The End of History and Poetic Salvation in Christopher

Nolan: Jesse Russell’s “The Political Christopher

Nolan”
voegelinview.com/the-end-of-history-and-poetic-salvation-in-christopher-nolan-jesse-russells-the-political-
christopher-nolan/

Paul Krause July 21, 2023

The end of history endures. Not just in intellectual commentary and debate, but also in cinema. And no
director has been wrestling with the implications of the end of history more than Christopher Nolan. In
our age of encroaching nihilism, revolutionary discontent, and the seeming exhaustion of neoliberal
capitalism, how does Nolan’s films deal with the spirit of times?
That is the question Jesse Russell is implicitly asking in his new book, The Political Christopher Nolan.
Bringing Nolan’s films into dialogue with philosophy and political theory, Russell offers a brilliant
reading of the blockbuster film director who not only offers his audience a visual tour-de-force but also
deep intellectual contemplation through his films. Russell accepts Nolan’s invitation for intellectual
contemplation and shows how Nolan is wrestling with the spirit of the times, the contours of end of
history nihilism and exhausted neoliberalism, and how through this wrestling the director ultimately
endorses—even if passively so—the belief that “Anglo-American liberalism [is] the most feasible
vehicle for the good life.”
It is important to start off with some definitions as to what “Anglo-American liberalism” and
“neoliberalism” are as these terms are often charged with political emotions that are often viewed
negatively (especially by the “far-left” and “far-right”) in contemporary discourse. Liberalism, here, isn’t
the mythic lie of individual rights, the rule of law, and a nominal free market economy being discovered
by the brilliance of early modern (and invariably secular) political thinkers. Individual rights, the rule of
law, and free enterprise economics existed long before the invention of “classical liberalism” in the
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Liberalism, as envisioned by Nolan in the twenty-first century, is
really the political order forged and held together by technology, capital, and the security-surveillance
state whose legitimacy is upheld by democratic institutions and elections. Or in another way of
understanding it: Liberalism is the existing political order of the western world understood through the
unitive power of science, technology, capital, and the (American) military industrial complex. This unity
of science, technology, capital, and the military industrial complex in the modern age is also what is
sometimes called neoliberalism.
Status-quo liberalism, however, hasn’t triumphed in the way that many believed it would in the
aftermath of the Cold War and the early victories won by the United States (and its allies) during the
beginning of the War on Terror. Even Francis Fukuyama, famous for his essay “The End of History?”
which is often badly mispresented and mocked by shallow critics, left open the possibility for the
malaise of the “Last Man” to set in without the spirited contest for political struggle with the demise of
Soviet communism. Fukuyama implied, both in his essay and especially his book by the same name,
that nihilism could emerge. And emerge it has.
In giving a politicized interpretation to Nolan’s films, Russell examines how Nolan began his career
with Memento by wrestling with nihilism and the emptiness that modern man faces despite his
persistent “desire for an ethical core” and how this cinematic dialogue with end of history nihilism
produced a soft political philosophy that has opted for a defense of Anglo-American techno-scientific
capitalism while equally remaining skeptical—if not otherwise hostile—toward the crass and crude
utilitarian materialism that is often lurking in the background of neoliberalism. Given the bland
emptiness of modern life, stripped of its symbolism and spirituality through the scientific conquest of
nature, where can we look to find meaning? Further, how can political order survive without the will for
sacrifice in the face of dangerous foes and impending social (even cosmic) chaos and disharmony?
Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy and Interstellar offer us the best answers to these problematic questions.
The Gotham City of the Dark Knight trilogy is “an icon of America.” But this representative icon of
America is also corrupt, dark, and in the eyes of the villains in the Dark Knight trilogy, not worth saving.

