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ED;20= EB ;D20B80= Mr. Spock (Zachary Quinto) and Captain James T. Kirk (Chris Pine).
C^SPhžb 1aXVWcTa 5dcdaT Relearning confidence in tomorrow through the prism of ‘Trek’ By David Brin
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won’t comment on the plot of the new Star Trek film or the way director J. J. Abrams relays a familiar cosmology with glittery action, snappy dialogue and voluptuous intricacy. Unlike many fans, I am cold to the “old pals effect,� the tedious crutch of reintroducing the same characters in every sequel. I care little about James T. Kirk or even Mr. Spock. No, what always entranced me about Trek—helping turn this physicist into a science fiction author—was the vision it offered, exploring human destiny, confronting big issues and pondering a unique notion, seldom expressed anywhere else—that our descendants might somehow be admirable. Optimism doesn’t come easily to postHiroshima science fiction, nor should all tales of tomorrow be sunny. Some futuristic cautionary tales, like George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four, warn usefully about potential failure modes. If they gird us sufficiently, these stories rise to the august level of self-preventing prophecy. Other works, and a majority of sci-fi films, base their pulse-pounding, heroic action on a
single assumption: that civilization is, and will always remain, stupid, a clichĂŠ that can’t be helpful to our can-do, problem-solving spirit. But that spirit has a home. It’s embodied in Star Trek, an epic storytelling universe that broke with ref lex cynicism, asking instead, “What if children can learn from the mistakes of their parents?â€? Suppose (oh, unique thought!) our heirs begin living up to some of our deepest hopes? Won’t they still have interesting problems, like what to do when we become mighty star travelers? Humanity has yet to crawl beyond the moon, yet we are already contemplating how to behave under the light of distant suns. Shall we interfere in the development of younger intelligent species, for example? Could a mix of pragmatism and sincerity prevent us from repeating the mistakes of the conquistadors? Premature or not, such thought experiments may be a sign of a precocious maturity, a lifting of the eyes. And many of these ruminations—engaging millions of fascinated minds—have taken place under the banner of Star Trek. Central to Trek is the image of a large, quasi-naval vessel called Enterprise, based
on 19th-century sailing ships like the HMS Beagle, dispatched to practice peacemaking and war, diplomacy and science, tutoring and apprenticeship, all in equal measure. How different from the tiny fighter planes featured in Star Wars, each piloted by a solitary knight, perhaps accompanied by a loyal squire, or droid, symbols as old as Achilles. In contrast, the Federation starship in Trek is a veritable city, cruising toward the unknown. Its captain-hero is a plenipotentiary representative of his civilization and parent figure to the crew, but during the next adventure, any one of those normal men and women may suddenly become heroes themselves. Moreover, this ship carries something else, the Federation’s culture and laws, industry and science, its consensus values, such as the Prime Directive, all embodied in the dramatic diversity of its crew. Each time Enterprise passes a test, so does civilization. Perhaps even one worthy of our grandchildren. Compare this to the old Republic, in the Lucasian universe: a hapless, clueless mÊlange of bickering futility whose political tiffs are as petty as they are incomprehensible. 'THE BOHEMIAN
05.27.09-06.02.09
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