Aside from the obvious moral issues with Batman’s other methods, such as violence and torture, they are also examples of a more general ethical problem: his disregard for the law. As we’ll see, Batman considers his extralegal status as an advantage in his mission to fight crime, the same mission that he uses to justify the fact that he breaks the law with impunity and abandon. This topic is further complicated by his status and relationship with the Gotham City Police Department and its best‐known commissioner (and one of Batman’s closest friends), Jim Gordon, as well as how Batman sees his role compared to that of the police and how he acts (or doesn’t) within the law.
Although this moral issue may not be as salacious as his refusal to kill or his embrace of violence and torture, all of these share one aspect: they all reflect Batman’s insistence on carving out exceptions for himself to rules he imposes on others. Also, this is the one moral transgression that we average folks in the real world most likely share with the Dark Knight: most of us abstain from extreme violence, torture, and putting children in danger, but many of us have broken the law, even in relatively minor ways such as speeding or cheating on our taxes. The difficulty some of us may have in reconciling these actions with our overall moral codes may give us our most direct insight into the problems with Batman’s moral inconsistency.
As we’ve seen throughout this book in various contexts, Batman takes a rather cavalier attitude toward the law. It almost goes without saying that citizens have a duty to obey the law, absent strong considerations to the contrary, such as extreme necessity or the injustice of certain laws themselves.1 For the most part, laws—especially criminal laws—provide a sense of order to everyday social interactions between imperfect human beings, ensuring that we don’t act on our less social impulses to assault other people, steal their property, or take their lives. Most of us, most of the time, are not even tempted to do these things, and even when we are, our inherent sense of morality prevents us from doing them. But when those safeguards fail—or if people don’t have them at all, like many of the criminals Batman fights—the law is the last barrier, hopefully triggering our instinct to avoid punishment out of sheer self‐preservation and stopping us before we do something we’ll regret. And when that doesn’t work … well, we have Batman. (And the police, of course. But also Batman.)
Batman, however, holds himself above the law, despite the fact that he expects everyone else to obey it. He grants himself permission to violate the law, permission ordinarily given only to the police and military in emergency situations, even though he isn’t subject to their level of oversight and accountability (however imperfect). Even when he is granted quasi‐official status by the police department or government of Gotham City, he never seems to be brought before a review board to answer for any of his actions, although many of them are certainly questionable, as even Jim Gordon is forced to admit.
Batman’s assertion of special privilege violates the universality that is a key aspect of Immanuel Kant’s system of deontological ethics. One of the versions of Kant’s much‐beloved categorical imperative holds that, in order to consider the permissibility of a plan of action (or maxim), we have to ask ourselves what would happen if everyone could also follow the same maxim at the same time: “act only according to that maxim whereby you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.”2 This is the universalization formula of the categorical imperative that forces us to think, as an elder probably asked you a million times as a child, “what if everyone else did that?” (To be accurate, though, this is meant in a more general sense rather than “don’t you dare even think of doing something so stupid.”)
Take lying, for instance (as we will in the context of Batman in the conclusion to this book). If you want to tell a lie for your own advantage, you have to be willing to allow everyone to lie for the same reason. But if you did allow this, the standard prediction is that people would lie so often that no one would believe anybody, which would defeat the purpose of your plan to lie. Because your plan to lie for your own benefit is inconsistent with everyone else having the same permission, it fails this categorical imperative “test,” generating a duty not to lie. This process generates other Kantian duties such as those forbidding theft and killing, as well as positive duties (as we mentioned in Chapter 6) such as helping others and cultivating one’s talents (both duties that a young Bruce Wayne took very seriously as he trained for his future as a crimefighter).
The same logic of universalization applies to lawbreaking as well. When the Riddler sets out to break a law for his own purposes, he is usually counting on most other people to obey the law. (After all, even thieves don’t want their property stolen!) According to Kant, though, if the Riddler wants to break a law, he has to be willing to let everyone else break the law. Although this may be fine for an admitted nihilistic anarchist like the Joker, the Riddler is generally portrayed as a more run‐of‐the‐mill criminal who has no interest in chaos—he wants a relatively peaceful, law‐abiding Gotham City to take advantage of. Because his lawbreaking is self‐defeating if we universalize it, it’s immoral according to the categorical imperative.
Oh, I’m sorry … did I say the Riddler? I meant Batman. (See what I did there?) Of course, Batman’s purposes for breaking the law are much nobler than Edward Nigma’s, but nonetheless, his lawbreaking works best if most everybody else obeys the law—even if only to make the few remaining lawbreakers stand out better! After the No Man’s Land period ended and the federal authorities took control of law enforcement in Gotham, an agent told Batman, “We don’t approve of your brand of vigilantism, unofficially sanctioned as it is by local law enforcement. Where would we be if every citizen decided to take the law into their own hands and prowl the streets in a cape and cowl?” Batman answered, “If every citizen felt that much responsibility for law and order there wouldn’t be any need for either of us.”3 This is a great response, but the truth is, Batman wouldn’t want everyone running around in a mask and cape, chasing thugs and beating them for information. This would compromise his ability to be imposing and scary (and there are already too many “capes” running around Gotham for his tastes). He gets tremendous mileage out of being the only Dark Knight out there, and nonetheless seeming to be everywhere at once. His mystique is valuable, and if everyone were as creepy and scary as he is, no one would be.
Being the one and only Batman has no ethical relevance, but granting oneself the exclusive permission to perform immoral acts such as breaking the law does. When it comes to the universalization formula of the categorical imperative, how it works is less important than the spirit behind it. The process of universalizing our maxims forces us to extend any permissions we grant ourselves to everyone else, out of recognition of the equal moral worth and dignity of all persons. This prevents us from carving out special exceptions for ourselves—no matter how important our mission is, or how good we might look in a cowl and cape. To do otherwise is to claim special status for ourselves, to imply that we are more deserving of privileges than other people, which violates Kant’s essential belief in the equal dignity of persons—a belief Batman would seem to share, given his dedication to helping the downtrodden of Gotham City.
Given that Batman allows himself a degree of leeway to violate the law that he would not grant to many others (at least outside his little Bat‐circle), how does he justify his lawbreaking? When he asked Alfred to tap into the Social Security Administration’s computer system, the butler said, “I’m sure I don’t need to tell you this is illegal, sir,” to which Batman responded, “It’s in a good cause, Alfred.”4 Trivial as this particular example may be—unless you happen to work for the Social Security Administration—it is as straightforward an admission as we can expect.
