Suicide Squad: The Precipice of Dominance and Submission

Note: After suffering a little burnout this summer resulting from some research and revision, I needed a slight break from my regular subject matter. This entry is a departure from my usual posthuman, technology-related posts. It contains mature content and covers topics such as BDSM (bondage, discipline, submission, and sadomasochism), and D/s (Dominance and submission) -- topics which I often discuss in my philosophy & gender courses. Links included here are not explicit but some are not necessarily safe for work. Themes may be disturbing for some. For more information in safe and responsible D/s practices, please see the National Coalition for Sexual Freedom. And always play safely and responsibly!

August 2018 update: I've updated some the links, but they tend to keep moving around. 


David Ayer's Suicide Squad had a lot going on. Cutting through the critical reviews and the general noise that always surrounds DC movies (some critics said it needed to be funnier, yet others said it needed to be darker), I'd like to focus on the relationship between Harley Quinn and the Joker. To be clear, there are somewhat disturbing portrayals of violence and abuse in regard to their relationship. The Joker is a sadistic, psychotic sociopath. Harley is equally disturbed -- and a case could be made that her own behavior is a product of the Joker's abuse. But I believe that there are subtle cues in the film that present an alternative reading of the Harley/Joker dynamic, presenting a darkly veiled Dominant/submissive relationship.

The relationship between the two has always been an interesting one, especially since it first evolved in the 90s Batman: The Animated Series. Quinn was a rare character created for a peripheral DC medium who made it into the comic canon. Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel started out as the Joker's therapist in Arkham Asylum, only to be slowly manipulated and brainwashed by the Joker until she had her own psychological break, becoming a villain in her own right. Even in the animated series, she was ruthless and chaotic, showing a penchant for oversize mallets, guns, and the occasional cartoonish bomb. As she evolved through the comics, and became a more well-rounded, complex character, it became apparent that under her ditzy facade was a calculating, sometimes terrifying persona whose only psychological and emotional loadstone was the Joker himself. She was very much her own person, but her chosen center was him. Her relationship with the Joker eventually became more complicated, and she has also been associated with other DC villainesses, most notably Poison Ivy, with whom she recently became romantically involved. 

While Harley's sexuality has evolved in the cartoons and comics, Suicide Squad explores a deeper facet of her sexuality: Harley is a submissive to the Joker's Dominant. The interesting part, however, is the complex, stylized -- and often insightful -- way in which their D/s relationship is portrayed on screen. Rather than being a stereotypical, Fifty Shades of Grey-type submissive, she is a very strong, positionally independent sub; meaning that when not in the presence of the Joker (and even when in the presence of the Joker), she is what Michael Makai would call a "Warrior Princess Submissive." Although the label is somewhat misleading given the sometimes pejorative connotation of "princess,"^[1] it aptly describes Harley Quinn's role: "She is the wicked-smart, strong-willed, uber-competent, ultra-competitive, synergistic, switchy [as in, can also play the role of Dominant when needed], crusader. She's no one's doormat, never a victim."  There is very much a sense of independence to Harley Quinn, so much so that her devotion to the Joker outside of D/s circles might seem paradoxical. But, as Makai continues: "she is willing and able to fight the good fight alone, but welcomes the notion of having a worthy partner fighting by her side. And yet, when the day's fighting is done, she is perfectly at ease with considering herself entirely his -- heart mind, body, and soul. She is important because she may just be the hope and salvation of this [D/s] lifestyle."

Cultural clues to her participation in a D/s relationship are peppered throughout the film in a few recognizable bondage archetypes. When she is transported around in prison she is restrained -- at one point with a ball-gag. And when she is later tortured by the Joker, she is strapped to a gurney and gagged with a leather belt. She also wears a collar bearing "Puddin," her nickname for the Joker. For a mainstream audience, the fetish imagery is enough to either disturb or titillate in the same fashion as images of Bettie Page or Dita Von Teese -- fetish legends themselves who have been portrayed as both Dommes and subs (Mistresses holding whips or in dominant positions, or submissives who are bound/gagged or otherwise in subservient positions). 

