I'm not usually affected when famous people pass away. I appreciate learning about or remembering the good they did in the world as people eulogize them. But the death of Patrick Stewart this week moved me. Noah Smith's eulogy was particularly good in explaining what his portrayal of Captain Picard meant to me, so I'm going to copy a large part of it here. The short version is that Captain Picard and TNG more broadly was fundamentally hopeful about who we as people and societies could become. We can solve problems collaboratively and find win-wins that give everyone something of what they want. Pres. Oaks spoke a lot about this in his address on Constitution Day. The last decade or so, I've been missing that. His passing has been a reminder of that better vision that seems further away just now than it did 30 years ago. And for all I appreciate about Kirk, Sisko, Janeway, and Archer, ... Picard is my Captain.
There’s something about the mindset of really hardcore Star Trek fans that’s very difficult to describe to people who don’t share that fandom. I can’t speak for all of us, of course, but for many of us, there is a sense in which the world portrayed in Star Trek is not quite fictional. No one regards it as an exact description of the future, of course, but there is a sense in which it represents one possible future that we must achieve — a “Star Trek timeline” that either we’re on or that we need to return to. The United Federation of Planets isn’t some fantastical interstellar alliance, but an organization that we must create, and whose ideals we must instantiate as the governing ethos of humankind.
Our quasi-religious commitment to this utopian future came from watching the Star Trek TV shows, but the different series inspired us in different ways. The original “Kirk and Spock” series, which aired in the 1960s, was more of a technological vision — the idea that one day we would zip around the cosmos getting into adventures, as easily as we’d zip around the world in a boat today. But Star Trek: The Next Generation, which aired in the late 1980s and early 1990s, gave us a different kind of vision. It was a moral future for the human race — a depiction of a better way that we could face the unknown and master our own personal challenges.
There has never been another television show like Star Trek: The Next Generation, and there might never be one again. It is the greatest TV show ever made, not by dint of a difference in degree, but because of a difference in kind. It is a drama of pure optimism. Every other show tries to thrill us by showing us how bad or how ridiculous or how exciting someone else’s world could be; Star Trek: TNG thrills us by showing us how beautiful our own world could become.
... But the real secret sauce of Star Trek: TNG was the creative vision of Star Trek’s original creator, Gene Roddenberry. A lot of people — and even a lot of science fiction writers — assume that even as technology makes us more powerful, human nature will remain basically the same, with all its old petty short-sighted hatreds and jealousies and selfishness and so on. Roddenberry believed otherwise. He famously declared that the people of the future would actually be better people, free from the flaws of his day. And so he mandated that Star Trek: TNG have no internal conflict in its plotlines.
Some of the writers chafed at that constraint. Interpersonal conflict is the bread and butter of drama — and always an easy plot device to fall back on when you need something to go wrong. But because Roddenberry decreed it, the writers of TNG were forced to envision how the ideal human being would deal with various personal and external obstacles. And so every episode gave us a thoughtful, probing exploration of what the ideal human beings — or at least, people much more morally and emotionally advanced than us — would look like.
No character embodied that ideal more than Captain Jean-Luc Picard. It’s not his personal life that’s ideal — he famously puts career over family, leading to a life full of self-doubt and regret — but his approach to the world. Picard is the ultimate Reasonable Man. He will always try to understand the alien before he opens fire. He is a legendary battle commander but would always rather negotiate than fight. He’s not necessarily the kind of man you’d want for a father, but he felt like one anyway. He values all life, and all uniqueness, intrinsically; he is zipping around the galaxy in a starship in order to discover the Universe, and occasionally to save it, but most of all to understand and respect it.
Understanding and respect, in fact, are Picard’s greatest weapons. He is a brilliant man, with many brilliant people under him, and occasionally he uses his intelligence to defeat an external threat. But he’s no swashbuckling space cowboy — more often than not, he succeeds in understanding the threat, and figures out how to help it achieve its goals without sacrificing his own. Picard realizes that the highest application of intelligence is not to thwart your enemies, but to design a world in which you and they can live in mutually beneficial coexistence. 1990s America was a uniquely hopeful and liberal time in the world, and Star Trek’s greatest captain embodied the spirit of that too-brief moment.