As we saw with respect to his other violations of moral norms and principles, Batman defends his lawbreaking in terms of the greater good he does, the lives he saves, and the mission he lives for. Even Jim Gordon approves: in their early days together, Batman told Jim how he planted a tape recorder in a criminal’s house to get information. After Jim made a snide remark, Batman asked him, “You don’t approve?” Jim said, “Of you breaking and entering—or of me being in the hotseat” because of a recently appointed “vigilante task force” aimed at the Dark Knight. He continued, “So we both want to clean up Gotham—but you’re going about it the wrong way.” When Batman asked, “You really believe that, Gordon?” the young captain conceded, “That you’re breaking the law? Of course, but … damn it, you work.”5 Acknowledging that Batman “works” represents a conflict for Gordon and the police in general, given their charge to uphold the law as well as to serve and protect, but this lackadaisical attitude certainly works in Batman’s favor.
Nonetheless, Batman receives his fair share of pushback and questioning about his lawbreaking—and not just from frustrated police commissioners, mayors, and federal agents. We’ve already seen that Alfred pokes him occasionally about it, such as when the hyper‐violent Anarky showed up in Gotham and Alfred compared him to Batman, who objected strenuously, saying “I know, I know—my own methods aren’t always legal, either,” but argued that Anarky’s violence is excessive, and “the fact is, no man can be allowed to set himself up as judge, jury, and executioner.”6 As with his use of violence, Batman finds it difficult to draw a line regarding lawbreaking that he is unwilling to cross. He feels Anarky’s use of violence is excessive, but it’s difficult to see how exactly it’s worse than some of what we’ve seen Batman do himself—and it isn’t the difference in their goals, seeing that Batman expresses sympathy for what Anarky is trying to do. As we will see later, Batman reserves the right to break the law himself simply because he is the only person he trusts to do it right.
His other allies also call him on his selective disregard for the law, including ones that have no particular love for the institution themselves. For example, on one of their first adventures together, the Huntress asked Batman why Robin never drives the Batmobile; when Batman answered that Robin wasn’t old enough to drive, Huntress laughed, saying, “That little legal technicality you won’t violate? Sure, makes perfect sense. Not.”7 Another example comes from Oliver Queen, the anti‐establishment crusader Green Arrow, whom Batman criticized for his participation, alongside his partner Black Canary, in an illegal scheme to bring down a dirty chemical company. When Ollie told him the story and complimented one of their underworld allies, Batman was incredulous, asking, “So … you aided and abetted escape from an illegal act simply because you ‘like his style’?” Ollie didn’t miss the chance to point out Batman’s hypocrisy on this count:
Yeah, sure! You can break and enter without a warrant, conduct illegal surveillance, coerce confessions, and violate each and every point of the Miranda rule night in and night out—but it’s “different” because you’re sustaining the system whose rules you can’t abide! … But … I’m wrong because I’m not a hypocrite about it—because I bellow from the rooftops about how warped and corrupt and twisted and sick the system really is—because right along with coming down on the creeps who violate the system’s good rules, I come down on the system’s bad rules themselves!8
Batman works within the system while breaking its rules when it’s convenient for him, but Green Arrow wants to tear down the entire system, which he sees as warped and corrupt (or “twisted and sick”). Batman values the legal system and relies on most people acting “within” it while he operates “outside” it, as we saw in our discussion of Kant’s categorical imperative above. What irks Ollie the most is Batman’s self‐granted exclusive license to violate the law, while criticizing others who, like Green Arrow and Black Canary, do the same.
This criticism cuts even worse when it comes from someone who used to walk the other side of the fence for a living. On one of their many adventures together, Catwoman shared some choice thoughts with Batman about the arbitrary lines that he will or will not cross. When she suggested they break into an accountant’s office to steal records related to Wayne Enterprises that could be traced to Batman, he told her, “I have no problem with breaking and entering on a case‐by‐case basis—but you’re talking about larceny … and that means crossing a line.” Catwoman pointed out that for all his talk of law and justice, the two of them are actually not that different:
Oh, please … You’re a guy who’s built a whole second career using the discomfort of your appearance creates in your prey as a calling card … and, as someone who used to be a big part of that particular subset of society … welcome to my world, sweetie.9
When Batman tried to clarify, saying, “As I said, I have no innate objection to breaking and entering in the name of justice—” Catwoman cut him off: “There you go again. You call it justice—the system still considers you a criminal, whether you like it or not …” When he again objected that what they were doing was wrong, she said, “Get over it, Bruce—everything you do is wrong,” elaborating that “even back in the day, when you and I were dancing on opposite sides of the fence … I always knew there was a very thin line between your world and mine.”10 Much like our hypothetical case involving the Riddler, even when Batman and Catwoman pursued different goals, their methods were the same, and as much as Batman would justify his lawbreaking “in the name of justice” or his mission, he was breaking the law nonetheless—and this wasn’t just a personal rule or standard he was violating, but a key institution for holding society together.
Although most of the discussion of Batman’s lawbreaking to this point has been in terms of deontological principle, there are also significant negative consequences to his illegal activities that would be of relevance to utilitarians. One particularly important one is the activity he inspires from copycat heroes or vigilantes, who often take even Batman’s violence to a higher level (if not a lethal one). We’ve seen this already with the “Bat‐men,” the vigilante gang Batman and Leslie Thompkins were dealing with when she learned Batman’s true identity. The leader of the Bat‐men told Jim Gordon that they were “the same” as Batman, prompting Gordon to think,
Damn it, I knew this would happen. Once we let one vigilante operate, we opened the floodgates. Every one of them will think they have some kind of divine right to do what they do. Every one of them will want the same treatment you get. I can’t have that. Not in this city. And if the choice is an army of vigilantes or none … it’ll have to be none. I hope it won’t come to that.11
Gordon is willing to grant one vigilante permission to operate in his city and “bend” the law, based on the trust they had developed (even at this early stage), as well as the fact that it is only one man, but he realizes the danger of giving carte blanche to anyone who wants to do the same, and in doing so, questions whether he should allow it at all.
