Category: Science Fiction

After the recent post about time travel, some readers wondered about the morality of interacting with the past and whether we would be obliged to refrain from changing historical events or not. In other words, would we be bound by a "temporal prime directive" against interfering with history if we travelled into the past.

This is actually something I’ve thought about, so here are some reflections.

The fundamental moral axiom is "Do good and avoid evil." This axiom is binding on all people, all the time. It is part of human nature. If we were transported into the past it would be binding on us then. We would have to do our best to do good and avoid evil, just as we are bound to do it now.

The question is whether interfering with history is a good or an evil–and whether it is even possible.

As sci-fi writers, among others, have speculated, changing history may not be possible. It may be, for example, that if we end up in the past then this does not represent a change to history. We were always part of history, and so whatever actions we take in the past played their proper role in how history did unfold.

If this is the case then three things follow: (1) We can’t change history because our introduction into it was always there, and it will unfold exactly as it did in our timeline and (2) we therefore don’t have to worry about whether we’re changing history. We can just do our best to do good and avoid evil. Also (3) we can avoid wasting our time trying to prevent outcomes that we already know (e.g., we may as well not try to stop 9/11 from happening). The issue of a temporal prime directive thus fails to arise if this is how time travel works.

There is also another version of how history is unchangeable. It could be that we were NOT part of history the "first time" it unfolded, and our insertion into the past OF ITSELF represents a change. It would appear, if this is how things work, that arriving in the past of itself creates an alternate timeline–one that is different than the timeline in which we originated.

But if that’s the case then, no matter what we do in the alterate timeline, we aren’t really changing history–not OUR history. That’s back on the original timeline that we left. The new timeline that we’re living in is one that budded off of ours.

If that’s the case then we are under no obligation to protect our own history because we have no ability to affect that history. That’s a timeline we are no longer part of.

It might be possible (depending on how time travel works) to get back to that timeline, but that would mean leaving the alterate timeline (no matter what good or bad we’ve done in it) and getting back to our original reality, in which we never appeared in history. If this is the case then visiting the past is like visiting an alterate universe. No matter what we do there, we won’t have to live with the effects of it once we return to our own home timeline.

So while in the "past" (really an alterate past) we would have the liberty to do good and avoid evil to the best of our ability. Stop 9/11? Sure! It’ll help the folks out who live in that timeline, even if our 9/11 will still be there when we return to our own timeline.

On the other hand, it may not be possible to get back to our own timeline. If we jump forward into the future, we may be jumping into the future of the alterate timeline that was created by our insertion into the past. In that case, we’ll have to live with the effects of what we’ve done. That’s an added incentive to be careful about what we do, since we’re now personally invested in the future of this timeline, but it doesn’t affect the fundamental moral calculus of how we should behave in it. Even if we weren’t going to stay in this timeline, the Golden Rule would tell us "Don’t mess up someone else’s timeline if you wouldn’t want someone else to mess up yours."

Since, on this option, we’re not really changing our own timeline, the issue of a temporal prime directive does not arise–at least not directly.

Of course, we could get scrupulous about the effects out actions will have on the timeline. Perhaps all kinds of "Monkey’s Paw" situations will arise and by trying to fix problems, we’ll actually make them worse.

Could be.

But that’s something we have to live with all the time back home in our original reality. We don’t know what the ultimate effects of our actions are going to be. We just have to do our best, based on the knowledge we have at the moment, to do good and avoid evil. If we’re in an alterate timeline but have an idea where it’s going to go based on the way our timeline did then that’s a bit of extra knowledge for us, but we can’t start out by second-guessing ourselves to death, worrying excessively about whether we’re helping or harming. We have to just do the best we can with the info we’ve got.

(And if we don’t like the results, we can jump back into the "past" again and bud off a new timeline where we can try to do things better. This, however, isn’t really fixing the existing timeline; it’s just transferring us to a new timeline where we hopefully won’t make the same mistakes.)

At this point we don’t have any experience with changing the "past," so we don’t really know whether attempting to do so generally produes good or bad (or neutral) results. It could turn out that attempts to change major historical events invariably makes things worse, but at this point we don’t have evidence for that. If evidence started accumulating then instituting a temporal prime directive of some kind would make sense, but imposing one up front would not make sense.

The mere fact of us being in the past when we weren’t originally means that some changes are made to history, and once we’re there we can’t avoid affecting things–just breathing and taking up space does that. So we may as well not second guess our ability to help the new timeline that we’re in until we get solid evidence that such attempts are more harmful than helpful.

(NOTE: God could have a "Please don’t mess with history" rule, but since he didn’t put it in the deposit of faith in our timeline means that we would likely only figure it out by experience. However, the very fact that he lets us go into the "past" when we weren’t originally there is an indication that he doesn’t mind us working to improve alternate timelines.)

On both of the two theories I’ve just sketched out, changing history isn’t really possible: in the first case because we were always part of history and in the second case because we are in an alterate timeline and not our own.

But is there a third possibility?

Could we really go back into OUR history when we weren’t there originally and change things?

I don’t think so. If we weren’t in history originally and then we put ourselves there then it seems to me that it’s no longer OUR history. It’s a new history–an alterate timeline. That seems to be true by definition.

And, as always happen when you try thought experiments that involve breaking things that are true by definition, you get paradoxes.

Thus if you suppose that we can inject ourselves into a history that we weren’t originally part of, you get things like the Grandfather Paradox. Since I don’t think that physical paradoxes can exist in actuality, I don’t think that this kind of time travel is possible.

There are other ways conceptualizing all this. In fact, there are a mind-numbing number of other ways (see that Grandfather Paradox article for examples). But seems to me that in the end it boils down to the two kinds of considerations I’ve mentioned here: Either our actions in the past were always part of history or we aren’t really living in "our" history as soon as we’ve entered the past.

Either way (and in any other scenario one might want to propose), the fundamental moral axiom still applies to us: Do good and avoid evil. The knowledge we had of how "our" history unfolded simply gives us extra information as we attempt to do that.