The character of Captain Picard was brought to life by the peerless acting skills of Patrick Stewart, who died two days ago at the age of 86. Stewart’s acting career went far beyond Star Trek — he’s widely considered one of the greatest Shakespearean stage actors of his generation, if not of all time, and he played in dozens of films. But the tributes that are flying thick and fast around the world today almost all focus on his role as Captain Picard.
I’m of two minds about this. As a very slightly famous person, I can tell you that public and private personas are very different things — if you meet me in real life, I won’t quite be the character you’ve imagined from my writings. That goes triple for actors, whose job is literally to pretend to be someone else. Patrick Stewart was not Captain Picard, but a man with a life and a personality all his own. He was, by all reports, a good man, well-loved by those who knew him and worked with him, but his strengths and his flaws were very different from those of the man he played on television. To mourn his passing as the passing of Captain Picard is to engage in a parasocial relationship.
And yet, I do. I can’t help it. I never knew Patrick Stewart, but I did know Captain Picard, and the death of the real man who brought that fictional man to life makes me remember what I loved so much about the latter, and there is value in that.
Nor am I alone. Today the internet is flooded with tributes to Picard, praising Stewart’s portrayal as an embodiment of an ideal liberal politics, an exemplary moral figure, and even as a model of masculinity:
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... But outer space is not our true final frontier. The true space that we, as humans, are exploring is our own set of possibilities. In fact, Q, a whimsical omnipotent trickster-god-being that serves as Picard’s foil throughout the series, says this to Picard in the final episode of the show — see the quote at the top of this post. It is our quest to chart the unknowable possibilities of our own existence.
The ultimate destiny of humankind is a consistent theme of Star Trek: TNG, and the show strongly implies that we’re ultimately destined to ascend to some sort of godlike posthumanity. There are multiple instances of humans or human-like beings turning into some sort of higher cosmic being, and Q himself implies that he’s testing humanity for admission into the realm of the space gods. This is probably where we’re headed in reality ... it’s possible to envision a better version of Humanity Classic. It’s possible to imagine that through the right combination of technology, governance, and culture, we can put the lie to the old saw that “human nature never changes”, and become more like the characters in Gene Roddenberry’s universe.
In fact, though the overall picture is murky and the road has been stochastic, there is some evidence that we’ve already been moving in a more humane, rational direction — that Captain Picard is less alien to the human race of 2026 than he would have been to the human race of 1626. ... It is not clear exactly what led to these improvements. Perhaps with scarcity alleviated — with our bellies full, and tractors instead of slaves — we are naturally gentler and more magnanimous. Perhaps more information has given us more empathy toward people far away. Perhaps the social adaptations needed to handle modern economies — markets, property rights, police, democracy — have tamed and civilized us.
Whatever it was, it offers the hope that we can do more of it — that whatever cosmic ascension we might eventually undertake, human beings as they exist in 2026 are not the best we can do in the current form factor.
I won’t lie. The last quarter century has been brutal to the hopes of those raised on Star Trek: The Next Generation. The promise of a liberal society has not been eliminated, but it has been tarnished by over a decade of social media hatred and rising authoritarianism. Neither greater prosperity nor more information nor giving voice to the voiceless has made our societies more like the United Federation of Planets. Sci-fi marvels are coming to life around us, but every day the people who lead our species seem less like the crew of the Enterprise.
But as the 1990s were not the end of history, neither are the 2020s. Moral progress is not a smooth upward line; there have been reversals before (and there certainly are plenty in the Star Trek timeline). It’s about time to pick ourselves back up and start the journey again. We should all go back and watch Star Trek: The Next Generation, with its silly haircuts and its dated special effects, and remember who we thought we could become.
Farewell to the great Patrick Stewart. And farewell also, Captain Picard. In the greatest trek of all — our search for the possibilities of our better selves — you will always be our Captain.
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