Of course, it isn’t only wannabe Bat‐men and vigilantes that are a concern, but also Gotham’s self‐appointed protector and his costumed friends. Television journalist Arturo Rodriguez sounded a common refrain in a broadcast during the citywide gang war in Gotham, which he blamed on
Batman and his secret cadre of unelected, unaccountable vigilantes. Answerable to no one, least of all the citizens they claim to protect, many authorities now openly question whether we wouldn’t be better off without Batman and his gang. This reporter, for one, now joins that chorus of voices, asking when Batman will submit himself to the lawful oversight of our civil authorities.12
This leads to a question we have yet to ask: what is a vigilante, and does the term apply to Batman?
Vigilantism usually refers to any law‐enforcement activities that take place outside of the official system, and therefore in the absence of any safeguards required by the system, such as humane treatment of suspects, guarantees of a fair and speedy trial under the presumption of innocence, and proportionate punishment conducted in a dispassionate way (as we saw in our discussion of retributivist justice as opposed to personal vengeance in Chapter 2). In practical terms, vigilantism usually boils down to the use of more violent tactics than police are permitted to use, often extending to killing; indeed, this is what distinguishes the hero actually known as the Vigilante (plus that guy from another comics universe known primarily for punishing) from most other heroes.13
This understanding of vigilantism—without the killing—certainly applies to Batman, and this is what we can assume most people mean when they accuse him of being one. As Lieutenant Sarah Essen told him during an argument, “You’re a vigilante, Batman. By rights you should be locked up! If it wasn’t for the way Jim Gordon feels—and the good he swears you’ve done this city—I’d arrest you myself!”14 Batman certainly regards himself as helping the police to investigate crimes, apprehend criminals, and stop crimes in progress, as well as deter them simply by his presence (enhanced greatly by his impressive shadow). As he told Robin after they witnessed a gang stealing a cache of weapons, “We have to alert Gordon. He has to know what he’s up against.” When Robin asked, “It’s out of our hands now?” Batman clarified: “It’s never out of our hands, Robin. As long as those animals roam the streets it’s our task to bring them down. Gordon must do what he can. We must do what he cannot.”15
As the end of that quote suggests, Batman embraces his nature as a vigilante to avoid many of the restrictions that official law enforcement has to deal with, and feels that he’s more effective as a result. Recall the thug Micky from our discussion of torture in the last chapter: As Batman repeatedly smashes his hands in the trunk of his car, Micky said, “You ain’t the cops!” to which Batman replied, “That’s right, I’m not the cops—that’s why I can get away with treating you like the slimy little reptile you are.”16 He often references the advantages he enjoys over the police, such as when he was frustrated at the law’s inability to prosecute drug suppliers in Gotham due to their crafty lawyers: “Maybe the law can’t touch them … but the Batman can!”17 Later in the same tale he pushed a criminal attorney’s face into a bowl of soup while he told his client, “Maybe the police can’t get anything on you—but now you’re dealing with the Batman.”18 Yet another time, Batman and Huntress ran afoul of members of a terrorist state hiding behind diplomatic immunity; as Batman told Alfred later, “they want to bring their brand of terror to Gotham under the guise of a foreign mission. The law can’t touch them. But I can.”19
An important element of Batman’s justification for breaking the law, one that is often invoked by vigilantes in general, is the distinction between justice and the law. In college, Bruce Wayne took a class in law in which the professor presented a hypothetical case about a pair of car thieves, one of whom changes his mind and wants to get out of the car, but before he can, the driver accidentally strikes and kills a pedestrian. The professor explained that both thieves are guilty of manslaughter, but Bruce argued that the passenger should be charged with theft but not manslaughter because “he had no part in the accidental death.” When the professor asserted that the law would find both guilty of manslaughter, Bruce asked, “but is that justice, Professor Rexford?” The professor answered, “No, Mister Wayne … that’s the law.” After he graduated, Bruce visited his parents’ grave and told them he couldn’t be a policeman as he’d intended, because “they’re too hamstrung by the very laws they’re sworn to uphold!”20
Bruce’s graveside dramatics aside, there is an important distinction between law and justice, and it’s more than just a convenient rationalization for vigilantes eager to justify their lawbreaking. According to a legendary tale (albeit one yet to be immortalized in comic book form), a fellow judge told the famed jurist Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. to “do justice!” at which Holmes snapped back, “that’s not my job!”21 Holmes’ point was that his task as a judge was to execute the law as written and passed by legislators, not to further ideals of justice as defined by philosophers and other idealists. In the best‐case scenario, laws are written by human beings as approximations of justice, rules to guide human behavior toward what is right, but sometimes missing this goal—as in what Bruce saw as an unjust accusation of the passenger‐thief of manslaughter, or more generally, criminals released on legal technicalities despite “obvious” guilt.
In one of their earliest meetings, Batman told Jim Gordon that “the only difference between us is that my hands aren’t bound by red tape!” When Gordon replied that his “red tape” is the law, Batman proclaimed that he was more concerned with justice, explaining that “I love the law as much as you do … but if I have to bend it to see that justice is done, I won’t hesitate!”22 After Gordon retired as commissioner, and Batman once again found himself on the outs with the GCPD, they revisited this topic, the Dark Knight reminding his friend that “justice and the law are, sadly, two different things,” and Jim expressing doubt: “I won’t tell you you’re wrong. But I’m still not convinced you’re right, either.”23
Even considering these exchanges, Batman is surprisingly blunt with Jim about the advantages he enjoys due to his extralegal status. When the Joker made one of his patented dramatic returns and Gordon asserted his plans to put his best detectives on the case, Batman said, “Go ahead, Commissioner—if it’ll make you feel better! But I have an idea official methods will be too slow to prevent further killings—so I’ll be investigating on my own.”24 For the most part, though, Gordon isn’t resentful, and even goes as far as to acknowledge the benefits of having a vigilante on his side. When the Dark Knight’s presence first became known in Gotham, Gordon thought to himself, “He’s a criminal. I’m a cop. It’s that simple,” but he knew already that the distinction wasn’t that cut and dried, given that many of his fellow cops, at least at the time, were corrupt killers themselves.25 Perhaps the distinction is drawn most simply when Gordon told Batman, “I’m under orders,” and Batman replied, “I’m not.”26
As you may expect, Jim has to deal with plenty of pushback from his fellow police for his acceptance of Batman’s help. He usually defends his friend; as he told Batman during one case, “There are factions in the department who’ve been complaining that I tend to rely on you a little too often—but there are certain cases that seem far more suited to you than to the average cop on the beat!”27 But he also suffers blows to his own reputation from relying on Batman too often. As No Man’s Land began, his wife Sarah Essen told another police officer,
The commissioner spent a few weeks on the outside looking for another city to be a cop in. But they all laughed at him … all because of the “B.” They told him—we don’t want a chief who needs a bogey‐man to help fight crime. We want somebody who’s good enough to do it himself.28
Gordon told Batman the same thing near the end of No Man’s Land: “No one would give me work. They didn’t want a cop who needed an ‘urban legend’ to do his policing for him. They laughed at me. Some of them behind my back. Some to my face.”29 In many ways, Gordon pays a heavy price for his relationship with Batman, but the fact that he almost always sticks by him nonetheless suggests that, on the whole, he finds the association worthwhile.