A reader writes:

You asked for more Sci-Fi questions to blog about, so I’m happy to be able to help. 🙂

1. Assume that a group of people who can time travel journey back to the Jurassic period. Among their number are some Catholics. Barring any other impediments (rampaging dinosaurs, etc.), are those Catholics still obliged to travel forward in time to attend Mass at some point?

The way the law is written now, the answer would be no.

The current Code of Canon Law (the one binding on the time travellers when they left–unless a new Code comes into existence before then) was promulated on January 25, 1983. Laws do not pertain to things prior to their promulgation unless the law in question expressly provides otherwise:

Can. 9 Laws regard the future, not the past, unless they expressly provide for the past.

The current Code makes no provision for creating a legal obligation to attend Mass prior to its own promulgation, so there isn’t one.

The same goes for the 1917 Code of Canon Law (which previously was in effect). And, in fact, the New Law (a.k.a. the Law of Christ) that was promulgated in the first century did not (so far as we know) contain any provisions on this topic.

Therefore, it would seem to me that if you travel back before the Mass obligation was legally binding that you simply are not bound by it.

There also, in the same manner, is no provision in the Codes of Canon Law requiring you to travel forwards in time to attend Mass.

Of course, it would be a very good thing to do so–assuming that you are reasonably able to do so–but not a legally required thing.

All of this applies to one’s ordinary Sunday obligation. The same would seem to apply, though, to one’s annual obligation to receive Commuion, at least during Easter time. It’s especially hard to enforce that if Easter hasn’t come into existence yet.

This is not to say that there are no religious obligations that would attach to time travellers. Anything that is part of human nature and thus natural law would continue to bind them (e.g., that we must worship the one true God, that we must devote adequate time to rest and worship, that we must not break the Ten Commandments).

So would any particular obligations arising directly from their reception of baptism, confirmation, marriage, and ordination–since these involve the entry into states of life that have obligations that are not temporally specific.

(The general duty to receive the Eucharist arising from baptism might oblige people to return to the future for the Eucharist in a general way, but not at any specific point in time–no pun intended.)

But matters specified by ecclesiastical law would not be specified if one travels to a temporal environment before that law comes into existence–unless it makes provision otherwise (which it doesn’t).

As a proof of this, note that ecclesiastical law does not bind AFTER a law ceases. Once you move FORWARD in time past a law’s existence, it is no longer binding. (This happens entirely naturally as time carries us forward.) In the same way, if you move BACKWARDS past a law’s existence then it also is no longer binding. Thus ecclesiastical laws do not bind BEFORE they are promulgated because they do not exist prior to promulgation.

Can. 7 A law is
established when it is promulgated.

If no ecclesiastical law exists when you happen to be then you are not bound by any ecclesiastical law.

2. If so, should they do so on their own personal timeline’s Sunday, or on Sunday according to the Jurassic’s calendar?

Since there is no binding law on this point, the question is moot.

3. Now imagine that a Catholic priest was among their number. Could he say Mass or offer any of the other Sacraments?

This is an interesting question. It is not clear whether priests who have time travelled to before the Incarnation, Death, and Resurrection of Christ would have the power to perform the sacraments.

We do have some indication that these graces can be operable before the Christ Event (as some theologians call it). For example, from the first moment of her conception Mary received graces that were not usually given until the Christian age began (and, for many, before the end of the history).

Christ also confected the Eucharist before his Death and Resurrection.

But the matter is not 100% certain, and in doubtful cases it is advisable to administer the sacraments conditionally (e.g., "If it is possible to baptize you in this time zone, I baptize you . . . ").

4. If the group also included a bishop, would that change anything?

Yes. They could conditionally set up apostolic succession in the Jurassic and have a Church-before-the-Church–at least conditionally.

They might also be able to conditionally elect a Jurassic pope, though this is also uncertain and would have to be done conditionally.

At that point it would be advisable to send someone Back To The Future to consult with the known Magisterium to ask for rulings on the feasibility of all this.

And they’d need to listen to what the known Magisterium has to say.

We’d hate to have to heal a cross-temporal schism.

(NOTE: All this could change if a liturgical dancer accidentally steps on a butterfly.)

Ick!

Okay, now that everyone (who wanted to) should have had a chance to see the final episode of Star Trek Enterprise, whenever it got aired in their local market, I can complain about it without giving away spoilers.

If, for some reason, you didn’t see it and don’t want to be spoiled, stop reading now.

SPOILER SPACE:
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Now, the producers tried to spin this episode as "a love letter to the fans," but it left me feeling more like I’d received a "Dear John" letter.

Even after details emerged (amid complaints from castmembers, notably Jolene Blalock) about what the episode would involve, I tried to keep an open mind, particularly in light of how much better Manny Coto had made the series in its last season.

But apparently boneheaded writing reasserted itself for the final episode, no doubt at the behest of the producers.

Here’s the basic idea: The last episode of Enterprise . . . wasn’t an Episode of Enterprise at all.

STUPID THING #1

It was an episode of Next Gen. Specifically, it’s set in the seventh season of Next Gen. This was so the producers could bring back Riker and Troi and have them guest star, as if watching the actors portray characters they’re now 12 years too old to play would be a "magical" experience for fans.

But they don’t get Riker and Troi hooked up with the Enterprise crew by time travel (which could be cool). Instead . . .

STUPID THING #2

The whole episode is a freakin’ holodeck adventure! Sheesh!

Riker is playing the holodeck adventure to try to find guidance for a Big Decision that he’s got to make (and which you already know the outcome of it you watched the seventh season of Next Gen), and so he decided to play a holodeck adventure set on the (apparent) founding day of the Federation to sort things through by watching someone else make a Big Decision.

Does Riker get the help he needs?

STUPID THING #3

No! He doesn’t! When it’s become clear whose Big Decision he was focused on (Trip), and after he’s watched Trip make it, and when he asks Trip if he has any advice about making his own Big Decision, holo-Trip says nope, he doesn’t! Riker will just have to figure it out for himself.

Now, what was Trip’s Big Decision?

This has to do with the main dramatic action of the episode.

