Superman may have been raised in rural Kansas, but deep down in his impenetrable Kryptonian chest beats a globalist heart. He can't help it. That enviable ability of his to have a bird's-eye view of just about everything in the world eventually imparts a more nuanced perspective on the whole human enterprise.
"Truth, Justice and the American Way": What does that mean when the majority of Americans no longer agree on what any of those concepts mean? Besides, being yoked to the "American way," whatever that means, is way too parochial for someone who has seen as much as Superman has seen in eight decades.
A new mantra defining his broader mission was rolled out over the weekend by DC Comics to get beyond our nationalistic conundrum during a time of COVID-19 and climate change: "Truth, Justice and a Better Tomorrow."
Put yourself in Superman's enormous blue boots. Gliding 100 feet above a football stadium, it would still be possible to distinguish the fans of one team from another by their tribal colors that are as distinct at that altitude as fall's changing foliage.
A thousand feet above the game, it gets trickier. Someone without Superman's extraordinary powers of telescopic vision would see only an undifferentiated mass of humanity.
From the edge of space, the fragile beauty of the planet crowds out the specifics of race, creed or color. Humans aren't even visible. It is a view of the world fewer than 1,000 people have seen for themselves.
Those who have seen the curvature of the planet from that perspective all testify to being deeply moved by it. There's something almost supernatural about the sudden reversal of perspective thrust upon them from that height. Lightning flashes above the Atlantic suddenly appear below them, a sight that was formerly accessible only to the gods of antiquity.
Great land masses roll by below, some partly hidden by swirling clouds, but the oceans are never out of sight for long, no matter which way a head turns in wonder. Everything from the Amazon rainforest, to the Gobi Desert, to the Cape of Good Hope, to the Philippine archipelago is separated by only a few heartbeats the higher one gets above the Karman line. The familiar borders etched on maps and schoolroom globes mean nothing from that perspective. Those lines of demarcation amount to pure vanity on an impossibly beautiful blue orb circling a 4.6-billion-year-old star we call the sun.