink)

Disney’s Frozen (2013) and Frozen 2 (2019) are among the highest-grossing films of all time (IMDb 2021) and are arguably among the most influential works of fantasy produced in the last decade in any medium. The films, based loosely on Hans Christensen Andersen’s “The Snow Queen” (Andersen 2014) focus on the adventures of the sisters Anna and Elsa as they, together with their companions, seek to safeguard their people both from external threats and (importantly) from Elsa’s inabilities to control her (...) magical abilities to summon ice and snow. While Anna’s choices drive much of the action of both films, Elsa has undoubtedly been the more influential and popular of the two characters, as indicated by measures such as merchandise sales (Ellen Byron and Paul Ziobro 2014), Google search data (Play Like Mum 2020), and even baby name choices (Wolfers 2015). -/- Despite her popularity, Elsa is in many ways a paradoxical sort of hero, as she finds her actions all but predetermined by both external and internal forces. This is particularly the case in the first film, where we meet an Elsa who has been born with a power she cannot control, and which appears more as a force of nature than as anything that “belongs” to Elsa. The film’s action is driven, in large part, precisely by Elsa’s failures to exert control over her emotions and abilities. She begins the film by accidentally injuring Anna. This, in turn, causes Elsa to become fearful and withdrawn and to isolate herself from her sister, even after their parents die on a quest to find a cure for Elsa. Elsa's fear and lack of control lead to an even more dire outcome when she inadvertently calls down winter on Arendelle and abandons her people for the mountains. It is only through Anna's devoted quest to rescue her sister, first by pursuing her to the mountains, and later by throwing herself in front of the villainous Hans’ sword attack on her sister, that Elsa (and Arendelle) are saved. Elsa's most active contribution to this is to appreciate the import of Anna's sacrifice and to discover the power of "love" to overcome her fear. -/- What then, are we to make of Elsa as a character? It is the younger sister Anna who corresponds most closely to Gerda, the unquestioned protagonist of Andersen’s original tale, and her character arc fits neatly with the well-known “Hero’s Journey” model for describing myth (Campbell 2020). It is Anna, for example, who goes on a quest, meets a group of motley companions (the human Kristoff, the reindeer Sven, and the magical snowman Olaf), accepts advice from wise elders (the trolls), undergoes a severe trial, and even gets the "reward" of romantic love at the end. All of this has led some scholars (Niemiec and Bretherton 2015; Heit 2019) to hold up Anna, rather than Elsa, as something like the hero of the story. Existing scholarship on Elsa, by contrast, has focused largely on issues related to her gender and sexuality (Law 2014; Lee 2015; Steinhoff 2017; Streiff and Dundes 2017; Dundes, Streiff, and Streiff 2018; Dundes 2020; Llompart and Brugué 2020). In what follows, I’ll be taking a closer look at Elsa’s unique status as a protagonist, and what her struggles with fate reveal about the nature of free will and ethical responsibility. I’ll argue that Elsa provides a useful model of a “Stoic hero” and that her strengths and weaknesses as a character provide valuable insight into an often-misunderstood school of philosophy. My argument will proceed in several stages. I’ll begin by describing the basic tenets of Stoic philosophy, paying special attention to the role of fate and nature. I’ll then move on to a more detailed treatment of Stoic ethics, as exemplified by Elsa’s own character development. I’ll close by considering the infamous “Lazy Argument” against. (shrink)