It is, after all, the (apparent) founding day of the Federation, so you’d expect the main action of the episode to be tightly bound up with the founding of the Federation. The crew of the Enterprise ought to be thwarting some last-minute threat to the Federation that could unwravel Star Trek history as we know it if they fail. Instead,

STUPID THING #4.

The main dramatic action of the episode has nothing to do with the founding of the Federation. Instead, the characters interrupt their Federation-founding schedule go galavanting off and help Andorian recurring-character Shran (Jeffrey Coombs, nee Weyoun and Brunt) rescue his daughter from kidnappers.

This was a bad, bad move on the part of the writers/producers. Never have your Big Finale deal with a threat completely unrelated to the main thing the viewers have tuned in to see (and, in fact, been waiting years for you to finally get around to showing them).

The previous two episodes–which did focus on a threat to the founding of the Federation–were far better and would have made a far better finale to the series than this tacked-on doo-dad.

So how does all this hook into Trip’s Big Decision?

STUPID THING #5

Well, the alien kidnappers get mad at the Enterprise crew for snatching the little girl from them and so they come after them, cornering Captain Archer and Trip.

Now the thing is: Captain Archer is s’pposed to give an inspiring speech at the (apparent) founding of the Fedration, and "I’m sorry but he was just killed or otherwise delayed by kidnappers" is not going to be an acceptable excuse for not making it.

Thus in a "Gotta git the Cap’n to the church on time" frenzy, Trip uses his engineering wiles to undertake an action that he reasonably foresees will kill the kidnappers–and himself–while leaving the captain free to go make his uber-important speech.

That’s the Big Decision.

Only the whole thing falls completely flat because (a) it’s implausible to think that the whole future of the Federation hinges on this speech and there are no valid excuses for not making it or being late and (b) Trip had no reason to think that this speech was so crucial that he needed to sacrifice his life for the captain to make it.

It might have been different if Trip had simply sacrificed himself for the sake of his captain out of duty or for his friend out of friendship, but dragging the speech into it casts a whole "saving history" aspect over the whole thing that is completely implausible. If they’d at least had a time traveller show up to tell them "The captain must make this speech or the future will come crashing down in flames" that would have at least given Trip a better reason to do what he did–even if it would still be acting on a totally stupid premise.

But then

STUPID THING #6

We get a post-Big Decision scene in sickbay where it looks like Trip might survive (except that we’ve been told by Riker and Troi that he won’t). Thus Trip goes smiling into some kinda big cat scan device, only to have us find out next thing that he really is D-A-I-D.

A pointless major character killing in the service of a boneheaded premise distracting the reader from the main plot the viewer tuned in to see, wrapped in a freakin’ holodeck story in a pseudo-Next Gen episode.

What drek!

Oh, and what about loose ends, like Cap’n Archer’s crucial speech?

STUPID THING #7

We never get to hear it! Not one syllable! All that build-up and we don’t even get to see what was so important that a major character had to die for it!

And what, then, about that two-season loose end: Trip’s relationship with T’Pol?

STUPID THING #8

Nothing comes of it!

After shoving the relationship down the viewers’ throats for two seasons, after establishing that there was ongoing romantic chemistry between the two, after establishing that they were telepathically linked on some level as a result of their relationship, after having the two of them discover a technologically-created daughter of theirs in the previous two episodes, after having that daughter die tragically (causing both of them to tear up), and after ending THE VERY PRECEDING EPISODE with the two of them holding hands and tearfully talking about how it would be possible for a Human and a Vulcan to have a baby together if they wanted . . . NOTHING COMES OF THIS!

Rick Berman and Brandon Braga, what the heck were y’all thinking?

After the viewers have been made to suffer so much from the incompetent set-up of this relationship, the least you could do would be to PAY IT OFF by having them become the first Human-Vulcan married couple, setting the stage for Spock’s parents later on.

After that tearful, hand-holding, "Y’know, T’Pol, a Human and a Vulcan could have a baby iff’n they wanted to, wink, wink, nudge, nudge" scene, simply dropping the relationship (and pointing out explicitly and repeatedly in the finale that it was dropped) is a TOTAL letdown.

I’m sorry. Y’all may have meant this as a love letter to the fans, but after watching it I feld like I’d received a "Dear John" letter instead.

You can see why.

Anti-spoilers (revelations that something does not happen in a movie, show, or book) can not only help folks who haven’t seen/read it yet from getting their hopes up. They can also help them not to needlessly worry about what the fear the work might contain.

You may have read press accounts that try to interpret Star Wars Episode III as an anti-American parable of some kind.

Don’t worry ’bout that.

This story was apparently set off following the debut of the film at Cannes, France.

Now the thing about France is, they just loooove America over there. So much so that they want to be a "counterweight" for us.

They love our President even more.

They’re so pro-American and pro-Bush that they’re obsessed with them, so any time they see anything in the movies that can plausibly be interpreted as being a symbol of America or Bush, that’s how they interpret it.

Their affection for us is touching.

That’s what’s going on here. T’ain’t nuthin’ to it.

I feel a bit sorry for the folks over yonder who are so caught up in Bushmania that they lept to this interpretation. It reveals that they don’t know their own history–European history–which is what Lucas is really playing off of.

Ever since Episode IV originally came out, Lucas has been playing off the history of ancient Rome. Y’know how in Episode IV Grand Moff Tarkin (sounds like Tarquin–an important name in Roman history) announces that "the Emperor has dissolved the Imperial Senate–permanently–sweeping away the last vestiges of the Old Republic."

That’s straight outta Roman history. Any time you get an Emperor, and Empire, a Senate, and a Republic being supplanted by an Empire, you’ve got an allusion to Roman history.

In fact, the term "Emperor" comes from the reign of Augustus Caesar. In Latin the word for "Emperor" (Imperator) was voted a title to Augustus (nee Octavian) as a substitute for the term "king," for Romans were very proud of the fact that they didn’t have a king. They could have one in reality–as long as they didn’t call him a king–so they called him an Imperator. Their subjects, some of whom shouted "We have no king but Caesar!" a few years later–were not fooled by the different in terms.

