Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan begins on March 22, 2285. While this is not stated explicitly in the film, when Star Trek historians Michael and Denise Okuda later officially established the Star Trek timeline, the year of this film was determined to be 2285.[1] Importantly, the film takes place on the occasion of Admiral James T. Kirk’s birthday, which is similarly established as March 22, probably because it coincides with actor William Shatner’s birth date.[2] In the Western Christian liturgical calendar,[3] Easter is a movable feast, occurring on a Sunday anywhere between March 22 and April 25.[4] March 22 is the least common date on which Easter can fall (a 0.483% likelihood), most recently occurring in 1818. Amazingly, the next time Easter will fall on March 22 will be in the year 2285.[5] Therefore, Star Trek II begins on Easter Sunday.

     Further, it begins on the very next Easter Sunday to fall on the birthday of James Kirk and the only one that will do so during his (fictional) lifetime. This fact cannot possibly have been in the mind of anyone connected with the creation of Star Trek II, as these dates had not yet been established in 1982 and would not be established for more than decade. Even still, in Star Trek history, the fact remains that a film that begins on Easter Sunday is the first in a cycle of films concerning death, resurrection, and restoration, a trilogy that inaugurates one of the most visible and potent icons of pop culture—Spock—as a Christ figure.

     In his audio commentary for Star Trek II, writer and director Nicholas Meyer says, “You get an idea and you say, ‘Oh my God, this is great,’ and you know it’s great, but you can’t say why. Other people will tell you why.”[6] Star Trek II is great—and I humbly suggest that I know at least one reason why: It tells the story of Jesus. In conjunction with its two following sequels, in perhaps the greatest unplanned trilogy in film history, it tells that story very well and in surprising detail. The fact that all of this is entirely unintentional is perhaps the most amazing part of the story, and may in fact indicate that something sacred is at work here.
​
(Excerpted from The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Original Crew with the permission of Wipf and Stock Publishers.)

What an exciting time! I'm doing a ton of behind-the-scenes work these days planning things I'll be ready to share with you soon! Not the least of these, of course, is wrapping the manuscript for The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Next Generation! 

And how fitting that I'm working on that book now as I recently discussed raising the "Next Generation" in our current media context with Natalie Stilwell of So Goes the Future! I'm honored and excited to be a part of her brand new online speaker series, FORMING THE FUTURE: RAISING CHILDREN WHO PURSUE THE GOOD, TRUE, AND BEAUTIFUL!

As a dad, a follower of Jesus, and a lover of media, the arts, and popular culture, this is so close to my heart. In this interview, we discuss navigating the complex media world as Christian parents without running to the "easy answers" of thoughtless engagement or thoughtless rejection. If you're a parent or grandparent or know someone who is, you'll want to be a part of this conversation.

Natalie has several other great speakers lined up for you to hear--oh!--and it's FREE! The series runs through February 8th, so now's the time to sign up. Just click on this link or on the image above to get started!

And, by the way, I'd love to speak on these topics for your church, school, or event. CLICK HERE to book a speaking engagement!

“The primary philosophy in Star Trek, stripped of everything else," David Gerrold once wrote, "was 'Love one another.' I think Jesus might have said something like that once too."

Indeed he did (John 5:12, John 5:17).

And the really important part of that is the words "one another." In The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Original Crew, in the chapter entitled "Last Battlefields and Neighbor Love," I wrote about the importance of moving from "othering" to "one anothering," from an embattled, competitive mentality to seeking to create a reciprocity of love by being the first to choose the way of Love.

Love is often thought of as warm, snuggly, happy feelings, or romance, or attraction, and all those things can be a part of it. But Love is a choice. It is active. Love is a commitment. Feeling love, or the emotions we associate with love, is fine, but failing to act on those feelings--or to act in spite of our feelings--is not love.

When Paul talks about love, he talks about what love does, how it behaves. It exercises patiebce and kindness, avoids envy, doesn't brag or boast, turns away from rudeness, refuses to serve itself, moves away from anger and resentment, rejoices in the truth, bears, believes, hopes, and endures. 

​Jesus began this narrative, saying that the greatest love is defined by the action of self-sacrifice. 

I posted last year about why the death of Spock is perfect for Christmas. "As we celebrate the coming of Christ," I wrote, "we celebrate not only his birth, but the bringing of salvation--a salvation wrought through sacrificial death. Certainly, his birth takes precedence during this season and his death and resurrection have their times of remembrance as well. So, it could be said that this is perhaps a more appropriate Easter (or at least Palm Sunday) ornament."