Of course, not all of Gotham’s finest are as comfortable with their local vigilante as Gordon is. As one cop told Batman in an early case, “Stay off my beat, Batman! Us professionals keep the peace here!”30 The police do their best to deal with the eccentric costumed villains Batman usually fights, and often resent the fact that they often have call on him for help, whether to apprehend them or get them to talk in the interrogation room (by whatever means he may use, as we’ll discuss soon). Detective Marcus Driver, who has no love for the bat, exemplified the attitude of many of his colleagues when his partner was killed by Mr. Freeze. After the police tried and failed to bring Freeze in, even Driver admitted that they needed to call Batman. When asked if he was fine with it, Driver said, “No, but I’m a cop in Gotham. I can’t afford to live in denial.”31
To his credit, Batman understands how the police feel about him, telling Alfred:
Bear in mind that some cops don’t really like the Batman. Some cops don’t care for the Batman’s methods—for the way he cuts through red tape to steal their thunder. I even think it’s safe to say … some cops hate the Batman—for being what they can only dream.32
In one episode, he even acknowledged as much to Gordon: when the commissioner was under political pressure from candidates in the mayoral race, at the same time as the criminal Cluemaster’s puzzles were “embarrassing” him, Batman told his old friend, “We’re the ones who embarrass you, Jim. Cut free from the restraints of bureaucracy, we show the police up with every case we solve. But Robin and I aren’t a replacement for the police. We could never be.”33
Batman’s uneasy cooperation with the police was on display during one confrontation in which an officer started reading the Miranda warning to him. Batman brashly asserted his extralegal status when he argued that the Miranda requirements, which were instituted to protect the rights of criminal suspects, didn’t apply to him:
I may not have to use it, officer, but I’m well aware of the Miranda speech … and any cop worth his blues should be aware it’s out of place here. I’m no criminal and you know it. So why not turn your backs on an innocent shadow?
The officer replied, “Maybe you are innocent, Batman—but we’ve already seen you’re no shadow.” Batman assured him they were on the same side, and the cop echoed Gordon when he replied, “Maybe—but we got orders, you don’t.” Batman said, “Surely you understand I refuse to be taken?” to which the officer volleyed, “Right—and surely you understand … we must take you.”34 Surprisingly, these incidents rarely come to blows or gunfire—unless Batman goes too far, as we’ll see very soon.
Although most Gotham police tolerate Batman even if they don’t celebrate him, he has a few particularly harsh critics on the force. One of them is Detective Harvey Bullock, who never met a donut he doesn’t like—who can blame him?—and never met a caped crimefighter he does. As he told Batman, “I think you’re a freak and a menace. But Gordon thinks you serve a purpose so I go along.”35 Bullock makes the excellent point that some of the resentment that police in Gotham feel toward Batman isn’t because of what he gets away with, but that they can’t do the same. Once, Harvey complained to Gordon, “I gotta wait to do things by the book, meanwhile the Batman’s free to roam the night and do things the way they oughta be one—and he’ll prob’ly make my collar. Gettin’ so’s I hate that costumed gink all over again!” Jim assured him, “I felt that way once, Sgt. Bullock … before I realized the Batman has to do what he does.” When Harvey asked why, Jim simply answered, “Because he’s good at it. The best. And because I’m … only a cop.”36
This may sound a bit self‐effacing on Jim’s part, but I read it more as an acknowledgment that Batman enables the police to cut some corners in the pursuit of justice (if not the law itself).37 Jim often finds himself in a tough spot, having to represent law and order in a city that rejects it and deal with a vigilante‐slash‐best friend who ignores it when it’s inconvenient. Things were even worse in the early days when Harvey Dent was district attorney (before the incident that transformed him into Two‐Face). While Dent, Gordon, and Batman were working together to bring a member of the Falcone crime family to justice, Dent said about the Dark Knight, “I’ve … come to appreciate our mutual friend. And how he crosses a line we … can’t.” He said Falcone considered himself above the law, and when Jim denied that, Harvey said fine—then arrest him. Jim acknowledged that they couldn’t, but told the other two, “I want to be clear on this. In our … zeal … to bring Falcone to justice. I’ll let you bend the rules, but we cannot break them. Otherwise, how are we different from him?”38 (It seems Batman isn’t the only one here who’s concerned with his moral virtue.)
Batman’s willingness to disregard the restrictions of the law goes overboard on occasion, though, and Jim is usually there to call him on it. In one case, Batman asked Jim if he could release Two‐Face from Arkham Asylum to help clear a wrongly accused man named Freddie Richards. When Gordon said no, Batman broke him out himself … and Two‐Face escaped. When Gordon confronted his friend and ally, he said:
You broke a homicidal maniac out of the nuthouse and then lost him in the Caribbean somewhere. And for what? To save “an innocent man”? What makes you think Freddie didn’t kill that John Doe they left in the house? What makes you think the city’s any safer with him free? What the blazes makes you so right?!! How many people do you think Two‐Face will kill before he gets nabbed again?39
Batman had no answer, to his credit. There is a parallel here with Batman’s refusal to kill his most homicidal enemies, only to implicitly allow them to kill again—except that, in this case, Batman created this situation himself. In the pursuit of his mission, he openly defied his closest legal ally’s orders, and compounded his moral responsibility for any harm that might come from Two‐Face’s subsequent actions. This highlights the aspect of uncertainty in utilitarian decisions that we first saw in Chapter 1, requiring the use of judgment to anticipate the various consequences—judgment that definitely failed Batman in this case, at least according to Jim Gordon.