The term "empire" also comes from this.

The "Senate," of course, was the body that ruled Rome and voted folks titles like "Emperor."

And the "Republic" was what Rome became once they kicked out their last king (Tarquin the Proud). The term is Latin for res publica or "public thing"–a reference to the political order or "public thing" of Rome.

Now, the Roman Republic proved not to be stable. With time it became corrupt, with ineffective leadership.

Eventually a guy named Julius Caesar showed up and decided to provide strong, decisive leadership, even if it meant backstabbing his colleagues on his way to absolute power. This led to . . . civil war (dum! dum! dum!) . . . and to avoid perpetetual civil war, the Senate voted Caesar progressively more dictatorial powers until he became "dictator for life."

His successor, Octavian (later Augustus), became the first Emperor and continued with dictatorial powers lest civil war break out again.

Any of this sound familiar?

Yeah! It sounds just like what we’ve been watching (in an altered form) in Episodes I-III.

Palpatine’s rise from Senator to Chancellor in Episode I mirrors Julius Caesar’s rise. The Roman Civil Wars that led to Julius being voted dictatorial powers are mirrored in the Clone Wars. And Palpatine’s creation as Emperor mirrors the voting of the title to Augustus. (Oh yeah, and <SPOILER SWIPE>there was an assassination of Julius in this time, mirroring the attempted assassination of Palpatine</SPOILER SWIPE>.)

Rome, not contemporary American politics, is the central organizing framework for what Lucas is doing.

That’s not to say that there’s no reference to American history in there. In Episode II the separatist movement is modelled on the Confederacy. It’s even called "the Confederacy of Independent Systems" (also an allusion to the Commonwealth of Independent States that used to be the Soviet Union) in the script.

As to allusions to more recent American history, there ain’t many. Maybe an individual line of dialogue here or there, but that’s it.

When episode I came out in 1999, Clinton was still on the throne and the Monica Lewinsky Scandal was still big news, and I couldn’t help thinking that Palpatine’s line that Chancellor Finis Valorum (Latin = "Last of the Valiant") was a good man brought low by scandal derived from "baseless allegations" had an echo of Lucas’ views of the Clinton-Lewinsky mess, but I couldn’t prove it in court.

The timing of this also puts the lie to the anti-Bush interpretation. The "corrupt Senate > civil war  > empire" stoyr was overtly set up in Episode I, which came out in 1999 and was written at least 3 years earlier than that. Waaaay before 9/11 and the events that followed.

Episode II came out in 2002 (and was written no later than about 1999), making it too early for the manufactured Clone Wars to be an allusion to the Iraq War, which happened in 2003 (and it would be silly to suppose that they were an allusion to the toppline of the Taliban).

So when Episode III comes out and we see the endgame of the scenario played out on screen, it just ain’t based on contemporary American history. It’s Roman history redux.

The single line of dialogue that could plausibly be read as a riff on contemporary American politics is Anakin’s line at the end of the film about "If you’re not with me, you’re my enemy." That maybe, kinda, coulda be interpreted as a riff on Bush’s line post-9/11 (or on Jesus Christ’s pre-9/11 line), but you couldn’t prove either one of these in court.

In any event, it’s too slim a basis on which to interpret Episode III as some kind of anti-American parable, no matter how awitter our French friends may be.

(And yes, Obi-Wan’s reply about only Sith dealing in absolutes is stupid; the Jedi clearly have absolutes. This is why Lucas really needs a good script doctor. It would be so easy to fix that line. Even "Only a Sith deals with that kind of absolutes" would do it.)

So yeah, Lucas is a Lib, but he’s not doing any kind of serious anti-Bush or anti-America riff here.

In fact, press reports report:

Lucas said he wrote Portman’s line ]about liberty dying to thunderous applause] and the screenplay’s other
politically pointed elements [like Anakin’s with me or agin’ me line] before the Sept. 11, 2001, terrorist
attacks and the subsequent war on terror.

Lucas’ yes-man Rick McCallum also is quoted as saying:

"First of all, we never thought of Bush ever becoming president," "Star
Wars" producer Rick McCallum said, "or then 9/11, the Patriot Act, war,
weapons of mass destruction. Then suddenly you realize, ‘Oh, my God,
there’s something happening that looks like we’re almost prescient.’
And then we thought, ‘Well, yeah, but he’ll never make it to the second
term, so we’ll look like we just made some wacky political parody of a
guy that everybody’s forgotten.’ "

GO FIG.

NOTE: THE BELOW WILL ALSO BE A SPOILER-FRIENDLY COMBOX. IF YOU WANT TO AVOID SPOILERS, USE THE SPOILER-FREE COMBOX DOWN YONDER.

A spoiler, for those who may not be familiar with the term, is a revelation about something that happens in a work of fiction (a book, movie, TV show, etc.) that might spoil the story for someone who hasn’t seen it.

Minor revelations (e.g., Obi-Wan rides a Giant Battle Iguana-Chicken What Goes "Awp! Awp!" in a few scenes) are not spoilers, but more significant revelations (e.g., "No, Luke . . . I am your father!") are.

Lemme suggest a new concept, though: The Anti-Spoiler.

An anti-spoiler is a revelation that something does not occur in a work of fiction. Anti-spoilers can be useful in that they can help folks who haven’t seen/read the work not get their hopes up for something particular to happen that they may be imagining.

With that in mind, lemme give you an anti-spoiler about Episode III, though I’ll put it in a spoiler swipe in case you really don’t want to know it even though it’s something that doesn’t happen in the film. Select the text to see the anti-spoiler:

<SWIPE>Annakin does not fall into lava in the movie. Don’t go into the film with your heart set on seeing Hayden Christiansen falling into lava and screaming with pain–as tempting as that image may be as retribution for his acting in Episode II.</SWIPE>

Now, in case you read the anti-spoiler and need a little context to understand it given what you have probably seen in the previews for the movie, here’s a minor, minor spoiler (given that it’s all over the previews and mentioned in countless reviews) to help give you the context you may need:

<SWIPE>Annakin’s final confrontation with Obi-Wan does occur in a lava-infested environment which is very dangerous and dramatic. He just doesn’t fall into the lava. Heat from the lava does play a role in what happens, though.</SWIPE>

Hope those are helpful if you haven’t seen the movie! Didn’t want you thinking they were going to do something that they don’t, in fact, do.

