For Mr. Nimoy, by Reed Lackey

For most of my life, and likely for all of the rest of it, I have been torn between whether I will be governed by my reason or by my emotions. I’m a critical thinker and a logical problem solver with a deductive-reasoning mindset. I’m also a highly sensitive and often emotionally vulnerable man.

There aren’t a great many figures in fictional culture which capture that struggle effectively. Most fictional male characters are either emotional vacuums (hiding in either apathy or testosterone) or they allow their emotions to make them look neurotic, lacking any sense of a logical grasp on the world. But as a child, I did discover a character who connected profoundly with this constant internal battle.

In the fictional Star Trek universe, few if any characters are more iconic and recognizable than Mr. Spock. Arguably, he’s even more synonymous with the series than James T. Kirk, who captained the Enterprise so famously for so many years. When people think of Star Trek, likely one of the first images their memories will create is of pointed ears, a raised eyebrow, and of a specific kind of hand salute involving an open palm and the spreading of the ring and middle fingers. The phrase “Live long and prosper” won’t be far behind.

I am convinced that the character would not be nearly as iconic—in fact he might be utterly forgettable—if not for the incredible interpretative talent brought to the role by Leonard Nimoy, who passed away on Friday. Nimoy’s perfect posture and foggy voice gave the character immediate distinctiveness and Nimoy delivered nearly every line as if he were a wise, old sage, always three steps ahead of everyone else in the room but patiently waiting for them to catch up to him.

Yet what is perhaps most impressive about Nimoy’s embodiment of Mr. Spock is how much he was able to communicate so much through a face which by nature had to remain perpetually stoic. The character of Spock is from an alien race called Vulcan, who have evolved to control and sometimes even eliminate all emotion from their psychological makeup. However, Spock had a human mother, so within him is the constant struggle between Vulcan logic and reasoning and Human passion and emotion.

Sound familiar?

And Leonard Nimoy struck a bullseye when capturing this essence and bringing the character to life. Because of his talent, the character began to be more than simply a fan-favorite fictional person, and became a symbol to so many of so much more. To many, he is an icon of pure logic, sharper and wiser even than his distant relative Sherlock Holmes. To others, he is an alternative figure of strength and control in an ocean of John Wayne, William Wallace, or Captain America types. To me, the character embodied something much richer and deeper, because when I was six or seven years old, I saw him die.

If you’ve never seen Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, then you’re likely not a big enough fan of the Star Trek universe to mind if I spoil it for you. If you have seen it, you probably already know what I’m going to tell you. I was very young—as I said, six or seven years old—when I first saw that film, which stands as my earliest memory of watching any Star Trek material. In that story, the once exiled super-villain called Khan is discovered on a reconnaissance mission and begins a personal quest to wreak vengeance on Captain Kirk, who marooned him on a desolate planet so many years ago. Although Kirk had not known that the planet was so uninhabitable, Khan holds no mercy and his desire is for Kirk’s utter destruction.

But the critical moments in the story come at the beginning and the end of the film, involving a test which Starfleet cadets go through called the Kobayashi Maru. The scenario presented as the opening scene is a computer simulation designed to have no possible solution: as Kirk calls it, “a test of character” designed to teach cadets that “how we face death is at least as important as how we face life.” We learn that Kirk himself only passed the test by cheating.

In the climactic battle, Khan has successfully crippled the Enterprise and is about to detonate a powerful weapon which will destroy it if they can’t revive the warp engines and escape in time. But reviving the warp drive means entering the radiation chamber and flushing the compartment, which no one would be strong enough to survive long enough to get the job done.

Well, almost no one.

The close-up on Leonard Nimoy’s face when he learns of the Enterprise’s situation—and makes the critical decision to enter that radiation chamber himself—shows everything I know and love about the character of Spock. Descriptively, his face remains blank, but you can sense behind those eyes the weight of determination to do what is right, what is good, what is… only logical. Even as a child, this registered to me and impacted me immeasurably.

Spock saves the ship and the entire crew, but loses his own life in the process, his final words being that iconic refrain to live long and… well, you know. The character returns in the next film, resurrected by the effects of the same device which caused the danger, but to the imagination of an impressionable, adolescent boy, he was gone. He stated in his final moments that he had never taken the Kobayashi Maru, “no-win” scenario. “What do you think of my solution?” he asks. But he never gets an answer.

And as you know by now, I’m sure, I am also a man of faith. I’m a Christian. The central image in my theology, philosophy, and basic human understanding is of a man laying down his life in a “no-win scenario” to save the world. I was raised in church and heard that old, old story more times than I could count before I was even two years old. But the first time I watched it play out in real time, beat for beat, was on a ship out in space by a man with pointed ears. It anchored something in my creative mind that I still hear echoing in the farthest corners of the galaxy that is my imagination; a sentiment that has power no matter what faith or non-faith you hold dear to you: “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” (John 15:13, NIV)

This is the power of story: to anchor within us truths which extend beyond either logic or emotion, beyond what we think or what we feel. But even the most powerful of stories must be breathed into by talented, creative storytellers before they come to life within us. Today, as I reflect on the passing of this man whom I never met, I am grateful for the possibilities of story. I am grateful for the stories I heard and saw and read as a child. I am grateful to a character and an actor who simply did their job, but did it exceptionally. And to him, today, I simply say thank you.

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” – Spock

“There are always possibilities.” — Spock

“I’m touched by the idea that when we do things that are useful and helpful – collecting these shards of spirituality – that we may be helping to bring about a healing.” – Leonard Nimoy