Batman’s relationship with the Gotham City Police Department reached its low point during the citywide gang war. The episode began when Stephanie Brown, otherwise known as Spoiler and for a very brief time as Robin, tried to win her way back into the good graces of the bat by initiating one of Batman’s secret plans to unite and take control of all the gang and crime families in Gotham—and then fouled it up, resulting in chaos.
It also didn’t help that Michael Akins, Jim Gordon’s successor as police commissioner, had far less affection for Batman than his predecessor did. Jim tried to win over Akins from the beginning, telling him,
Some cops think he’s more of a hindrance than a help. Some think he should just mind his own business. They think he’s some vigilante in this for kicks. They’re wrong. He’s the best man I’ve ever known. I know you’re going to make changes, Mike. It’s your department now, you’ll do things your own way. But trust me on this, there are times when he’ll be the only option. You’re going to want a friend like him. Let him be your friend … he’s the best one I’ve ever had.40
Akins did manage to avoid calling Batman for a while, and when he finally did, he told him:
I should explain why I haven’t … called you before now. It’s not that I disapprove of you … but I feel that my department has to … we have to be more self‐sufficient. We can’t rely on you all the time. We have to trust ourselves, you understand? And we have to be worthy of the city’s trust. We shouldn’t look to you for all the answers …41
… and Batman agreed, which would be the last time that would happen for a long time.
Once Stephanie set the plan in motion and the gang hostilities increased, Batman called on Akins, who greeted him by saying, “This better be important. I’m not at your beck and call. I’m not Jim Gordon.” Batman replied, “It’s always important. And no, you’re not Jim Gordon.” (OK, that time they agreed too.) Batman asked him to stay out of the Gotham neighborhood known as the Hill while his own team worked to calm the area, at which Akin balked, asking, “Excuse me? What gives you the right—?”42 The next time they met, Akins was even more hostile to Batman, who had information the commissioner wanted. “Cut the games,” Akins said. “If you know something, tell me. Or so help me—I will make your life difficult.” Batman handed him the information he wanted—and the antidote to dangerous bacteria that workers at a waste treatment plant had been exposed to. Akins stammered, “I—thanks,” and Batman said, “You’re welcome. And … and don’t ever threaten me again.”43
As the gang war reached full steam, Batman asked Akins for control of the entire GCPD for eight hours to confront the gangs, whom he erroneously thought were unified under the control of his double‐agent, the hero known as Orpheus. Akins, predictably, was reticent, asking “Who the hell do you think you are?” Batman answered, “No disrespect, Commissioner. You’re still relatively new to Gotham, while I have a great deal of experience with—” Akins cut him off, saying, “My god, this isn’t about my ego or who has more experience. This is about what’s right or wrong.” Batman exerted his “mission at any cost” position: “It’s wrong not to take every measure to insure [sic] no more lives are lost.” Akins countered that “It’s wrong to take the law into one’s own hands.”44 This was unfair, because Batman wasn’t taking anything—he was openly asking the commissioner of police to lend it to him. Nonetheless, it was an extraordinary request, and did nothing to quell the misgivings of Akins or the rest of the force that Batman saw them merely as junior partners in the fight against crime in Gotham, to be used as he pleased.
Batman tried to overcome this perception, but not in the most politic way. Co‐opting Oracle’s communications technology to commandeer the GCPD’s network, Batman broadcast a message to all the city’s police:
Some of you have seen me, some of you have worked with me before. All of you know I’m good to my word. Now I’m asking you to take me at that word, and follow my orders. If we work together, if you listen to me, we can end this war tonight. We can save our city. There is no other option left.45
As he did with Gordon when he broke Two‐Face out of Arkham, Batman went over Akins’ head and truly “takes the law into his own hands,” relying on his experience and camaraderie with the GCPD to secure their trust and cooperation against the united gangs. In a heartwarming show of support, most police acknowledged that, however they may feel about their local vigilante, he does know what he’s doing and usually gets the job done, and they decided to join him.
Unfortunately, their trust was misplaced in this case. The plan was for Orpheus to bring the gangs together under his leadership so the police could move in and arrest them. But unknown to all, Black Mask had killed Orpheus, and it was he (dressed as Orpheus) who emerged to speak to the gangs—and incited them to turn on the police. Akins responded how you might expect, telling his people:
All right, everyone! The Bat’s really got us over the table on this one. He’s jeopardized all of our lives and the lives of every good citizen of this city. So from here on out—forget the rubber bullets. You see anyone in a mask … you shoot to kill.46
He reiterated this later when he said, “I don’t know what game Batman’s been playing throughout the war—but I’m damned sure of one thing. He’s not on our side.”47
Finally, after Batman asked Akins to lay off Tarantula—the “hero” who killed Blockbuster while Nightwing watched—so she could work to settle down an area of Gotham, Akins reached his limit, and told him,
You may think you give the orders around here, Batman, but this is my city, and my department that you’re trying to rip to pieces … I’ve tolerated you until now, but the past few days you’ve stepped way over the line. My men have their orders. They’re bringing in that gang, and if you interfere, they have orders to shoot on sight.48
It wouldn’t be long before Akins would come to think of Batman as just one of Gotham’s other “criminal masterminds”: “Well, that’s what he is. He breaks the law. He’s obviously a genius. In other words, ‘criminal mastermind.’”49
At the end of the gang war—after Oracle blew up her watchtower headquarters to prevent Batman and Black Mask from killing each other, as we saw earlier—Gotham lay devastated, as did Batman’s relationship with the Gotham City Police Department. After Akins had the Batsignal dismantled, Batman waited for him in the police garage, and tried to convince the commissioner that they still share a goal of protecting Gotham. Akins didn’t buy it, and when Batman asserted that he would keep doing what he needs to do, Akins told him in no uncertain terms, “if what you need to do conflicts with my people or my department … if it threatens their lives or my authority … then not only will I stop you … I’ll destroy you.”50 When Alfred asked Bruce “how you plan to conduct business … when the police force has orders to shoot you on sight,” he answered, “Just like we did in the beginning, old friend—very carefully.”51 This was confirmed soon thereafter when Alfred noted, “After recent events, your relationship with the Gotham constabulary is … precarious, at best,” to which Batman added, “I’d say it’s nonexistent.”52