Now,

BELOW IS A COMBOX FOR THOSE WHO HAVE SEEN THE MOVIE (OR WHO DON’T CARE ABOUT SPOILERS). IT’S A SPOILER-FRIENDLY ZONE! HAVE AT IT!

Just got back from seeing Episode III.

It’s clearly the best of the prequel trilogy–by a longshot.

What surprised me most about it is that, despite its listed running time of 146 minutes, the movie itself is only 26 minutes long, after you sit through two hours of previews. Doesn’t take Annakin harly any time to fall at all. Hope they don’t put all the previews on the DVD to fill up space.

Okay, I’m kidding about that of course. They won’t put the previews on the DVD.

And the movie also is really 146 minutes long, it just feels like you sit through two hours of previews first.

Episode III is, as I said, the best of the prequel trilogy. It succeeds in the chief tasks it sets for itself, which are considerable.

First and foremost, it has to find a convincing way to make Annakin turn to the Dark Side–something a lot more convincing than the "temptation" Luke gets put through in Episode VI. Ranting about the "true nature" and "power" of the Dark Side ain’t gonna do it. There has to be something more than that to make a convincing turn from good to evil.

The trick is harder than you’d think because of the extreme nature of the turn that has to be made. It’s not like getting somebody to cheat on his taxes. They’ve got to take Annakin Skywalker from being a little resentful to being a full-blown, black-wearin’, helmet-sportin’, Jedi-killin’, voice-raspin’ Supervillain.

What makes that so hard?

Well, people who are supervillains generally don’t believe that. Like everybody else, they like to think of themselves and what they are doing as good, and it’s hard to make Darth Vader-level evil look good.

The film thus has the challenge of taking us far enough into Annakin’s perspective to make what he’s doing seem intelligible, but not so far into it that we end up believing that the Jedi are evil and need to be wiped out.

The movie succeeds far, far better than I thought.

In fact, in some ways it succeeds a little too well, though there’ll be time to talk about that on another occasion, once folks have had a chance to see the movie.

I think there are flaws, though. Up to the point that Annakin actually turns to the Dark Side the movie is firing on all cylinders. Just after this, though, there is a scene in which Annakin formalizes his commitment to the Dark Side that I don’t think works as well. And then Annakin goes and does something so evil that, frankly, I could have done without it. It exceeds the bounds of what is believable in terms of sane human motivation and one can only be explained upon some kind of Dark Side mental compulsion that ain’t spelled out explicitly in the movie.

I would have handled things a little differently. Lucas has Annakin’s initial conversion to the Dark Side (which is quite intelligible) occur earlier than his final descent into total, irrational supervillainry, and I would have had the descent bridging the two be more even and gradual than what the film gives us.

Despite this, the movie does achieve its primary goal: Getting Annakin to break with the Light Side and embrace the Dark Side believably.

The movie also achieves its secondary objective, which is tying up the significant loose ends: How do Luke and Leia get born? How are they separated? How do the Jedi fall? What’s the sequence of events leading Yoda an Obi-Wan to go into exile? Why does the Emperor look so icky in the original trilogy? What’s with the "becoming one with the Force" bit? What is the confusing prophecy of "Bringing balance to the Force" supposed to mean in practical terms? Why doesn’t C-3P0 remember any of this? And most importantly: How Does Darth Get Physically Transformed Into A Half-Machine Icon Of Darkness And Why Doesn’t He Know About Luke And Leia?

The answers to some of these are obvious, but we still need to see them happen. Others are things fans have speculated on for years. The film manages to achieve these quite well, though at the price of introducing one notable departure from established continuity (something mentioned in a scene in Episode VI).

I’m prepared to accept the departure from continuity, though, as I think it serves the overall plot and makes the story of Episode III more believable. If Lucas hadn’t departed from continuity on this one point, it would have been harder to pull off the ending of the film.

The film’s third goal–like always–is to dazzle us with action, and it does that, though I’m probably not the best person to describe action scenes as my focus is more on plot and character.

It’s final major goal–also as always–is to be visually stunning, and it certainly is that. People are right when they say that this movie is more visually stunning than any previous Star Wars film. Not in every scene, mind you, but overall, it is. We get a raft of new visually dymanic worlds to look at–some (unfortunately) seen only in passing during the fall of the Jedi.

A favorite of mine are some scenes in which Obi-Wan is mounted on a Giant Battle Iguana-Chicken What Goes "Awp! Awp!" (It’s better than it sounds.)

We also get to (briefly) see the Wookies in action in their home environment, which can only call-up regrets about what Episode VI should have shown us. (Lucas originally planned for the forrest moon of Endor to be inhabited by Wookiees, but changed his mind, cut them in half, made them more teddy-bear like, and called them Ewoks–Wook-iee —-> Eee-wok, Get It?)

The acting has also improved, though it’s still poor. Ewan McGregor kicks butt as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Yoda is okay. Samuel L. Jackson still comes off as flat to me, but Hayden Christiansen’s acting has literally doubled in quality since Episode II. Unfortunately, since his acting score last time was only 2.0 out of 10.0 possible, he’s still only up to 4.0 out of 10.0.

There are other things about the film that I’d nitpick, but there will be time for that later after folks have seen it, and these don’t fundamentally distract from the fact that this is without a doubt the best of the prequel trilogy.

I need to see it a second time before I try to compare it to the films of the first trilogy (though I strongly suspect I’ll conclude that it’s better than Episode VI, which is infested with teddy bears and lame attempts at conversion to the Dark Side, among other things).

NOTE: I know folks are likely to want to talk about this film, but since many have not seen it yet, please keep the combox for this post a SPOILER FREE ZONE. Comments with spoilers will be DELETED. I’ll create another post with a combox for spoiler-laden discussion for those who have already seen the film.

Just got back from seeing Episode III.