The central thesis of my article is that people live a life worthy of a human being only as self-ruling members of some autarchic (or self-governing) communities. On the one hand, nobody is born as a self-ruling individual, and on the other hand, everybody can become such a person by observing progressively the non-aggression principle and, ipso facto, by behaving as a moral being. A self-ruling person has no interest in controlling her neighbors, but in mastering his own impulses, needs, (...) wishes, desires, behaviors, etc. Inasmuch as he is an imperfect being who lives in an imperfect world, he needs to share certain interests, beliefs, values, customs and other characteristics with other people, i.e. to be involved in some communities. Depending on the following four criteria – the regulatory principle, the essential resources, the specific feedback and the fundamental values –, the countless and manifold human communities can be grouped in three categories: (1) affinity communities, (2) economic communities, and (3) civic communities. In other words, every community or human behavior has an affinity, an economic, and a civic dimension. If a civic community is merely a state shaped society, it can be called a political community. All communities are intrinsically variable. Throughout time, they ceaselessly change their composition, values, interpersonal processes and relations, territory, etc. Interestingly enough, the variability is unanimously recognized and accepted in affinity and communities economic, but is denied or abusively interpreted in the case of state shaped societies. If we confuse two types of order − cosmos and taxis – and two types of rule – nomos and thesis –, as well as we exaggerate the importance of certain type of community we bring some social maladies, namely the traditionalism, the commercialism and the civism, (with the worst form of it – the politicality). Whatever the communities they are involved in, all persons relate (implicitly or explicitly) to the libertarian non-aggression principle, living their life in strict accordance with the logical implications of the position they adopt. People who respect the non-aggression axiom necessarily manifest self-control, consideration for the life and property of the others, commitment to offer value for value, love of freedom and a high level of individual responsibility. By contrast, people who violate this axiom – the villains and the statists – invariably strive to control their neighbors, behave as parasites or predators, prefer forced exchanges, reject the personal responsibility (at most accepting the idea of social responsibility), and apply double moral standards. The first category of people generates a libertarian civic discourse as a spontaneous order, and the second creates a political/ statist civic discourse as a result of the human design and will to power. As a spontaneous order, the libertarian civic discourse implies free involvement, peaceful coordination, free expression, free reproduction of ideas and the power of one. Every communication performance in the frame of the libertarian civic discourse is important and has relevant results. All participants to the libertarian civic discourse are automatically members of some self-governing communities (at least members of the general libertarian community). The most important thing for these communities is to be connected to a communicational infrastructure which would make possible free involvement, free expression and the free reproduction of ideas. Inasmuch as today democracy means the tyranny of majority and participatory democracy the tyranny of majority plus the power of vested (and illegitimate) interests, only the emergence of self-governing communities by libertarian discourse offers us a little hope. It’s high time to fall in love (again) with liberty and to embrace the non-aggression principle. We don’t have to create a perfect world, but we can strive to develop our human nature. (shrink)

What is so appealing about the figure of the master criminal? The answer lies in the kind of solution he provides to the problem of suffering. Rather than just accounting for affliction—as, for example, does Leibniz’s theodicy—such a figure enchants it, transforming mundane objects into actual or potential clues, everyday incidents into moves in a cosmic conflict, random misery into a purposeful pattern. The master criminal (the shadowy villain of _The Usual Suspects_, say) thus constitutes a secular replacement for the (...) Devil, making possible a negative reenchantment of the world. (shrink)

There’s a widespread intuition that if the only way an innocent person can stop her villainous attacker from killing her is to kill him instead, then she is morally permitted to do so. But why is it that she is permitted to employ lethal force on an aggressor if that is what is required to save her life? My primary goal in this paper is to defend David Rodin's fairly recent and under-recognized account of self-defense that answers this question. There (...) are roughly two kinds of non-consequentialist accounts of self-defense:'forced-choice' accounts and 'rights-based' accounts. I first examine what I take to be the most plausible 'forced-choice' account of self-defense and I argue that it is unable to withstand two recent criticisms. I then proceed to adjudicate between two prominent 'rights-based' accounts of self-defense: call them the Thomson/Uniacke account and the Rodinian account. Any rights-based account of self-defense must explain how it is that X, who villainously tries to kill Y, forfeits his right to life. I argue both that Thomson/Uniacke's explanation cannot account for the clear permissibility of killing a certain kind of aggressor in self-defense, and that the attempts that could be made to account for this permissibility are either ad-hoc or permit the killing of persons that are morally on par with innocent bystanders. I point out how Thomson/Uniacke can evade the seeming difficulties that I raise by only permitting lethal defensive force against culpable aggressors. But allowing defensive force to be employed only on the culpable goes against one of their central tenets. I then discuss the Rodinian account, how it evades the criticisms I raise, as well as its other virtues. I conclude that while it has difficulties of its own, it is the more plausible one to adopt. (shrink)

This article critically analyses the dynamic levels at which metaphor, as the preferred trope through which pain is conceived and expressed, is signified in Chris Abani’s Becoming Abigail. It interrogates the creative representation of pain as a psychological and physical motif using Trauma and post colonialism as its theoretical anchor. The adoption of metaphor, therefore, creates a therapeutic space that exists beyond linguistic constraints, having the individual wield a certain form of linguistic liberty and privilege. It is this privilege and (...) liberty that the writer experiments with in his portrayal of the pain that characters feel in the creative universe of the novel that we engage in this paper. We conclude that the characters in Abani’s novel are true embodiments of pain, who scale the hurdles and challenges posed by villain and the society at large to become assertive personalities against denials and effacement. (shrink)

