The Philosophy of J.J. Abrams

The Fear of Bones: On the Dread of Space and Death

71 the fear of bones On the Dread of Space and Death Jerry S. Piven and Jeffrey E. Stephenson Angels and ministers of grace, defend us! —Leonard H. McCoy (also Shakespeare, Hamlet, 1.4) In J. J. Abrams’s masterful revisioning of Star Trek, an unobtrusive, seemingly inconsequential dialogue between James T. Kirk and Dr. Leonard McCoy reveals some of the most profound, existential, driving emotions of the quest to explore space, as well as the passion we viewers have for the show and films. Actually, while this dialogue seems to have been more of an homage interpolated to please Star Trek fans who have known and loved the cantankerous, irascible, incredulous, irritable ejaculations of Dr. McCoy, the content of his unexpected tirade has interesting parallels with arguably one of the most frightening existential explorations in the history of Western philosophy, Blaise Pascal’s (1623–1662) Pensées.1 Both encapsulate the very human terror about mortality. However, whereas Pascal turns desperately to religion, in Star Trek the fear gives rise to science, medicine, and the ethic that life is precious. Dread can give birth to antithetical existential positions, and what may seem an insignificant homage in this film may actually be a fascinating encapsulation of a ubiquitous existential struggle.2 Throughout the Star Trek corpus, McCoy is always the emotional and compassionate alternative to Spock’s dispassion and logic. McCoy often complains angrily about the lives lost by making so many calculated decisions , expresses outrage at the ease with which casualties can be sacrificed, and reminds Kirk and Spock that they are dealing with human beings, not expendable machines. McCoy is the irrationalist, the one who values life over politics and military strategems, the one who calls Spock a “green-blooded bast . . . Vulcan” when logic so callously ignores the human element. 72 Jerry S. Piven and Jeffrey E. Stephenson In the 2009 Star Trek film, Abrams is delightfully true to the character developed in the original Star Trek television series and movies. McCoy’s temperament and considered views have hardly changed, but in a few brief lines Abrams’s film captures what may be most existentially significant in the entire Star Trek saga. Consider this brief exchange between Kirk and McCoy as they prepare to take flight: McCoy: I may throw up on you. Kirk: I think these things are pretty safe. McCoy: Don’t pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. A solar flare might crop up and cook us in our seats. And wait till you’re sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles. See if you’re so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding. Space is disease and danger, wrapped in darkness and silence. We can find McCoy’s neurotic angst, anger, and cantankerousness amusing or endearing (or even annoying at times), but his unguarded, impassioned feelings reveal a very human reaction to absurdity, madness, injustice, suffering , and the myriad terrors that we try so hard to avoid. Many of us prefer the way Spock can control and master his emotions. Until this film, Spock was the character who (except for a few dramatic sexual meltdowns and attempts to murder his captain) exuded aplomb in the face of incipient danger, panic, horror, rage, and heartbreak. We could identify with his impenetrability, his utter control of himself, and his ability to be invulnerable where we might find ourselves emotionally defenseless.3 Spock is the fantasy of emotional invulnerability that appeals to vulnerable people ashamed of our frailties. We also identify with the struggle to control those feelings, with that inner tumult, and Abrams provides us with a Spock who suffers from deeply human pains and conflicts. But McCoy is ever exposed, livid, and lacks that enviable capacity to mask or conquer his panic. As much as we would like to have a Vulcanic mastery of our fears, needs, and vulnerabilities, we more unnervingly resemble McCoy. Real human beings who emulate this mode of Vulcan dispassion and utter control are often terrified of their emotionality and vulnerability and thus adopt the pose of the coldly intellectual, rational, super-sane person. It is the all too human shame of feeling that vulnerable and exposed that impels some people to broadcast this posture; but withal, it is that mask that draws The Fear of Bones 73 attention to the embarrassing vulnerability they are trying to hide. Interestingly...