It’s clearly the best of the prequel trilogy–by a longshot.

What surprised me most about it is that, despite its listed running time of 146 minutes, the movie itself is only 26 minutes long, after you sit through two hours of previews. Doesn’t take Annakin harly any time to fall at all. Hope they don’t put all the previews on the DVD to fill up space.

Okay, I’m kidding about that of course. They won’t put the previews on the DVD.

And the movie also is really 146 minutes long, it just feels like you sit through two hours of previews first.

Episode III is, as I said, the best of the prequel trilogy. It succeeds in the chief tasks it sets for itself, which are considerable.

First and foremost, it has to find a convincing way to make Annakin turn to the Dark Side–something a lot more convincing than the "temptation" Luke gets put through in Episode VI. Ranting about the "true nature" and "power" of the Dark Side ain’t gonna do it. There has to be something more than that to make a convincing turn from good to evil.

The trick is harder than you’d think because of the extreme nature of the turn that has to be made. It’s not like getting somebody to cheat on his taxes. They’ve got to take Annakin Skywalker from being a little resentful to being a full-blown, black-wearin’, helmet-sportin’, Jedi-killin’, voice-raspin’ Supervillain.

What makes that so hard?

Well, people who are supervillains generally don’t believe that. Like everybody else, they like to think of themselves and what they are doing as good, and it’s hard to make Darth Vader-level evil look good.

The film thus has the challenge of taking us far enough into Annakin’s perspective to make what he’s doing seem intelligible, but not so far into it that we end up believing that the Jedi are evil and need to be wiped out.

The movie succeeds far, far better than I thought.

In fact, in some ways it succeeds a little too well, though there’ll be time to talk about that on another occasion, once folks have had a chance to see the movie.

I think there are flaws, though. Up to the point that Annakin actually turns to the Dark Side the movie is firing on all cylinders. Just after this, though, there is a scene in which Annakin formalizes his commitment to the Dark Side that I don’t think works as well. And then Annakin goes and does something so evil that, frankly, I could have done without it. It exceeds the bounds of what is believable in terms of sane human motivation and one can only be explained upon some kind of Dark Side mental compulsion that ain’t spelled out explicitly in the movie.

I would have handled things a little differently. Lucas has Annakin’s initial conversion to the Dark Side (which is quite intelligible) occur earlier than his final descent into total, irrational supervillainry, and I would have had the descent bridging the two be more even and gradual than what the film gives us.

Despite this, the movie does achieve its primary goal: Getting Annakin to break with the Light Side and embrace the Dark Side believably.

The movie also achieves its secondary objective, which is tying up the significant loose ends: How do Luke and Leia get born? How are they separated? How do the Jedi fall? What’s the sequence of events leading Yoda an Obi-Wan to go into exile? Why does the Emperor look so icky in the original trilogy? What’s with the "becoming one with the Force" bit? What is the confusing prophecy of "Bringing balance to the Force" supposed to mean in practical terms? Why doesn’t C-3P0 remember any of this? And most importantly: How Does Darth Get Physically Transformed Into A Half-Machine Icon Of Darkness And Why Doesn’t He Know About Luke And Leia?

The answers to some of these are obvious, but we still need to see them happen. Others are things fans have speculated on for years. The film manages to achieve these quite well, though at the price of introducing one notable departure from established continuity (something mentioned in a scene in Episode VI).

I’m prepared to accept the departure from continuity, though, as I think it serves the overall plot and makes the story of Episode III more believable. If Lucas hadn’t departed from continuity on this one point, it would have been harder to pull off the ending of the film.

The film’s third goal–like always–is to dazzle us with action, and it does that, though I’m probably not the best person to describe action scenes as my focus is more on plot and character.

It’s final major goal–also as always–is to be visually stunning, and it certainly is that. People are right when they say that this movie is more visually stunning than any previous Star Wars film. Not in every scene, mind you, but overall, it is. We get a raft of new visually dymanic worlds to look at–some (unfortunately) seen only in passing during the fall of the Jedi.

A favorite of mine are some scenes in which Obi-Wan is mounted on a Giant Battle Iguana-Chicken What Goes "Awp! Awp!" (It’s better than it sounds.)

We also get to (briefly) see the Wookies in action in their home environment, which can only call-up regrets about what Episode VI should have shown us. (Lucas originally planned for the forrest moon of Endor to be inhabited by Wookiees, but changed his mind, cut them in half, made them more teddy-bear like, and called them Ewoks–Wook-iee —-> Eee-wok, Get It?)

The acting has also improved, though it’s still poor. Ewan McGregor kicks butt as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Yoda is okay. Samuel L. Jackson still comes off as flat to me, but Hayden Christiansen’s acting has literally doubled in quality since Episode II. Unfortunately, since his acting score last time was only 2.0 out of 10.0 possible, he’s still only up to 4.0 out of 10.0.

There are other things about the film that I’d nitpick, but there will be time for that later after folks have seen it, and these don’t fundamentally distract from the fact that this is without a doubt the best of the prequel trilogy.

I need to see it a second time before I try to compare it to the films of the first trilogy (though I strongly suspect I’ll conclude that it’s better than Episode VI, which is infested with teddy bears and lame attempts at conversion to the Dark Side, among other things).

NOTE: I know folks are likely to want to talk about this film, but since many have not seen it yet, please keep the combox for this post a SPOILER FREE ZONE. Comments with spoilers will be DELETED. I’ll create another post with a combox for spoiler-laden discussion for those who have already seen the film.

In a recent editorial in the L.A. Times, Card is found dancing on the grave of Star Trek. He writes (EXCERPTS):

So they’ve gone and killed "Star Trek." And it’s about time.

The original "Star Trek," created by Gene Roddenberry, was, with a few exceptions, bad in every way that a science fiction television show could be bad.

This was in the days before series characters were allowed to grow and change, before episodic television was allowed to have a through line. So it didn’t matter which episode you might be watching, from which year — the characters were exactly the same.

As science fiction, the series was trapped in the 1930s — a throwback to spaceship adventure stories with little regard for science or deeper ideas. It was sci-fi as seen by Hollywood: all spectacle, no substance.