Surely, this stands as an ultimate depiction of love. But maybe it's easier to think about sacrificing ourselves in this way because we'll probably never be called upon to do it. We can feel pretty self-assured in our loving nature when we can say to ourselves, "I'd die for someone I love." But how would it be if we gave ourselves in the sense of not getting what we want? Of sacrificing our comfort, our self-importance, our security, or--and this is particularly salient in our current cultural climate--the idea (or illusion) that we are right?

What if loving meant, not doing good things to those for whom we already have warm feelings, but doing good to those who we dislike or disagree with, to those who annoy or irritate us? Jesus calls us, not to just love those who love us, but to love our enemies. It's amazing how much of an enemy we can make of opposing viewpoints, or those with whose words we take offense. 

Last night, driving home too late in the cold, I was nearly sideswiped by someone who had decided that my desire to not drive 20 miles per hour above the speed limit was inexcusable. I can't tell you the hostility I felt at such gall, such recklessness. Why would someone endager another human being because they were obeying traffic laws? I don't know how to love that person. I may never know.

It's exceptionally difficult to love in spite of anger--to show patience and kindness to someone who is awkward or irritating, or infuriating, even in very small ways. How can we ever, as Star Trek VI invites us to do, love our enemies? How can we sit down to dinner with the Klingons and not fight? How can we put aside cultural differences? How can we be civil, let alone (gulp) forgive?

Like all real love, it isn't easy. It takes work. But if Love can be born among us, can live fully with us, can endure mocking, shame, disgust, torture, and death, then maybe Love can be born in us too. 

This time of year, many of us gather with our families. This can be a particularly difficult place to show love. Maybe it's hard for a parent to not be critical of their adult son or daughter. Maybe it's difficult to hear a passive agressive comment and not lash out. Maybe political, cultural, or religious differences are in tension around the dinner table. But, whatever the difficulties, sometimes love looks like enduring them in all the kindness and peace that we can muster. Sometimes it can be far more difficult than loving our enemies to love our own families.

Even harder may be forgiving ourselves for the hurt we cause and feel.

All we can do, whether for friend, enemy, family, or even ourselves, is remember that Love is a choice we make. Love is doing good to others whether we think they deserve it or not. It's having the heart of a servant and a peacemaker, as best we can muster it. Becase, in the end, none of us deserves love, but all of us badly need it. Rather than focusing on our own need, though, the best way to have love is to engender it.

As I've contemplated this week's Star Trek Advent theme of Joy, I started wondering (a little flatly) what examples of joy we have in Star Trek. Two moments came to mind. (Here there be 35+ year-old spoilers.)

The first was the climactic scene at the end of Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home as the whales are released into the ocean. It's a moment of absolute celebration such as we rarely see in the somewhat emotionally restrained worrld of Star Trek. Spock even smiles and laughs, for goodness' sake! In my chapter on the film in The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Original Crew, I liken the scene to a kind of group baptism, recalling this gloriously joyous scene from the 1973 film, Godspell. The scene in Star Trek IV is a celebration of the salvation, restoration, and renewal of the Earth. In that sense, it also recalls the culmination of salvation through the gospel of Christ. 

But, as I thought further, the next scene that came to mind was less loudly celebratory, quieter, more reverent, but nonetheless joyful. At the end of the previous film, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, the crew stands silently as Kirk talks with a newly resurrected and restored Spock, hoping for some sign that their friend has truly returned to himself. "Jim," Spock says, after a brief re-enactment of the pair's then-final conversation from the previous film, "Your name is Jim." At this moment, a smile spreads, slowly, but surely, across Kirk's face. Spock remembers him. The joy Kirk experiences here is the reward for the sacrifice og his career, his ship, and his son. He sees recgnition again and the light of life in his dearest friend's face.

This joy of restored relationshop spreads as the entire group gathers around Spock. As the camera pulls back and the film comes to quiet, serene completion, the feeling of joy is as palpable as it will sequel.

The disparity of tone in these two scenes, combined with their remarkable similarity of feeling, caused me to think again on what, after all, joy is. Is it happiness? I don't think so. I think joy is something deeper, something more fulfilling. It can come at a time of exuberance, like the Star Trek IV scene, or in quiet stillness, as in Star Trek III. I also sense something more than an emotional moment to joy. There is a liveliness, a vitality in joy that causes us to celebrate, to resonate with the goodness of something that is truly, deeply good.