1/5
Gotham is so
polluted it must
be destroyed. To
Bruce
Wayne/Batman,
however, Gotham
is worth saving.
Here, Russell
interprets the
dialectic between
a technologically
empowered but
ultimately
humane Batman
and the various
villains of the
films (Ra’s Al
Ghul, the Joker,
and Bane) as
representing the
major threats to
the neoliberal
order at the end
of history: Ra’s Al
Ghul is a
reactionary,
aristocratic,
“Oriental” Other
with a stern
sense of cosmic
justice; the Joker
is a domestic
nihilist, an
anarchist who
wants to destroy
the illusion of
order and a
return to “chance”
as the governing
reality of life;
Bane represents
revolutionary
populism with a
seductive
outsider spirit
ultimately bent on
destroying the
establishment at
large in the name
of the liberation of the common mass of humanity. Against these forces Batman must rise to the
challenge. How does he do this? “[Batman] must learn the arts and spirituality of the Old World but
ultimately overcome and dominate it via Western rationality and technology.”
To this extent we might say that Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy represents a synthesis of Romantic and
Enlightenment mentalities. Though Russell doesn’t dwell on this point, I will. Part of the Romantic
rebellion against the Enlightenment was because of the belief that the triumph of science, technology,
and commerce (the world of Bruce Wayne, Gotham City, and “liberalism”) would strip the world of
spiritual values and lead to a crueler, more inhumane, world. Many of the Romantics looked to religion,
spirituality, and the will-to-power (as a form of self-empowering spirituality) as the antidote against this
sterile and mechanical evil sweeping the world. Romanticism also began the Orientalist outlook

2/5
derided by Edward Said (with whom Russell dialogues in his analysis). Bruce Wayne, as Batman,
however, doesn’t entirely forsake the Enlightenment project of technology, science, and commerce;
instead, Bruce Wayne’s transformation into Batman is by “an appropriation of Eastern wisdom and
Western technology at the service of new world humanism and an attempt at justice.” In short, Bruce
Wayne embodies both the Romantic and Enlightenment spirit—he embraces a sense of spiritual
strength and technological supremacy thereby fusing the two together as a potent force as he
becomes Batman.
For the philosophically literate, now aided from the insight by Russell’s superb analysis, Batman
represents a new hope for, and within, the neoliberal reality: Western technological and scientific
prowess with Eastern spiritual and mystical allure. So Batman doesn’t reject the neoliberal order but
revitalizes it through embracing an aforesaid spiritual strength learned from the East with the powerful
science and technology of the West, combined with the genteel humanism of his parents (representing
western philanthropy, a sort of secularized Christian ethic of charity).
With this newfound synthesis Batman subsequently does battle on behalf of Gotham (the neoliberal
order) against its enemies, both foreign (Ra’s Al Ghul) and domestic (Joker). This is both a
subconscious reflection on the War on Terror (the need for the neoliberal west to deal with its vicious
enemies often found in the eastern world: Ra’s Al Ghul and Bane) and nihilistic discontent from within
(Joker). As Russell writes, “Bruce Wayne is representative of the American order that utilizes its high
technology and its allegedly liberal credo to fight threats at home and abroad.”
But how does the Dark Knight trilogy progress and ultimately end? We must remember that Nolan is
no mere utopian propagandist. Gotham City is mired in corruption, crime, and poverty. It is not a
perfect city. Yet, despite these problems the viewer sees on screen, Gotham is still worth saving. The
message from Nolan is that Gotham (neoliberalism) is worth reforming and ultimately saving through
self-sacrifice on behalf of the many invisible good people who live ordinary lives (this is exactly what
Batman tells Joker at the conclusion of The Dark Knight). That is what Batman embodies throughout
the three films: sacrifice on behalf of the masses, even if the masses are not always aware or grateful
because most people are just trying to live and love as most humans do.
However, more is needed than just sacrifice on behalf of the ordinary mass: hope and love is needed
to bring our hero some closure and the sacrifices made meaningful. Batman is fighting for the hope
that he can love—first, Rachel Dawes who dies in The Dark Knight; then, eventually, Selina Kyle
(Catwoman) in The Dark Knight Rises. Thus, Robin emerges at the trilogy’s end to take up the role
that Bruce Wayne has created and passed on which permits Bruce to love after his life of sacrifices
made on behalf of Gotham as Batman.
“The image of the hero,” Russell writes, “must be upheld and then filled by heroes who come every
generation to do good.” The passing on of the torch and the sacrifices of Batman finds hope through
the possibility of love and a life of leisure now available to him. This is the implied ending when Alfred
sees Bruce and Selina at a café in Italy. Thus, the endurance of the neoliberal order is in the hope of
love after a life of sacrifice wherein a new, younger, generation will take up the task of reform and
defense while a now aging population enjoys the fruits of their own self-sacrifices. As Russell
concludes his great analysis of Nolan’s Batman films, “The Dark Knight trilogy, although entertaining
various revolutionary ideas, ultimately shows the viewer there is no alternative to the capitalist world
order that Gotham represents.” We might add the caveat that the neoliberal capitalist world is worth
saving only because love is possible within it. Love is not a factor, we must note, in attitudes of Ra’s Al
Ghul, Joker, Bane, or Talia; the worlds they represent are devoid of love and therefore worse
alternatives to the admittedly bland neoliberalism of Gotham, which, although bland, still has the
possibility for love within it.
The possibility of love and the hope of family life is another principal theme found in Inception and,
especially, Interstellar. In Inception, Cobb’s working for the neoliberal corporate order is motivated by
the hope of returning to a loving family life with his children. Even though his family (his wife, in
particular) have been temporarily lost to him and the filial love he once enjoyed partly ruined by the
neoliberal corporate order he serves, there remains a hope for recovery, a hope for a new beginning.
This hope drives Cobb onward. It is hope found in love.
This hope for love found in family life that the Dark Knight trilogy concludes with and that Inception
equally implies is what guides Interstellar from start to finish. Additionally, Interstellar continues to
show the imperfect insufficiencies of a purely materialistic, utilitarian, and scientistic brand of
neoliberalism. Dr. Brand and Dr. Mann, intelligent though they are (indicated by the fact that they are