But the relationship between the Joker and Harley Quinn in Suicide Squad presents a very clear D/s relationship for those who identify as in the D/s or BDSM spectrum. Through a D/s lens, Harley's devotion to the Joker is a choice -- rather than a type of codependency.^[2] This, I believe, is where most would disagree, maintaining that Harley has been manipulated by the Joker and brainwashed, especially given the lack of an explicit moment of consent. However, if we broaden our view to take into account Dr. Quinzel's qualifications as a psychiatrist and her capacity to recognize a patient's ability to manipulate others, her fascination and eventual complicity becomes a reasoned choice given her history. While this would not immunize her from codependency completely, the grey area of when and where she decides to begin to engage the Joker as a "warrior submissive" is clarified when we take into account the logos of the comic book universe of which she is a part.

In the tradition of Batman-related villains, we see that even those who are "turned" (most notably, Harvey Dent/Two Face), often do so because they have a potential or latent tendency which drives them to crime. The basic formula of the Batman canon of DC is that an emotionally seismic event of some kind (usually the death of a parent, spouse, or child; or something life-threatening to the individual him or herself), forces a choice to engage the character's darker nature. This brings out the individual's "true" morality, and allows them to tap into latent abilities (either human or metahuman) which enables them to bring justice or chaos to a world which they become convinced needs it. The same generally holds true for heroes within the Batman (and broader DC) universe: in a "moment of truth," heroes face the choice to use (or not use) their powers.  This is dangerous ground when applied to a female character who is potentially victimized by a male antagonist. But even though problematic, I do believe that the Joker/Harley relationship as presented in Suicide Squad contains enough elements to support a D/s read. As per her history in the DC universe canon, Dr. Quinzel understands the danger in engaging with the Joker. She is aware of his capacity to manipulate. She is not a patsy to a "superior" intellect or to emotional/psychological blackmail. She chooses to take the leap into the Joker's world.

In terms of D/s sexuality, dominance and submission is a spectrum -- and  those who identify themselves as a part of the spectrum tend to know where they fall at a young age, even if they have no label for it. Images of characters being tied up or otherwise restrained can often cause "strange" feelings that, as adults, a Dominant or submissive can retrospectively identify as the first clues of their sexuality. If we speculate for a moment that Harleen Quinzel falls on the submissive side of a D/s spectrum, her attraction to the Joker -- more specifically, his power -- would make sense, especially since Quinzel herself is often portrayed as a gifted psychologist. She is strong and independent, making her choice to "submit" to the Joker even more significant and -- to some -- more moving. The Joker-as-Dominant also seems obvious on first viewing, albeit briefly. The Joker is a sadist and enjoys inflicting pain. He revels in the physical, psychological, and emotional pain of others. Let's make one thing, clear, however. The Joker is psychotic (as is Harley). His desire to harm or injure others against their will is sociopathic and morally wrong. Furthermore, one need not be a sadist to be a Dominant. But in his interactions with Harley, we see a D/s dynamic pan out quite clearly.

What I really liked about Harley Quinn was that she was a powerful character in and of herself. This is the part that is often misunderstood about D/s relationships: it is not about weakness vs. strength, it is about power and how the Dominant and the submissive engage with it. The term "power exchange" is a good one, but I think that it often puts forth the idea that submissives completely "give up" their power when in the presence of  a Dominant and/or according to the "scene"^[3] in which the two are engaged. "Giving up" implies that power is "taken" in a one-sided fashion. However, the satisfaction that the Dominant achieves is contingent upon the submissive. A responsible Dominant must be completely in-tune with the desires, limits, and needs of the submissive; the Dominant must be able to "read" the sub and guide the scene accordingly. Hence, there is an exchange of power, since one word or signal by the submissive can immediately end the scene. A good Dominant, while ostensibly in control, follows the submissive's lead.  Additionally, each person in a D/s relationship must be clear about his or her boundaries, expectations, and hard limits. Each much be completely honest with each other before, during, and after a scene. The often parodied "safe word" or safe signal is an absolute that all parties must honor. Dominants have boundaries as well, especially if a submissive desires a scene that involves something that is either physically dangerous for the submissive or emotionally troubling for the Dominant. The contract works both ways. The submissive may be literally bound by the Dominant, but the Dominant is figuratively bound by the submissive.