And it also occurred to me that these two scenes involve people--a kind of family--coming together. This seemed to illustrate to me that joy often (if not always) has something to do with togetherness, with a communion of the spirit. That joy can come in the presence of other humans, or as we find it alone, in the presence of God. Really, in both instances, God is present. And I can't help but feel that it is the interwoven working of the Spirit of God that energizes and gives life to joy.

How, then, does Joy become a theme at Christmas? The word "JOY" adorns at least as many lawns at Christmastime as the words "Peace" and "Merry Christmas" and "The Reason for the Season," if not more. But the images that bear this word are often quiet and peaceful, not exuberant and festive. But joy encompasses both of these expressions. It is the delight, the relief, of knowing that we are recognized, we are seen by God. We can have Hope. We can be at Peace. Love has come for us. Not just to be found by us, but to pursue us. To seek us out and to save us, though we are lost.

"Long lay the world," the great Christmas hymn "O Holy Night" says, "in sin and error pining, till he appeared and the soul felt its worth." That knowledge, that understanding of the soul feeling its worth is the knowledge that we are not alone, that God has not forgotten us. "We're not momentary specks in an indifferent universe," Benedict Cumberbatch recently told Entertainment Weekly, "We're momentary specks within a very caring, loving universe." 

Last week, I shared the first Star Trek Advent post on HOPE. On my Facebook page, I shared a way you can bring hope to the world. Read my Facebook post here for your opportunity to contribute to real HOPE.
This week's theme is PEACE.

Tomorrow, Tim and I are getting back into our UCP Audio Commentary Series, sitting down to record our commentary for Star Trek Beyond. It's a fitting film to be discussing this week, as our Star Trek Advent meditation points us to Peace.

Peace is a central idea in the film, as the film's villain, Krall, seeks to destroy the "snow globe in space" of the Starbase Yorktown. Yorktown stands as the ultimate symbol of peace in the Federation, a place where peoples from across the Federation dwell together in harmony. It's an incredible visual representation of Star Trek and Roddenberry's dream for the future of humankind.

Of course, in a Christian worldview, such beautiful and complete peace comes only with the ultimate reign of Christ. There is a recognition in the Christian gospel that, much as we work toward and encourage peace in our world today, we as human beings will not achieve its fullness on our own. The film itself, like much of Star Trek, highlights the fragility, even of the Federation's great achievenents, and of humanity itself. It also asks whether working toward an essentially unattainable goal is worthwhile.

In today's world, peace is accutely hard to find. When we can't even conduct civil discourse between friends on social media, when our Christmas and other holiday gatherings can have the potential to break forth into wars of words and injured feelings between family members, when our nation--and indeed, our world--seems so hopelessly divided, peace seems an idea that should be comfortable alongside Santa Claus. It's nice to think about, but it's a myth. "Hear it every Christmastime," the U2 song says, "but hope and history won't rhyme."

But one thing Star Trek and Scripture both highlight is the importance of refusing to succumb to resignation.

In my chapter on Star Trek Beyond in The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Original Crew, I note that the harmony seen on Yorktown "is carefully cultivated and maintained" and that "the paradise we see is the result of years of diplomacy and hard work, not just interstellar warm fuzzies." Peace takes negotiation and maintenence. It takes humility and sacrifice. And peace--whether in international treaties or across family dinnertables--is a thing worth working toward because, even if we never fully achieve it, we will never have it at all if we don't work like it is possible.

​Thankfully, we can have Hope because Peace has come, to reside with us, and to be birthed within us. Peace in our own hearts, peace with ourselves, begins with the understanding that we can have peace with God. In Christ, God demonstrates his love--that he loves us as we are, before we change, with all our flaws--and he offers us peace. We need no longer be set at enmity with God. We therefore no longer be set at enmity with ourselves. If God is for us, who--including ourselves--can be against us?

We can't earn this peace with God. He makes it happen, offers it freely, even as we set ourselves against him. If, then, we can be the recipients of such peace, we can also be the instigators of peace, including and especially toward those with whom we most heartily disagree. It's not easy, and it's not complete. But we join together in the hope of peace--that peace has come, is coming, and will come for all, and that we are a part of the advent of peace in the world in which we live.