3/5
both PhDs), represent the crass utilitarian ethic of materialistic liberalism without humanistic love (also
the prevailing worldview of most highly educated elites in the western world it must be noted). Their
“Plan A” is scientism, a purely materialistic liberalism, writ large. However, Joseph Cooper and Dr.
Amelia Brand represent a sacrificial love dedicated to family and, through that sacrificial love, the rest
of humanity. Mind you, Joseph Cooper’s initials are J.C.
Interstellar, according to Russell, represents the supersession of the era of competitive nation-states—
the end of history ideal. Nation-states still exist but without the jingoism and competition which
previously defined them. Nevertheless, America remains the “superpower” in a world that is dying.
How is this dying world saved? Not through science, but through love. As I’ve written in parallel
agreement with Russell concerning Interstellar though from a more theological perspective:
Interstellar pits two worlds against each other: the world of love that transcends space and time and
the world of science that has no understanding of love because love is not a number that can be
measured. Moreover, the world of love is passionate and emotional. This drives a dagger into the
empty hearts of those men and women of science who conceive a limited world of mere numbers and
lines. Cooper’s world is in a deadly wrestling match with Dr. Brand and Dr. Mann’s world and only one
can win.
Cooper’s act of sacrificial love which allows him to act as the intermediary between the two worlds
brings about the salvation of humanity on Earth as they journey, in a ship (reminiscent of an ark) to the
new world of life faraway in the heavens. Love, not science and technology, is the force that will
divinize man and allow him to look up to the stars and behold the good things that the heavens hold.
Love, Interstellar reminds us, is what makes us human and ultimately saves us.
For Russell, Interstellar’s message, in its political context, entails “a message of hope and endurance
and the ability for America to overcome its twenty-first century decline and ultimately overcome space
and time” through “love,” and more specifically, “filial love.” While I’m inclined to interpret the film more
philosophically and theologically than Russell does, he is perfectly aware of the “message of love”
promoted in Interstellar even if it is through a politicized lens, “Interstellar is a catastrophe film set
during a period of (relative) quiet in American history, but it is also a film about the triumph of a new
America tutored by a reinforced message of love.” This is very important for viewers to recognize since
I was reminded, when reading Russell’s analysis of Interstellar, of a conversation with a colleague of
mine who was incapable of recognizing or even conceding the message of love in the film and only
saw a positivistic (and ultimately utilitarian) endorsement of the power of “science” in the film even
though the scientism of Dr. Brand and Dr. Mann jeopardizes the future of humanity every step of the
way and science is redeemed through the love manifested by Cooper.
America must become a country “tutored” by “love” to help resurrect the dying world. Interstellar, like
the rest of Nolan’s films, accepts the neoliberal order as a given but our eminent director is no utopian
—the neoliberal order can either go down the path of scientistic utilitarianism (which consistently leads
to death in the film) or the humane and humanistic love of Cooper (which leads to renewal and
resurrection). The rest of the world depends on America’s choice—either to be Dr. Brand and Dr. Mann
or Cooper and Amelia. Let us choose Cooper and Amelia where love can beneficially utilize the goods
of science and technology and not Dr. Brand and Dr. Mann whose utilitarian and social-Darwinian
evolutionism threatens the very heart of humanity.
“Nolan’s films present Anglo-American liberalism as being the most feasible vehicle for the good life
the characters in his films desire (but perhaps never find). This order is threatened by the reactionary
past of the ‘Old World,’ which demands adherence to a strict moral code and violent suppression of
dissidence…As imperfect and flawed as Anglo-American liberalism is, in his films, Christopher Nolan
ultimately depicts America as the last, best hope for world.” We can say, with Russell’s guiding eyes,
that Nolan’s films carry within them traces of American Exceptionalism. But this exceptionalism is not
the blinding and sometimes callous ra-ra-ra patriotism verging on insular nationalism. Rather, the last
best hope for the world within the American order is to be found in “the sacrificing hero [who] is
ultimately humane and generous as opposed [to] domineering and cruel.” Further, “This hero is
motivated by love of family and country.” What is needed to make life in the neoliberal order
worthwhile? The sacrificial and loving, compassionate, hero. What’s hopeful is that anyone can be this
sacrificial and loving hero!
I might extend a concluding note as someone who also loves Nolan just as much as our author does.
Nolan is an artist, a poet, whose artistry and poetry is composed through the directorial camera. An
implicit part of Nolan’s political-poetic cinematography, if we wish to call it that, is that artistry and