Speaking of Gotham City police commissioners, after the gang war Jim Gordon decided to leave Gotham with his daughter Barbara, but before he did, he and Batman had a chat. They reflected on their close friendship, and Batman told him he appreciated how “you put your faith in me when you had every good reason not to.” Jim cut to the chase, saying, “I’m in no position to protect you from the police now. After what you did … I don’t know if they can ever forgive you. And to be honest, son, I don’t know if they should.” But he recognized who he was talking to, and saved Batman the trouble of having to repeat what he said to Akins. “I don’t suppose being on the ‘most wanted list’ is going to stop you from … well, being you.”53
Batman’s renewed outlaw status following the gang war was evident when he defeated Black Mask and the Joker and handed them over to the police, after which a grateful but anxious officer said, “I’m sorry, Batman, but there’re warrants on you, too. You’ll have to come with us.” Batman replied, “No, I don’t think so—I’m not in the mood. Use your heads, officers. These are career‐making busts I’ve just handed you. Why spoil it by going to the hospital—which is where anyone will end up who tries to arrest me. Think of your families.” After they let him leave, he thought, “Good men. They know how to make a tactical judgment call when conditions warrant.”54 Despite his condescending snark to the rank and file, he did begin mending bridges with the GCPD when he handed over evidence to Detective Renee Montoya—albeit evidence he earlier took from a crime scene. When he approached her, she pulled her weapon and said, “You know I have permission to shoot you.” Batman said she wouldn’t, “because you know what I mean to this city, even if your bosses don’t.” He gave her the bullet he took from the crime scene, to which she said, “Swell. The coroner said the slug was missing. Convictions are easier when masked vigilantes don’t tamper with crime scenes, you know.”55 The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Montoya’s snide comment points to another way in which Batman has a negative impact on law enforcement: the ways his operations affect procedure when it comes to apprehending, prosecuting, and convicting criminals. After all, just because Batman exempts himself from the rules that bind police officers doesn’t mean they don’t need to follow them, and when his activities compromise the proper handling of a cases, the criminals he helps catch may not even make it to trial, much less prison or Arkham Asylum.
Ideally, Batman tries to work within procedure; as he taught Robin, “Do your job well, and you make that arrest stick. Do your job badly … and you might not get a second chance.”56 When he told the officers in the episode described above that he doesn’t have to issue Miranda warnings, this isn’t a denial of their importance, but simply an admission that he doesn’t have the power to arrest suspects at all. Alfred is always there to remind him of his limited role in the criminal justice system, especially when Batman laments the fact that criminals often escape prosecution or are released often as soon as they are imprisoned: “Yours is a singular task you’ve set for yourself, Master Bruce. It starts at this tunnel … and it ends at the front of the police station.”57 Even though Batman takes liberties at crime scenes, as we saw with Detective Montoya, he does realize the importance of retaining evidence: when working alongside the vigilante Ballistic to break up a drug deal, Ballistic destroyed the drugs, which Batman tells him could have been evidence for a DEO case that now cannot be made.58
On occasion, Batman even lectures the police themselves on procedure. When Harvey Bullock asked Batman to help him with someone at work who’s harassing him, Batman asked why he can’t work with someone in the department, and Bullock answered that he doesn’t want anyone looking into his record. When Batman asked if he’s on the take—not uncommon in the GCPD—Bullock assured him, “I never took a dime from anybody. I just sometimes bend the rules a little. Stuff that’s better buried. Stuff you’d understand.” Batman clarified for him, “We’re on the same side. But we’re not the same. I’ll help you find out who’s threatening you. But you’ve got to collar him clean. I’m not setting anyone up so you can gun them down.”59 At the end of the day, Batman appreciates the value of a “clean collar,” even if he doesn’t always live up to it in practice.
District Attorney Harvey Dent, before he was transformed by a mobster’s acid into Two‐Face, made Bullock look like a stickler for procedure. Nonetheless, Dent provided Batman with a model for how they should work together to maximize convictions:
Our problems are essentially the same. We both want to put Gotham’s criminals behind bars. But to do that, I need evidence. I don’t want to impede your work—I just want our indictments to stick. I can be at your disposal for consultation. Whenever you get close to a collar, call me and tell me what you’ve got. If it’s enough, you get to do your thing. The police will clean up after you.60
We see how this works: Batman catches them and Dent puts them away. Before long, though, Dent became frustrated and asked Batman to plant evidence to secure a conviction. “You’ve asked me to do that kind of thing before, Harvey,” Batman said. “My feelings haven’t changed—that’s not my way.”61 It’s one thing to interfere with the legal system by corrupting evidence, which might end up letting a guilty person go free, but Batman draws the line at planting evidence, which could end up convicting an innocent person—and even Batman’s not confident enough in himself or Harvey to do that. (And when Dent asks him to kill … well, you know the rest.)
Most of the time, however, Batman is more of a hindrance to official procedure than a help. As Jim Gordon told him early in their partnership:
Ever wonder what happens to the creeps you bring in? The system has treated them very kindly. At least a dozen felons apprehended by you are back on the streets—and the reason is always the same—insufficient evidence. It’s hard enough explaining to the mayor why we’re coddling Gotham’s resident vigilante … the fact that your conviction rate isn’t any better than ours doesn’t help one bit. You’re living right on the line, friend. You’re not restricted to the rules like we are—but you won’t take it upon yourself to finish off these guys either. I’m not suggesting you do, mind you …62
(Of course not, Jim.) As Harvey Dent’s successor as district attorney, Janice Porter, told Gordon when she saw Batman at a crime scene, “This is an ongoing investigation. Just his presence here contaminates the crime scene.” Jim tried to defend his friend, saying, “His presence here helps solve crimes. Let the man do his job,” but Porter objected, “Let me do mine! I saw him take evid—he’s gone.”63 Even if he returned the evidence after analyzing it and fingering the guilty party, Batman would have corrupted the crime scene all the same, endangering the case and increasing the odds that a guilty person will go free, as Gordon pointed out.