Which was a shame, because science fiction writing was incredibly fertile at the time, with writers like Harlan Ellison and Ursula LeGuin, Robert Silverberg and Larry Niven, Brian W. Aldiss and Michael Moorcock, Ray Bradbury and Isaac Asimov, and Robert A. Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke creating so many different kinds of excellent science fiction that no one reader could keep track of it all.

Little of this seeped into the original "Star Trek." The later spinoffs were much better performed, but the content continued to be stuck in Roddenberry’s rut. So why did the Trekkies throw themselves into this poorly imagined, weakly written, badly acted television series with such commitment and dedication? Why did it last so long?

Here’s what I think: Most people weren’t reading all that brilliant science fiction. Most people weren’t reading at all. So when they saw "Star Trek," primitive as it was, it was their first glimpse of science fiction. It was grade school for those who had let the whole science fiction revolution pass them by.

Now we finally have first-rate science fiction film and television that are every bit as good as anything going on in print.

Charlie Kaufman created the two finest science fiction films of all time so far: "Being John Malkovich" and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind." Jeffrey Lieber, J.J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof have created "Lost," the finest television science fiction series of all time … so far.

Through-line series like Joss Whedon’s "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and Alfred Gough’s and Miles Millar’s "Smallville" have raised our expectations of what episodic sci-fi and fantasy ought to be. Whedon’s "Firefly" showed us that even 1930s sci-fi can be well acted and tell a compelling long-term story.

Screen sci-fi has finally caught up with written science fiction. We’re in college now. High school is over. There’s just no need for "Star Trek" anymore.

In dismissing Star Trek in this fashion, Card is wrong.

First, it is out of place to fault a series for not having changing characters if "[t]his was in the days before series characters were allowed to grow and change."

One can fault more recent Star Trek series if they follow this rule too closely since it no longer applies on television–and so I do fault it–but much of TV is still significantly encumbered by this rule. There is still, even today, not enough room for character development on most shows, though mercifully there is more room than when TOS was on the air.

His remark

As science fiction, the series was trapped in the 1930s — a throwback to spaceship adventure stories with little regard for science or deeper ideas.

is simple chronological snobbery.

It doens’t matter that Star Trek resembled the print sci-fi of 30 years earlier. You couldn’t get away with cutting-edge contemporary sci-fi on television in 1967. No network was going to plunk down the change to do a serious episodic sci-fi series. They insisted on imposing contemporary television standards on the series they produced. Just say the word "Starlost" around Harlan Ellison and see the reaction you get. You therefore can’t hold a 1960s TV series up to standards that it was impossible for such a series to meet at time.

Further, what’s with being so utterly dismissive of 1930s sci-fi? It’s true that there was a mountainous load of junk published in the ’30s, but there was also good stuff being done. H. P. Lovecraft did his best work in the ’30s.

The factors that Card mentions about ’30s sci-fi–that the stories were set on space-ships, that they had little regard for science or "deeper ideas" (presumably moral/social ones)–may be true, but how much of an intrinsic aesthetic problem is this?

Space-ships take people to new places, but that increases story potential rather than decreasing it. I don’t see anything intrinsically inaesthetic about basing a story cycle on a ship that takes the characters new places. Homer seems to have gotten rather a lot of mileage out of that concept (pun intended). He used it for, oh, one of the most prestigious works of literature of all time.

As to having little regard for science, this can have to meanings: (1) The show doesn’t deliberately develop a focus on matters of known science, or (2) it violates what seem to be rules established by known science.

If Card means (1) then he is simply expressing a preference for "hard" science fiction that focuses on issues of whether the specific gravity or average wind velocity of a particular planet creates the potential for a specific plot situation. Nothing about general human aesthetics requires a focus of science-oriented stories (rather than plot- or character- or atmosphere-oriented stories). Therefore, it would be parochial at best to mandate a preference for stories of this type.

If Card means (2) then a different problem is created. It’s true that Star Trek violates a bunch of scientific laws, but so what? A very large amount of sci-fi (and other forms of speculative fiction) does this, and as long as it’s in the service of the story, it’s not a problem. It only becomes a problem when it starts to infringe on the audience’s suspension of disbelief.

The Lord of the Rings is the greatest piece of literature the 20th century produced, but it is not a work of hard SF.

One may have a personal preference for hard sci-fi where no or few laws get broken, but that’s a personal aesthetic and not an objective judgement about literature. To apply that ethic thorouhly would push one back into realistic fiction and out of speculative fiction altogether.

Further, among of the primordial creations of the human race was mythology and folklore, in which natural law is broken right and left. Unless you want to say that these are intrinsically unworthy enterprises–forming as they do the primordial ground of and constant inspiration for the corpus of human literature–then you’re going to have to allow the existence of varying degrees of departure from science as permissible in fiction.

The selection of any particular degree of departure (e.g., alternate history, hard SF, science fantasy, pure fantasy) is simply a matter of personal taste.

As to the original Star Trek not having an interest in "deeper issues," this is just false. Card apparently hasn’t watched Star Trek in so long that he’s forgotten all the episodes.

Not every episode may have had a deep issue at its core, but the series regularly explored concepts like the existence and nature of God, the necessity of human freedom, war and peace, racial discrimination, and numerous others. I might not like all of the answers Roddenberry and his colleagues proposed for these questions, but you can’t say that they weren’t interested in them.

The most preposterous claim Card makes, though, is right at the end. Having griped about the failings of The Original Series exclusively in his article, he then lumps all the subsequent series in with it as if they all were of similar quality. (They ain’t.) Having tarred all incarnations of Star Trek with the same brush, he then says:

Screen sci-fi has finally caught up with written science fiction. We’re in college now. High school is over. There’s just no need for "Star Trek" anymore.

Right.

This is why there are no Star Trek fans anymore. They have all become devotees of Being John Malkovitch and Eternal Sunshine. Instead of calling themselves "Trekkers" they’re now calling themselves "John Malkovitches" and holding conventions with "This Space For Rent" written on their foreheads and filling the Internet with countless fanfic stories about Eternal Sunshine.