4/5
poetry will redeem the admittedly dull neoliberal world (“do not go gentle into that goodnight,” after all).
It is in the neoliberal world where poetry has its greatest opportunity to flourish—flourish without fear of
censorship, oversight, regulation, or restriction. Not all poetry is created equal, though. Nolan
endorses the ancient poetic wisdom of the sacrificial hero rather than the poetic Übermensch of self-
creating values (certainly Dr. Mann is the closest representation of this type of modernist monster in
Nolan’s films). In the contest for poetic redemption, Nolan endorses the traditional view of poetic
salvation shared by luminaries like Saint Augustine, Dante, Milton, Wordsworth, Eliot, Lewis, and
Tolkien.
Jesse Russell does an admirable job in interpreting Nolan’s films through a political lens. He does an
equally superb job in highlighting the role of love within the neoliberal paradigm that defines many of
Nolan’s best and most mature films. Any lover of Nolan’s cinematic brilliance will be enriched by
Russell’s book. One’s only regret is that this book does not yet have an analysis of Nolan’s
Oppenheimer. We patiently wait, then, for what Russell might have to say about that film.
The Political Christopher Nolan: Liberalism and the Anglo-American Vision
By Jesse Russell

Lanham: Lexington Books, 2023; 152pp

Copyright VoegelinView 2023 - All Rights Reserved

5/5