Another procedural issue that often arises with regard to the Dark Knight deals with the exclusionary rule. The Fourth Amendment to the United States Constitution protects citizens from police searches and seizure of property without a proper warrant, and the exclusionary rule allows a judge to exclude from trial any evidence acquired through an illegal search or seizure. This rule is a staple of legal dramas on TV and film in which the “smoking gun” that would ensure a ruthless killer’s conviction is ruled inadmissible on Fourth Amendment grounds. The killer then cackles ruthlessly as he saunters out of the courtroom, after which the rogue cop, who has just had it with this “$%^& technicality,” vows to see justice done even if he has to do it himself. All melodrama aside, in reality the exclusionary rule helps ensure that the police and prosecutors don’t unduly harass citizens in the process of a criminal investigation (as Batman often does) or fabricate evidence (as Dent tried to get Batman to do), with the unfortunate side effect that sometimes valuable evidence that would help secure an honest conviction is excluded.64
How does this apply to Batman? Well … it’s complicated. In an early story, a judge ruled that an alleged murder weapon “obtained” by Batman was obtained illegally: “It is with great reluctance that I must rule in favor of Mr. Brodsky’s motion to exclude the alleged murder weapon from evidence.”65 Technically, though, the Fourth Amendment only applies to agents of the state, such as police and prosecutors. However, it also includes any people working for them, such as private investigators hired by the prosecution to help with a case. You can see where this is going: If Batman is considered to be working with the police, then the Fourth Amendment might extend to him as well. Of course, this depends on how cozy Batman is with the GCPD at any given time, which, as we’ve seen, varies with the seasons. At its best, as Jim Gordon once told the Gotham City mayor, “my ‘relationship’ with Batman is like the relationship we have with our psychics, independent experts, and anyone else who pitches in to make police work in this city easier.”66 He made a similar point during a TV interview years earlier when asked if Batman is “an authorized representative of the force”: “No, he operates strictly on his own, but he’s offered me his services … and I’ve accepted.”67 If this is the understanding, and Batman acquired the evidence as Batman usually does, a judge would most likely be right to rule it inadmissible.
Sometimes, however, Batman submits evidence in secret. Alfred applauded one such instance: “Apparently, the police were sent an envelope full of evidence to insure [sic] a conviction. Nice of you to tip your hat to the laws of governance.”68 Another time, after the citywide gang war, Alfred questioned that tactic, asking Batman, “But will the courts actually allow into evidence the intercepted phone tapes and TV footage you secretly provided?” Batman answered, confidently, “I don’t see why not. The laws against unreasonable search and seizure only apply to agents of the government. Sure, the lawyers will cry and squabble, but eventually it’ll be allowed in.”69 Not so fast, old chum: Even though there is no Fourth Amendment issue here, without a witness to corroborate the evidence, a halfway decent criminal defense attorney would get it excluded anyway. Ironically, given Batman’s “nonexistent” relationship with the GCPD at that point, there probably wouldn’t have been a constitutional issue if he submitted the evidence openly. (He just can’t win.)
This also gets to the issue of Batman and procedural or civil rights in general. We’ve seen Batman boast to thugs like Micky that he’s not police and therefore can get away with things they can’t; in fact, he regards this as key to his success as a vigilante. Then again, this comes back to haunt him in just those cases in which he cooperates with the police. For instance, District Attorney Janice Porter reopened the case against a mobster Batman captured because she claimed Batman violated his civil rights while Gordon watched.70 It may be that Gordon’s presence was more relevant here than Batman’s actions, at least as far as a civil rights complaint is concerned; the comic isn’t clear, but the charge probably relies on police brutality, which would apply only if Batman is considered as an agent of the police, which Gordon’s presence supports.
A final example of the grey area when it comes to Batman and legal procedure relates to the interrogation of suspects, another mainstay of police and legal dramas. As we’ve seen, Batman has his own methods for getting people to talk, which would definitely not be officially sanctioned by any legitimate law enforcement organization (or government). But this doesn’t mean they won’t rely on his “special talents” to intimidate suspects into talking. After the GCPD apprehended a suspect named McDonald who Gordon said wouldn’t talk without his lawyer present—as is his constitutional right, mind you, as reflected in the Miranda rules—Batman asked if he could try. Jim said, “It’s against regulations, but … No violence. Remember that.” Batman went into the room, returned quickly, and said, simply, “He talked.” Jim asked, “Just like that?” and Batman confirmed, “Just like that.”71 Never mind what Batman said, did, or threatened to get McDonald to spill—presumably on the Hamburglar—Gordon crossed the line when he sent Batman in when legal representation was already requested.
Happily, there is another member of the GCPD who has deeper ethical qualms about using Batman to interrogate suspects. Like many of his fellow police, Detective Crispus Allen doesn’t like to call the Dark Knight to get suspects to talk—especially the man suspected of shooting Jim Gordon. Even threatening the guy with Batman and telling him that Batman and Gordon were best friends is too much for Allen:
It’s not that I mind scaring a guy into confessing. That’s what the box is for. It’s what I do. But we’re basically telling this perp he’s going to get killed by a vigilante we refuse to stop. That’s like putting a gun against his head to extract a confession.72
From this passage, we can surmise that Crispus Allen has a more refined conception of torture than we usually see on the part of Batman himself—he realizes that threatening a suspect with a pissed‐off Dark Knight is one small step away from violence, and one more small step away from torture.73
This also highlights what is perhaps the key issue with Batman and the police, and one that implicates the police themselves rather than Batman. To the extent that he cooperates with the police, Batman’s legitimacy is enhanced and he would likely be thought of as less of a vigilante—although it’s unclear whether he would welcome this, given his demonstrated reliance on criminals’ fear of him being a free agent and loose cannon. The police, however, sacrifice some of their legitimacy to whatever extent they appear to endorse the activity of a confirmed lawbreaking vigilante. We’ve seen how Batman’s actions in coordination with the police can backfire, compromising evidence and sometimes even triggering civil rights charges. As the only officially sanctioned users of violence in civil society, the police are held to a very high standard regarding their use of that violence—and we’ve seen the disillusionment and pushback police in the real world receive when they are witnessed abusing that authority. Given their historical record for corruption, the Gotham City Police Department can ill afford to associate with a vigilante such as the Batman, at least not officially. A middle ground between Gordon and Akins is probably best: work with Batman behind the scenes, if at all, but disavow his methods in public, as dishonest as this may be.