If you ask most anyone who loves Star Trek what’s special about it, they will most often say that it’s hopeful. Despite (or perhaps in some ways because of) its genetically modified megalomaniacs, evil twins, and world-consuming cyborg zombies, the message people most often carry away from Star Trek is that there is hope—hope for tomorrow, hope for today, and hope for humanity’s future. “There is a tomorrow,” Gene Roddenberry said, “It’s not all gonna be over with a big flash and a bomb.” At the height of the Cold War, this simple idea that humanity was not going to destroy itself was vitally important.

Hope is still vitally important to humanity, as it always has been. In today’s world, perhaps, it may seem more necessary and more difficult to find than it has in a long time. While it may be true that we won’t destroy ourselves with bombs, there is a fear among many that, if their lives are not destroyed, their way of life will be. The development of social order and culture is part of what makes us human. Often, though, the growth of our culture seems to involve a constant tearing at its fabric. That which we seek to grow, preserve, and nurture is often that which we also must question and distrust, constantly dismantling and rebuilding our sense of purpose and security.

This is a frightening process and one that can make us feel there really is no hope. So, at times like these, it’s important that something like Star Trek exists to help us find hope. But I think we can make a mistake when we look for that hope in the place Star Trek says (in practical terms) we will find it. The hope of Star Trek’s future rests largely on human unity—on laying aside differences and working together. This, in itself, is a good thing and one toward which we should all be moving and to which we should all be contributing.

But the specific idea that humankind will unify as we work together to reach out into space has always seemed to me to be the weakest element of the Star Trek universe’s mythos. There are a number of reasons for this, the most essential of which is perhaps that it’s unrealistic, though it is at least looking for the right things.

Hope rooted in a peaceful future for humankind is a good thing. Hope rooted in generosity and kindness is a good thing. Hope rooted in the vital nurturing of the human soul in a quest for understanding is a good thing. But hoping that we will find these things when we all work together to reach out into space is at odds with human history and human nature.

As it has been said, “No matter where you go, there you are.” Even as we reach out beyond this planet, we are still us. And we will take ourselves—including our limitations, our failures, our weaknesses, and our pride—with us wherever we go. Even if all of us could work together to venture to the next star (and we can’t; only our best scientists and engineers can), we would fight the whole way about how to do it. The project—like every other human endeavor—would and will be fraught with greed, competitiveness, politics, and disagreements.

It’s nice to think that working together to find humanity’s future in space will cause us to grow beyond all that, but there’s simply nothing inherent in the process of space travel that will cure the human condition. Going to space isn’t magic. While it is wonderful, important, and worth doing, it is—like most things—an exchange of one set of complications for another.

As Star Trek itself often shows us, once we go into space—even if we have solved many of Earth’s practical problems, like poverty and disease—the project of cooperation and survival only becomes more complex. Our international political issues soon become galactic and intergalactic political issues. No matter how much we think we have it together here on Earth, there is no accounting for what—or who—we may encounter beyond our solar system and the condition of the human heart will not change just because we’ve carried it to another location.

“The final frontier,” Star Trek writer David Gerrold has said, “is not space. The final frontier is the human soul. Space is where we will meet the challenge.” Gerrold is right that the real future of humanity lies within. And surely, if we go further into space, our outward journey must be an expression of an inward journey, but the challenge of cultivating the human soul is not something we have to travel to space to encounter. We find it every day, right where we live.

Maybe that’s why the Biblical narrative says our ultimate destiny lies, not floating on a cloud somewhere, but on a restored, renewed Creation, as human beings, on Earth. Maybe that’s why humanity’s ultimate hope comes, not in a starship, but wrapped in cloths, small and helpless, snuggled in the embrace of a human mother’s arms.
​
As we embark on interstellar voyages in Star Trek, let’s always remember that the real hope for humankind is living inside us, that it came from God in human skin and that it comes for us, to find us wherever we are, whether far beyond the stars, or right here on Earth. So let’s look to the stars, as Marley says in A Christmas Carol, and remember “that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode.” Let’s marvel at the wonder of humanity and hope for our future, but let’s always remember that hope is with us where we live because God is with us, because Immanuel. Because while we were yet hopeless, hope came for us, that we might hope again.

Recently, I had the honor and privilege of being the guest of honor at a launch party and reception for The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Original Crew. It was an intimate gathering of family and friends who had a part in the book's existence (And in mine! Thanks, mom and dad!) and who have been important in my life. Sure, it was a celebration of my book and the accomplishment of launching my career as an author, but for me, it was about giving thanks. 