Not!

Now don’t get me wrong. I agree with Philip J. Fry’s assessment of the original Star Trek: "Made 78 episodes–about a third of them good." There was a lot of stupid, stupid stuff in those shows, and a number of episodes are simply painful to watch.

But to be as dismissive of the whole corpus of Star Trek as Card is reveals a writer who, now that he has graduated from "high school" is in the process of proving how mature he is in "college" and so takes himself waaaay too seriously and has a restricted scope of aesthetic appreciation. He’s afraid to let himself enjoy sophomoric things anymore lest it take away from the gravitas he wants himself to have as a college man.

But y’know what? After college you start having kids. And then you have the fun of reading them bedtime stories and watching cartoons with them. And you realize: "Y’know, these are better than I thought." And you start to enjoy "childish" things all over again.

Because you no longer have to prove how grown up you are.

Orson Scott Card ought to know this because, in reality, he is an adult with several children of his own, but then he’s also a sci-fi author and they don’t get no respect from literary types, so it’s understandable if he wants to prove how "serious" a field sci-fi can be.

But he goes too far in this case.

For all its numerous flaws, Star Trek in its various incarnations really spoke to folks. It wouldn’t have lasted as long as it did without that happening. I find it as annoying as anybody else when I’m watching a Star Trek episode and hit something that painfully takes me out of the story because it’s so implausible. But the idea that Star Trek as a whole is worthless is just wrong. Many episodes of Next Gen and DS9 and even the original series were worthwhile entertainment, however unscientific or "unconcerned" with deeper issues they were.

Orson, lemme know when you’re out of "college" and aren’t trying to prove yourself anymore.

I’ve got some cartoon and childrens’ book recommendations that might come in handy.

In his book How To Write Science Fiction & Fantasy (a Writers’ Digest book), Card analyzes Star Trek and says (EXCERPTS):

The original series creator [Gene Roddenberry] wanted characters with the power to make decisions, and centered on the captain and executive officer of a military starship. Unfortunately, however, as anyone who knows anything about the miltary will tell you, the comanders of ships and armies don’t have many interesting adventures. They’re almost always at headquaters, making the big decisions and sending out the orders to the people who do the physically dangerous work.

In any real starfleet there would be teams of trained explorers, diplomats, and scientists ready to venture forth at the commander’s orders. If Star Trek had been about one such team, the stories would have been inherently more plausible–and there would have been room for tension between the ship’s officers and the exploration teams, a rich vein of story possibilities that was virtually untapped.

Instead, Star Trek centered around the characters with the highest prestige who, in a realistic world, would have the least freedom.

Any captain of a ship or commander of an army who behaved like Captain Kirk would be stripped of command for life. But the series would not have worked otherwise.

At this point you might be saing to yourself, "I should be so lucky as to make mistakes like Star Trek–I could use a few bestsellers." But the point I’m making is that Star Trek could not possibly have succeeded if the captain had actually behaved like a captiain. Centering the series around a commanding officer was such a bad mistake that the show immediately corrected for the error by never, for one moment, having Kirk behave like a captain [p. 68].

In saying this, Card is right (except that–in a few individual minutes–Kirk did behave like a captain). Kirk, and the captains that followed (even on other series, like Capt. John Sheridan of Babylon 5) did not behave like captains when it came to leading missions themselves.

Star Trek thus violated a real-world law.

So what. Sci-fi does that all the time.

And in this case there may well be a reson: When Star Trek started, in 1967, would the networks have bought a show that focused on an exploratory team instead of a commanding officer? I don’t know that at all. A network today would buy that (think: Stargate SG-1), but in 1967 the networks had such a limited undrstanding of science fiction that they barely bought it to begin with (thinking Star Trek "too cerebral" and rejecting the idea of Mr. Spock utterly in the first pass), so it is quite plausible to suppose that the network would have simply passed on the idea if it focused on ordinary soldiers.

Having set the mold for TV space opera with Kirk (who is not, incidentally, without precedents like action hero Capt. Rocky Jones), other captains followed in his stead.

Over time, though, TV and movie sci-fi would have the chance to evolve away from this formula, and that’s something we can all be glad about.

Unfortunately, not all of Card’s analysis of Star Trek is so on the money.

More in a bit.

This year Star Trek: Enterprise this year gave us an explanation of why Klingons look different in different series and thus cleared up a minor mystery.

It’s also cleared up something else: What a Tholian looks like.

In The Original Series, the Tholians appeared in just one episode ("The Tholian Web") and we never saw more than a weird-lookin’ face (?) on a viewscreen.

Folks naturally wonderd what the whole critter looked like, but until now we’ve never got to see.

Some even wondered whether the crystalline-lookin’ Tholian "face" we saw might be a helmet of some kind or if the critters were really crystalline.

The Tholians were almost totally ignored by later Star Trek series, though they were mentioned a number of times on Deep Space 9. A Tholian ambassador visited the station, though we never saw him. Capt. Sisko also had a conversation about (rare and much prized) Tholian "silk." And the Tholians signed a non-aggression pact with the Dominion before the war broke out. But for all the talk, we never got to see.

Now we have. In the two-part Mirror Universe episode "In A Mirror, Darkly," we finally get to see a Tholian.

Since both parts have now aired in all markets (and since this isn’t a matter of the plot and thus not a plot spoiler), I’ll go a head and show you a pic. Here ’tis:

As you can see, the ugly bugs are indeed crystalline. They also have six legs and two arms, which makes them arachnids.

There’s also a suggestion of motion under their crystalline carapace, which I s’ppose accounts for the weird color variations we saw on The Original Series’ viewscreen.

They live in a super-hot Venus-like environment.

So they’re blazingly hot crystal spiders.

Cool!

Only don’t say that to a Tholian. Probably won’t have the same resonance.

If you cool ’em off too much they start to crack. Need heat to live.

Tholian silk must be woven with asbestos or somethin.’

LEARN MORE ABOUT THOLIANS FROM MEMORY ALPHA (SPOILERS).