When Criticism Forgets What Makes a Superhero

Spider-Man, Sacrifice, and the Meaning of Responsibility 

There is a common trope in superhero fiction, and in heroic fiction in general, where the main character believes they have to face the world on their own. They become the lone wolf. The solitary hero who keeps everyone at arm’s length, both physically and emotionally. They carry the burden themselves because they believe no one else should have to.

But why is this such a common theme?

According to some modern critics, this is evidence of patriarchy. They argue these stories teach men that they should suppress their emotions, reject relationships, and suffer in silence because that’s what society expects of them.

That explanation completely misunderstands the superhero genre.

As a kid reading Spider-Man comics, I learned very quickly why Peter Parker kept his mask on. It wasn’t because he wanted to hide from his friends. It wasn’t because he thought real men never talked about their feelings. It was because the Green Goblin didn’t need to know where Aunt May lived.

A superhero has enemies.

Those enemies don’t just attack the hero. They attack everyone the hero loves.

The secret identity was never about protecting the superhero. It was about protecting everyone else.

The moment a villain discovers who Spider-Man really is, Aunt May becomes a target. Mary Jane becomes a target. His friends become targets. Every relationship becomes another weapon waiting to be used against him.

That’s why superheroes separate the two worlds.

Not because they reject relationships.

Because they value them.

This idea didn’t begin with comic books, nor is it unique to superheroes. For centuries, stories have been written about soldiers, spies, law enforcement officers, knights, rebels, and other dangerous professions whose greatest weakness wasn’t themselves—it was the people they loved.

The more dangerous your enemies are, the more dangerous your relationships become.

You can even see this principle in the real world.

Police officers working undercover don’t tell criminals where they live. Intelligence agents don’t hand out photographs of their families. Witness protection programs exist because dangerous people often go after innocent loved ones when they can’t reach their primary target.

No reasonable person looks at an undercover detective protecting their family and concludes they’re embracing toxic masculinity.

They’re protecting the people they love.

The same principle applies to superheroes.

Spider-Man doesn’t stay away from MJ because he believes men should suffer alone.

He stays away because he knows exactly what happens to the people closest to Spider-Man.

That isn’t patriarchy.

That’s responsibility.

This is where the Doctrine of Superhero Fiction becomes important.

The superhero is not defined by suffering.

The superhero is defined by obligation.

Power creates responsibility. Responsibility demands sacrifice. Sometimes that sacrifice is time. Sometimes it’s comfort. Sometimes it’s reputation. Sometimes it’s the chance to live the ordinary life every hero secretly wants.

The sacrifice only has meaning because the hero desperately wants what they’re giving up.

Peter Parker doesn’t walk away because he doesn’t love MJ.

He walks away because he does.

If he didn’t care about her, there would be nothing to sacrifice.

I recently watched a video claiming that Peter Parker’s decision at the end of Spider-Man: No Way Home was really a product of patriarchy. The argument was that the writers were reinforcing the harmful idea that men should disconnect from others and carry their burdens alone.

That interpretation mistakes the cost of heroism for the cause of heroism.

Peter Parker is not making a statement about masculinity.

He is making a statement about responsibility.

The reason his decision resonates with audiences has nothing to do with men suppressing their emotions. It resonates because nearly every great superhero eventually reaches the moment where personal happiness collides with duty.

And duty wins.

Not because the hero enjoys suffering.

Not because loneliness is noble.

But because someone else deserves to live in peace.

To look at that sacrifice and conclude, “Eww… patriarchy,” is to miss the very thing that has defined superheroes since the genre began.

Spider-Man doesn’t choose isolation because he’s a man.

He chooses sacrifice because he’s a hero.

And there is a world of difference between the two.