Harley does have influence over the Joker because she is very much a strong woman at every turn -- whether or not she's in the presence of the Joker. When he is absent, Harley takes initiative, never needs rescuing, and has a keen insight into the psyches of the other characters, and she effectively manipulates them and uses them to her advantage. She asserts herself at every turn, and shows almost reckless confidence. She is also physically formidable, and tends to dispatch opponents with a baseball bat over a gun; and when cornered by multiple foes she takes them down with a balance of precision and showmanship. She does not cower. She does not stammer. She does not defer.

While it may be difficult (and for some, morally questionable) to separate the Joker's psychotic, homicidal, sociopathic, and generally murderous tendencies from his role of Joker-as-Dominant, there are definite markers that show a Dominant sexuality. As a Dominant -- and like anyone who either dabbles in D/s part time or lives a full D/s lifestyle -- he is drawn to power. One could say that his obsession with Batman is very much an aspect of that. Homoerotic theories aside, the Bat is someone who also wields power in a theatrical and effective way. With Harley, however, there is a challenge. Dr. Quinzel is smart, clearly strong, and very much her own person. Joker-as-Dominant is not "turning" her as much as he is "courting" her. The fact that he is in a straight jacket during their therapy sessions is not inconsequential; it highlights the fact that his seduction is an intellectual one. He must, like any responsible Dominant, allow Dr. Quinzel to make the choice to commit to him. Again, there is clearly manipulation, but Dr. Quinzel would know when he is trying to manipulate her. Like any responsible and insightful submissive, she knows what the Joker is trying to do and understands those advances. Ultimately, she chooses to engage. And she makes the choice long before she has any physical contact with the Joker.

From a Dominant perspective, anyone who is easily manipulated is not someone with whom a Dominant would want to "play," because manipulating someone into a submissive relationship negates their power, eliminating the passion that results from authentic desire. Someone who makes a conscious choice to submit is not only strong mentally, but strong in their own identities. They know who they are, they know what they want, and they know from whom they can get it. Harley Quinn decides to shed her identity as Dr. Harleen Quinzel and commit herself to a relationship in which she gives herself fully to him. She is "collared" with her name for him ("Puddin"), and she places herself in an orbit to him which still allows her the freedom to fully express herself

I know that I'm on shaky ground here, especially for those not familiar with D/s relationships. In the film, Quinn's "transformation" would seem to be predicated on a electroconvulsive torture session with the Joker, who straps her to a gurney, holds two electrical leads, and says the film's iconic phrase "Oh, I'm not gonna kill ya. I'm just gonna hurt ya, really, really bad."

Dr. Quinzel's response: "I can take it."

By no means am I justifying non-consensual torture. But, from a D/s perspective and in a comic book film idiom, the torture session is part of Harley's extended "transformation."  It is very much their "first scene," and Harley does, indeed, take it, proving her strength to the Joker, and the fact that her opinion of him -- and her commitment -- hasn't changed. If anything, it's shed her of the "person suit" (to borrow from Hannibal), that was Dr. Quinzel and allowed her to be a 24/7, out submissive. Soon after, Harley stands, literally, at a precipice, with bubbling chemicals below. The Joker asks "Would you die for me?" to which she quickly assents and is willing to prove.  The Joker immediately amends his question:

"Would you live for me?"
"Yes."
"Careful. Do not say this oath thoughtlessly. Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes power. You want this?"
"I do."
"Say it. Say it. Say it. Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty please."
"Please."
"Oh God, you're so GOOD."

Harley then allows herself to fall backward, plunging into one of the vats. Harley's "baptism" is the final step of her transformation. For some, this would prove that Harley has been utterly "brainwashed," and is the Joker's pawn. However, from a D/s perspective, this is Harley's "test" of the Joker -- a moment in which he must make a choice to pursue her -- and thus uphold his side of a D/s contract: to be devoted to her, to commit to her, and to allow her to be the submissive she is -- in all of its strength and power.

Ironically, the only moment of hesitation comes from the Joker himself. After she falls, he starts to walk away. But he pauses -- almost begrudgingly -- turns, and then gracefully swan-dives to her rescue, cradling her in his arms as they rise from the ooze. The Joker's choice to jump in after her places Harley in a position of power and is indicative of a confirmed power exchange. She has set the parameters of their relationship, and the Joker's dive seals the contract. He will always come back for her (at least in this film), and often at great cost. In many ways it is a dark, D/s version of the Superman/Lois Lane relationship established in the current DC film universe. Where Harley is, the Joker will follow. As with a deep D/s relationship, both partners must consent to commitment, understanding their specific responsibilities. Of course, in the film, the contractual nature of a D/s relationship isn't necessarily explored explicitly. But the Joker's dive, and his very explicit devotion to his submissive show a clear sense of obligation he has to Quinn, not to mention that fact that stages a massive rescue operation to break Harley out of a heavily-fortified prison at the conclusion of the film.