This article takes Propp’s work on Russian fairy tales as point of departure for a general theory of character. It is widely held that oral narratives lack complexity in characterization; but it is argued that all narratives can imply psychological traits. It is the case that Propp’s analysis is primarily in terms of ‘functions’-- generalized constant actions performed by various personages. However, one aspect of his study is devoted to how functions are distributed among the dramatis personae into ‘spheres of (...) action’. Seven are recognized, including hero, villain, helper, among others. These are comparable to roles in semantic (case) analysis of sentence structure, such as agent, patient, etc. Propp’s analysis is marred by a number of inconsistencies, with the consequence that his narrative roles are in need of extensive revision. Greimas has complained that Propp presented the roles as a simple inventory, stopping short of a systematic inquiry into relations among them. He offers his alternative ‘actantial model’. However, his model is inadequate in that it fails to recognize that two separate systems of narrative roles need to be recognized, one that holds for ‘dramatic’ narrative structure, the other for ‘instrumental’ narrative structure. (shrink)

Machiavelli’s work is a commentary on the power politics that frame Shakespeare’s tragedies and histories, and Shakespeare’s villains bring to life the inherent dangerousness of Machiavelli’s philosophy. Because their writings appear to illuminate each other in this way, because they constantly remind us of each other, several questions arise: what did Shakespeare know about Machiavelli? What did he think of Machiavelli’s philosophy as it’s normally construed, that is, as a kind of completely unscrupulous political realism? To what extent had (...) the figure of the Machiavel already been articulated within the Elizabethan literary world when Shakespeare got a hold of it? Was the Tutor sense of Machiavelli’s thought accurate? If not, what was the pervasive sense of Machiavelli in Shakespeare’s culture? (shrink)

In The American Pragmatists (2013), Cheryl Misak casts Peirce and Lewis as the heroes of American pragmatism. She establishes an impressive continuity between pragmatism and both logical empiricism and contemporary analytic philosophy. However, in casting James and Dewey as the villains of American pragmatism, she underplays the pragmatists' interest in action.

This review of Ellul's The Technological System plus a book of essays that attempt to interpret Ellul notes how negatively his earlier work was received by English-speaking readers and how poorly he wins them over in this book. He argues that there is "a technological system" that is embedded in society and cannot be controlled however much government may try. Government may be deemed the villain of this book and computers the heroes. The Third World, not yet subject to the (...) system, will in time become so. According to the essays in the other book, the best way to view technology is from the perspective of Christian theology, and Ellul agrees. (shrink)

Review of Confessions of a Philosopher by Bryan Magee. Magee's heroes are those philosophers who did not lose their childhood wonder, but instead, cultivated it and tried to answer the big questions. His list includes Hume, Kant and Schopenhauer, and, this century, Heidegger, Popper, Russell and Wittgenstein. The villains are the philosophers who have tried to reduce philosophy to the linguistic analysis of questions without trying to answer them: Austin, Ryle and Strawson. Magee had the good fortune to have (...) known two of this century's greatest philosophers, Popper and Russell. (shrink)

Cartesian and Western religious and philosophical traditions distinguish the body from the mind, viewing the former as a prison or a burden. The mind (spirit, soul, rationality) is identified as good, while the body is devalued and associated with evil. Some philosophers restored the body's value: humans are not imprisoned spirits, but they are their bodies. Husserl, for example, claims that human beings are not an immaterial substance in a Körper, a physical body, but Leib, a living body that solves (...) within itself the two Cartesian res. Although the Cartesian legacy survives in the Existentialism in the distinction between In-itself (the passive Being) and For-itself (the human, transcendental freedom), the second does not use the object-body as the res cogitans did: "the very nature of the For-itself demands that it be body." Nevertheless, the body plays an ambivalent role, suspended between Körper's passivity and Leib's transcendence. The chapter's focus on Arkham's female characters is not random. Leder notices that "women have consistently been associated with the bodily sphere. They have been linked with nature, sexuality, and the passions, whereas men have been identified with the rational mind. This equation implicitly legitimizes structures of domination." By associating human categories like "lunatics," "savages," or women with the immanence of the body and nature, their transcendentality is denied, and, simultaneously, men's control and domination over them is justified. (shrink)