It's That Time Again

or, Spoiler Alert, part I-have-lost-track

I promise that I will eventually discuss something other than Batman and bad romance novels, but there have been a lot of Batman materials streaming through the library lately, and it brings to mind a question much discussed by, well, pretty much anyone who's seen the latest film. Besides which, it's really more of a jumping-off point for something else I want to talk about.

Before I discuss said question, let me reiterate my spoiler warning: I am going to talk about things that happened in Batman: Dark Knight. If you haven't seen it and don't want to know ahead of time what happens, STOP READING. Carrying on, then.

In the previous Batman movie, Rachel promises Bruce that although she cannot be with him at that time, she will wait for him and they can be together when Gotham no longer needs Batman. Bruce obviously treasures this promise, but it is not until the end of Dark Knight that we see how much he has relied upon it. The day - or possibly a few days - before she dies, Rachel gives Alfred a note to pass along to Bruce "when the time is right." She gives him permission to read it, so that he will know exactly when that time is. 

In the note, Rachel states that she can no longer wait for Bruce, as she believes that there will never be a day when Bruce himself does not need Batman, even though Gotham might someday not need him. Thus she unknowingly removes that foundation upon which Bruce - and therefore Batman - has built his morality. (He is seen on at least one occasion to avoid killing a person because "she [Rachel] wouldn't want me to.") 

After Rachel's death, Alfred thinks to give the note to Bruce, but is stopped by his comment: "She was going to wait for me. Rachel was going to wait for me." He instead takes the note away and burns it, telling Bruce when he asks that "it can wait." Before we question the rightness of Alfred's actions, there is one more question we must pose: what would have happened to Bruce, to Batman, if that illusion would have been taken from him?

It seems fairly evident, given Bruce's fragile grasp of morality and willingness to engage in what might be called fighting dirty, that Batman walks a very thin line between right and wrong and cannot always be said to land on the 'right' side. Still, he makes an effort to do so, even if his morality is based on the perceived wishes of another person. But it can be argued, rather successfully, that removing the base of Batman's morality - his constant striving to impress, live up to, and earn the respect of Rachel - would topple him into an amoral abyss, in which he would act and react using only his grief and rage as bearing-points.

In simple terms, removing the illusion of Rachel's eternal love would more than likely turn Batman into someone like the Joker, Two-Face, or worse.

Alfred, an individual who knows his master and is not unintelligent, would certainly have realized this, and he saw it as his duty to prevent such a thing from happening. To his knowledge, Rachel had told no one else of her decision to wait for Bruce in the first place, nor of her decision to wait no longer. Rachel was unmistakably dead; Bruce would have no opportunity to hear the truth except in Rachel's note. So the note was destroyed, and Alfred presumably succeeded in averting tragedy and pain on an unheard-of scale. 

But wait - say some - it wasn't Alfred's place to burn the note. He should have given it to Bruce eventually. Let Batman wrestle his own demons; don't take the choice from him.

There is a philosophy of thought, called existentialism by some, although its proponents reject such labels, which advocates - in a small and inadequate summary - personal responsibility, a foregoing of excuses, and strength of mind to see the world as it is and understand one's own place in it. Most agree that the world is a pretty sucky place and people are, by and large, stupid, with some exceptions. Some existentialists say that the only responsible reaction to the realization of the nature of the world and people is suicide; some say that this same realization makes suicide the most cowardly of responses. It is a polarizing philosophy.

Regardless of the suicide debate, all existentialists generally agree that the personal responsibility extends beyond one's own person. That is, if one is capable of preventing a tragedy and does not, one is equally culpable with the the actual perpetrator. (Again, this is a summation of a few hundred years of thought and discussion by people vastly more intelligent than your author.) The second-to-bottom line (we're not quite done yet) is that they would have a definite - and, I think, reasonable - response to Alfred's behavior: he not only didn't do wrong, he did what he was responsible for doing. 

Alfred knew his master: Bruce was, regardless of his thrilling heroics, an unstable, emotionally cauterized individual whose sanity and morality depended on a single other person and who depended on others to do what he needed them to do regardless of their personal thoughts or feelings. Crucify me if you will, but it must be said: Batman's a bastard. And it wouldn't take much to push him from 'bastard, yes, but necessary and helpful' to 'oh god oh god what's he done now, the bastard?' Knowing that Rachel wasn't planning to wait for him would have been that push and more. 

And Alfred wasn't inserting himself into his master's life uninvited, which is another cliched can of slimy conundrums; Rachel gave him permission to read the note and decide the right time to give it to Bruce: 'never' is a viable timeline. Alfred knew his master, knew that he would never be ready to hear the news of what he would see as a betrayal, particularly in light of Rachel's death. The bottom line (we're here) is this: Alfred not only did right, he would have been wrong to do anything else.