Together, the Joker and Harley are a formidable partnership. Their mutual devotion allows each to express themselves fully (albeit psychotically). Harley's devotion to the Joker does not entail a mindlessness, or a deferential attitude. Harleen Frances Quinzel chooses to express her power by transforming into Harley Quinn, a willing participant and "Warrior Submissive" to the Joker's "Ineffable Dominant"^[4]  Conversely, the Joker willingly gives himself over to his submissive by his implicit commitment to her, even putting his own life at risk. In one of the more poignant scenes in the film, when Harley believes the Joker has been killed in a helicopter crash, she removes her "Puddin" collar and stares forlornly through the rain. There is a sense of foreboding to the scene as well, since without the Joker as her chosen center, she no longer has a focus for her energy. The scene hints that Harley will now be more dangerous and unpredictable than she ever had been before.

I don't expect the DC film universe to pursue this relationship in its entirety, but I do think that David Ayer's portrayal of the Joker/Harley relationship is much more complex than it seems upon first viewing. Sadly, I doubt that the same executives responsible for re-cutting this film (and Batman v Superman) would take the risk of giving the Joker/Harley D/s relationship the attention it deserves.


[1] Personally, I drop the "princess" and call this type of submissive "The Warrior."
[2] For an excellent discussion of the differences between codependency and submission, see "Submission and Codependency -- A Discussion" from the His Left Side Angel blog.
[3] An encounter involving BDSM role-playing and/or specific instances of power exchange which may or may not be sexual in nature.
[4] According to Makai: "The Ineffable Dominant .... consciously explore[s] and borrow[s] traits and characteristics from other dominant categories. The synergy created with each new partner brings new facets to the Ineffable Dom's unique (and sometimes indescribable) topping style."

The Posthuman Superman: The Passion of the Kent

"How changed Zarathustra is! Zarathustra has become a child, an

awakened one. What do you plan to do in the land of the sleepers? You

have been floating in a sea of solitude, and the sea has borne you up. At

long last, are you ready for dry land? Are you ready to drag yourself

ashore?"

Zarathustra answered: "I love mankind."

                                  - Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra

I have to admit, I am somewhat conflicted writing a post about Superman -- specifically the newest incarnation by Zack Snyder, Man of Steel.  Superman has always been my favorite superhero for a lot of reasons, and I find that when I'm faced with a really good Superman story (which I think Man of Steel was), it's hard for me to separate the awestruck fanboy in me from the academic.  The good part about that, though, is that the conflict gives me a justification for multiple viewings.  So for the first viewing of Man of Steel, I let my inner child dominate, and watched, often with mouth agape, as this latest iteration of Superman came to grips with his humanity.  But I did make some mental notes of a few things to look for when I watched the film again, with a more theoretical eye.

My first review of Man of Steel can be found on both my Google+ and Facebook pages.  That's a good place to start.  But here I want to get into some deeper issues that the film covers, specifically those that cross into posthuman territory.  But I do want to make it clear that there is a bias in my analysis, only because I enjoyed the film immensely, and it only reinforced my admiration of Superman as a character and archetype.  This is also my first attempt at applying a kind of a "posthuman read" to it, so it's a bit rough around the edges.  Finally, turn back now if you don't want potential spoilers. 