Although Batman obviously feels free to break the law when he thinks it’s justified by the mission, he is very hesitant to grant others the same latitude. For example, after a woman named Judy Koslosky set a trap for a murderer and then killed him, she told Batman and the police, “It might not have been legal … but it was right.” Later, Jason Todd told Batman he agreed with her, but Batman did not:
That’s just it, Robin. Judy was wrong! People can’t set themselves above the law. That way leads to anarchy. Even though you and I skirt along the edges of it, we still operate within the legal system. That’s the way it has to be. Even though more than a small part of me sometimes wishes it could be otherwise.74
On the surface, this seems flatly hypocritical of Batman, given his repeated declarations of the difference between justice and the law—and more than a bit easy on himself, claiming that they “skirt along the edges” of the law rather than flat out breaking it.
The hypocrisy ties back to the Kantian concept we saw at the beginning of our discussion of Batman’s lawbreaking: he extends freedoms to himself that he is unwilling to extend to others. But it’s not quite that simple. For instance, he is willing to extend these permissions to people he’s trained, such as the Robins, Batgirls, and—when he’s feeling generous—even a Huntress. He also extends this understanding to fellow heroes he hasn’t trained but works alongside, such as fellow members of the Justice League, Outsiders, and the other brave and bold heroes he’s been known to team up with (about once a month, on the average). It isn’t that he doesn’t trust anyone else to break the law—he doesn’t trust anyone without the training, experience, and skill to break the law, as well as the judgment to know when.
In other words, Batman wants to make sure those he trusts to break the law are doing so the right way, to the right extent, and for the right reasons. This language is familiar from virtue ethics, especially as recommended by Aristotle, in which traits such as honesty and courage are to be practiced “at the right times, with reference to the right objects, towards the right people, with the right motive, and in the right way”—all of which demand judgment to determine.75 In other words, it takes good character to know when to break the law, or any other deontological rules, for the greater good.
We see this play out every time Batman has to take down unendorsed vigilantes who go overboard with violence or murder, are indiscriminate with their chosen targets, or create too much collateral damage because they’re sloppy or negligent. It really hits home, though, when someone he trained or sanctioned goes rogue—the main example being Jean‐Paul Valley, who replaced Bruce Wayne after Bane broke his back. As we’ve seen, Valley became more and more violent the longer he served as Batman, gradually succumbing to his training as an assassin under the Order of Saint Dumas, and even modifying the Batman costume with blades and claws (like some kind of wolverine or something, who knows).76
When Jim Gordon confronted Valley about his reckless and negligent behavior that killed a man and threatened to kill many more, Jim said “we have a system of law,” which Valley dismissed by saying, “which the Batman has always worked outside of. I still do. Your rules do not apply to me!”77 Valley is taking advantage of the precedent that Wayne set as Batman, but he lacks the judgment or restraint to use it in the right way, at the right time, and for the right reason. As Bruce Wayne realized as Shiva helped him return to fighting strength, “the man I chose—is completely out of control … maybe even mad.”78 Along with his failure to guide and protect Jason Todd, Batman came to consider the coronation of Jean‐Paul Valley to be “perhaps the greatest mistake of his career … creating a nightmarish new Batman only one shade removed from the demons he opposed.”79
This sense of failure was surely augmented by the fact that an ideal replacement was readily available in the form of Dick Grayson, the original Robin, whom Valley mocked as “the heir to the throne and the slighted prince.”80 Grayson took the fact that he was passed over very hard; when Bruce told him and Tim about Valley’s training under the Order, Dick asked him point‐blank, “and you chose him over me to carry the mantle of the bat? A programmed murderer? If I’d known, my feelings would have been more hurt than they were!”81 Bruce said he didn’t know about Valley’s past at the time, which seemed to satisfy Dick for a moment, but later Dick asked Tim why they didn’t see that Valley wasn’t all there. When Tim explained that Bruce wasn’t prepared to choose a replacement, Dick balked, saying, “Not prepared? I’ve been doing this all my life. He trained me for this. Instead he picks some psycho with a religious fixation. What was Bruce thinking?” Tim told him that Bruce felt Dick had moved on, “that you were your own man now,” but Dick was still disappointed that Bruce didn’t realize he would have put on the cape and cowl in a moment—not just for the thrill of it, but out of devotion to the man who trained him.82
Dick would get his chance soon enough. After Bruce defeated Valley, he still needed more time before he felt he could return permanently, so he handed Dick the cape and cowl, after which the former Robin and current Nightwing came to realize the burden of the mantle of the bat.83 Nonetheless, after Bruce was finally ready to return to Gotham as its sworn protector, Dick confronted him about his choice to promote Valley in the first place. Bruce’s explanation was not based on Dick’s skill or devotion, but rather echoed Tim’s reasoning, based on a reticence to ask the former Boy Wonder who had only recently flown the nest and begun a new life. “I assumed you wanted to get out from under my shadow. Make a name for yourself. You’ve done that. Created a life. Fought your own fights. I didn’t have the right to call you back.” Bruce then admitted such discussions aren’t easy for him, “but that’s the way it always is, isn’t it … between fathers and sons.”84
All in all, Batman’s embrace of lawlessness is yet another example of a moral rule that he violates for the sake of his mission. By itself, this is not inconsistent, and could be a reasonable part of a moral code that combines utilitarian and deontological factors. What makes this troubling from the viewpoint of moral consistency is that he is so willing to break the law at the same time that he has sworn vengeance on all criminals—or, in other words, people who break the law. If Batman is afraid of becoming like those he fights, then breaking the law, like the use of extreme violence, would seem to be a more pervasive concern than more specific but less common acts such as killing.
As I mentioned at the beginning of this chapter, Batman’s penchant for breaking the law may also be the one morally questionable behavior he shares with many of us. Although few of us use extreme violence to get what we want, many of us commit misdemeanors such as traffic violations, which we justify or excuse for a number of reasons, some more valid than others. (Speeding through stoplights to get a pregnant woman to the hospital is fine, but doing the same thing to get to your comic book store on a Wednesday before it closes is … well, I’m no legal expert, but that one sounds OK to me too.) What matters the most here is the consistency of our reasons: Did we break the law for the greater good (to save a life) or an important principle (such as racial justice), or did we obey the law even in the face of such concerns while breaking it for more selfish ones (because we were tired or lazy)? If we are going to cross that line, not only must our reasons be good ones, but for our own sakes we should be consistent in our reasons as well.