So, how can we view Man of Steel through a posthuman lens?  It came to me during my second screening of the film ... more specifically, in its final five minutes.  I realized then that -- despite the, at times, over the top action -- I felt a more palpable suspense at the "reveal" of Clark Kent than I felt when Kal-El first dons the iconic suit and learns how to fly.  It became clear that this film was not about introducing Superman as much as it was about introducing Clark Kent.  And this is why I thought the film was brilliant.  The climax of the film was not the final conflict between Zod and Superman.  It was seeing the elevator doors open to reveal Clark Kent, glasses and all.  And that's when it all clicked to me as a viable "posthuman" story: Kal-El wishes to be human, and he creates Clark Kent in a (futile) attempt to achieve that humanity.  And in our portrayal of all manner of android and tin men, we need that character to want to be human.  But we feel safe and happy, because just like the HAL 9000 from 2001: A Space Odyssey, Roy Batty from Blade Runner, Agent Smith from The Matrix, or David the android from Prometheus and/or A.I.: Artificial Intelligence, the character works because he/it isn't human and never can be.  Thus, we, as humans, are privileged in that we are born into a humanity that other beings can never achieve.  The messianic aspects to this are clear, and we can easily apply this narrative to the Christian mythos:  God, an omnipotent, omniscient, and lonely figure wishes to be closer to his human creations:  he re-creates himself into a human, so that he too can experience suffering and death, and thus allow his creations salvation in an everlasting union with him.  Humanity creates a character which is all-powerful, but still desires (to be human).  This is an aspect of the "posthuman suffering" I've written about in the past:  we project our humanity onto objects so that they may "suffer with us."  We wish to disembody our pain -- or lack -- and place it upon the shoulders of an other.  I customarily characterize that "other" as technological, but it doesn't necessarily have to be. Regardless, it follows a messianic pattern.  

The messianic imagery in Man of Steel is too obvious to be metaphorical, and although I've seen all of Zack Snyder's films, I don't know enough about his artistic temperament to judge whether or not his "sledgehammer symbolism" was an intentional or accidental red herring.  Regardless, it was a red herring.  Despite Clark's "Gethsemane moment" in a church, complete with a stained-glass representation of Jesus in the garden behind him; and despite the cross-like position in which Superman falls to earth to save humanity, we were not seeing a representation of a Judeo-Christian messiah. This was, without question, an iteration of the Nietzschean Übermensch -- with a bit of a posthuman twist.  So much so, that I actually find myself hoping that Snyder purposely put the messianic references in there as a wink to the audience. 

In the film, we are introduced to Kal-El literally at the moment of his birth.  Jor-El and Lara have broken Kryptonian tradition and law by having a natural childbirth (as opposed to having a child via a matrix-like birthing process, in which every Kryptonian citizen is genetically hard-wired for a specific role in society).  Kal-El's birth is only partially natural, since he is later encoded with the genetic makeup of every potential Kryptonian in his blood.  If he is to be a savior, it is to his own race, not humanity.  And it is this alien nature which is emphasized throughout the film.  After Kal-El's ship crashes near the Kent farm, Snyder quickly cuts to an adult Clark Kent who has been traveling the earth under false names, attempting to find his place in the world, all the while helping people.  It is implied that after any show of his true strength and abilities, he disappears and assumes another life.  So, while serving aboard a fishing boat, Clark comes to the rescue of some workers on an oil rig.  He saves the men in the open, not making a secret of his strength.  But he disappears after and assumes another life.  He is not actually Clark Kent, nor is he Superman.  

What is interesting is the fact that we see his childhood framed through his moments of heroism as the anonymous, unnamed stranger: every time he shows a glimmer of what he can do as Clark Kent, he suffers for it.  In a poignant moment that will affect every 8 year old ADD sufferer who sees the film, a young Clark's senses seem to shift into their heightened mode:  he hears sounds from miles away, he sees through people, and he eventually flees to a closet to close out the world, because, in his words, "the world's too big, Mom."  A few years later, when Clark's school bus plummets into a river, he saves everyone.  One mother is convinced that it was an act of God, which is quite literally laughed off by a savvy Martha Kent.  But the interesting moment comes when Jonathan Kent chastises Clark for using his powers.  "What was I supposed to do?  Let them die?" asks Clark.  "Maybe," replies Jonathan.  

For Clark, his strength, his senses, and his super-human abilities are the very things that alienate him from humanity itself.  He is not human.  As Nietzsche tells us, the ideal of the "individual" to which Western Philosophy says we should aspire is eventually cast out and destroyed by society.  We hold the individual up, and then, in countless iterations of messianic mythology, turn on the individual and destroy it.  Snyder may be setting this up in this installment for later sequels.  After all, the final battle between Superman and Zod is on a planetary level, and leaves large swaths of destruction behind.  Zod's intention is to terraform earth into a new Krypton -- not have humanity serve him.  Humanity, for Zod, is necessarily expendable in order for Krypton to be reborn.  This is why the level of destruction that Snyder presents in the film is as massive as it is.  This is a planetary threat that would mean the destruction of the human race. Not to be cynical or callous,  but if a "planet killing" asteroid or some other threat like that showed up, and somehow we were able to deflect it with a missile or something so that it flattened several city blocks (and perhaps tens of thousands of people), we could consider that an incredible success -- tens of thousands dead rather than 7 billion and the extinction of the species. But I digress.

What brings Man of Steel into the posthuman age is the fact Superman's saving of humanity is incidental to his establishment of his human persona.  I think that this might be, subconsciously, why many were turned off by the massive destruction portrayed in the film.  To a lesser extent, that's where my own critique comes in: there did need to be a few more moments of danger on the micro-level.  The moment of danger with Perry White and Jenny Olsen, coupled with the "moment of truth" toward the end of the film when Zod is about to incinerate a family with his heat vision, were almost enough.  But on a deeper, less apparent, psychological level, Snyder inverts the usual, more casual, Superman formula.  Some enjoy the Superman  story because they see it as a metaphor for overcoming human weakness.  The stumbling, stammering Clark Kent in us all hides the true power within.  But this is a Superman who longs to be human.  This plot-line is okay for cyborgs and errant A.I.s, but not for an established superhero. If one is looking for Jesus, but finds Zarathustra instead, there's bound to be disappointment. Imagine a Jesus forfeiting his divinity and refusing to resurrect. Then again, I've always been more inspired by Zarathustra than Jesus.

I used to say in my Philosophy of Communication classes that there are certain "essential" elements of various mythologies that must be there in order for them to be accepted as that specific mythology:  Vampires must have some weakness (either to the sun, wooden stakes, or silver); zombies must crave flesh; there must be the iconic Spider-Man swinging pose; Batman's origin story must involve a scene containing the slaying of his parents, complete with Martha Wayne's pearls falling to the pavement.  For Superman, I used to say that there had to be at least one scene where Clark Kent rips his shirt open revealing the iconic S shield underneath.  When I screened Man of Steel the second time, I realized that I was partially wrong.  The closest thing to the classic "S reveal" in this film was the first time we see Clark Kent at the daily planet.  He pulls on his blazer; he straightens his tie, an then he puts on his glasses. And he does so milking as much suspense and anticipation as possible.  This was the actual "hero reveal."

Manifestations of posthumanity don't necessarily have to revolve around artifactual technology.  Although we could say that Kal-El was escaping a Krypton that had destroyed itself by exhausting its environment (in this iteration, Kryptonians have tapped into -- and spent -- the core of their planet for fuel, causing the planet to become unstable and eventually implode).  They had also "overtaxed" themselves via genetic manipulation.  But that's not really what constitutes the posthuman aspects of the film.  If we think about characters like HAL, Roy Batty, David, and even the Judeo-Christian God, they all have in common abilities that clearly make them superior to humans in every way; but each of them desires, and thus, each is aware of a lack.  What they desire is irrelevant (although many times they actually desire a human flaw -- old age; fear of death; or the capacity to love):  it's their capacity to desire which points to their origins as human cultural constructions.  And it's our capacity to desire (to self-reflexively be aware of a lack in ourselves) that characterizes our humanity.  We reinforce our humanity be creating characters who aren't human, but have a human awareness of a lack in themselves.  We want those constructions to "suffer with" us.  If the character has incredible mental and/or physical strength, it shows that their own (human) lack/suffering cannot be satisfied with those qualities alone.  Thus, if something more physically/mentally powerful than us cannot overcome itself, then how can we -- as mere humans -- be expected to do so?  In a Nietzschean fashion, we re-center our humanity around the striving for an ideal, rather than the Apollonian conclusion.  The point is to always be striving.  Death comes no matter what; it is neither a goal nor an impediment to overcome.  We must strive, and our human desire allows us to do that.

So, the most posthuman aspect of this film is nothing technological:  it is very much that Superman -- the god, the alien, the other -- strives and aspires to be Clark Kent.  And since Kal-El was raised on earth, Clark Kent is our (human) creation.  In Man of Steel, Superman is a hero because he unceasingly and unapologetically strives for an ideal that is, for him, ultimately impossible to achieve: humanity.  This is the posthuman Superman.