I was and am so grateful for every person there and everyone who could not be there. When I began the writing of the book in earnest in 2012, the first thing I did was write the first draft of the Acknowledgements. After only a few years of research, speaking, and writing, and only one year of The Undiscovered Country Project, I was already keenly aware that I could do none of it on my own. My first feeling when I sat down to really begin the book was therefore one of gratitude.

Many of the people in the Acknowledgements section were in the room the day of the reception. So, the first thing I did was read that section aloud to those in attendance. When I think of this journey so far and of that wonderful book launch reception, I am overcome with gratitude. I owe so much to the support and encouragement of friends, family, colleagues, and of course--YOU! You, my dear UCP friends and fans, have supported and sustained me these past five years in ways you cannot possibly know. So, I'd like to take this moment to thank you all. You have been and continue to be an enormous blessing in my life.

And, for those who weren't at the reception and may not know you're in it, as well as for those who'd like to read it, I've included below the entire text of the Acknowledgements for The Gospel According to Star Trek: The Original Crew. I can't express enough what a blessing it is to be able to write and speak these things that mean so much to me. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May you and your families Live Long and Prosper! (John 10:10)


Acknowledgements

Gratitude doesn’t begin to cover it. In the past eight years since the idea for this book 
began to grow in my mind, I have owed my thanks to so many friends who have offered 
encouragement, support, enthusiasm, and advice, along with so many other essential 
resources and connections, without which this project could not have been completed. I 
am overwhelmingly blessed. It’s impossible to say enough, so I have chosen to keep it 
brief. I offer my deepest thanks, appreciation, and love to all those below. 

Dr. David Naugle: For the eyes with which I was able to see Star Trek—and everything 
else—in a new way. 

My parents, Richard and Jill Neece: For a bedroom to write in away from the world and 
constant faith and love for my whole life. 

My sister, Dr. Kasey Neece-Fielder: For not killing me before I reached my teen years 
and for always believing in me. And for marrying Brian, whom I thank for being my 
sister’s best friend and constant support. 

My grandparents, Phyllis Smith; Lillian, Vernie, and Ann Neece; and great aunt Gethrol 
Barnes: For constant faith and love. 

My parents-in-law, Malcolm and Melba McDow: For long patience and faithful support. 

My grandfather-in-law, William H. Justice, Sr.: For making my education possible and 
blessing me with kindness and love in the last years of his life. 

My Undiscovered Country Project (UCP) First Officer Tim Van Orden: For constant 
faithfulness, believing in me when I didn’t, and teaching me the true meaning of the word 
“Shiny!” 

Beth Van Orden: For making Tim a better man and being a marvelous audio commentary 
guest. 

Rev. Dr. Scott Youngblood: For inspiring Tim. 

Jeff Sellars: For friendship, advice, and beginning my relationship with Wipf and Stock. 

Dr. Mark J. Boone: For years of friendship, an editing partnership, guest blog posts, and 
introducing me to Jeff. 

Adam Jones: For kind encouragement and wise counsel, without which this book might 
not have found itself. 

Mike Poteet: For guest blog posts, reading chapters, and faithful advice and aid. 

Eugene Chu: For 25+ years of friendship, and the computer on which most of this book 
was written. 

Jenay Hale: For transcribing notes and a lot of this book, and for loyal friendship. 

My former UCP Communications Officer, Hannah Vestal: For faithful service, a sweet 
spirit, and nerdy friendship. 

Rich Frohlich and Texas Radio Theatre: For making higher quality UCP audio 
commentaries possible. 

John Humphreys: For getting me through school and becoming my friend for life. 

Carol Riggan and the Riverside Area Community Club, Riverside, Iowa: For welcoming 
me to Trekfest when I was unbelievably young and green and sitting me down with 
Walter Koenig and BarBara Luna. 

Walter Koenig: For honesty.

BarBara Luna: For enthusiasm for my fledging work and introducing me to Curtis 
Webster. 

Curtis Webster: For Spirit of Star Trek, a helping hand, and for introducing me to Larry 
Nemecek. 

Larry Nemecek: For kind support and valuable advice.

Steve Neill: For Spock ears, encouragement, and so much more. 

All the “Spockologists” and all the friends and fans of UCP: For keeping my warp engine 
humming with your enthusiasm and investment. 

Alyssa and the owners and staff of Roots Coffeehouse: For giving me a place to feel at 
home, a place where many, many hours of research were done and a big chunk of this 
book was written. 

Memory Alpha contributors and editors: For maintaining the finest source of in-universe Star Trek knowledge on Earth, without which my work would have been nearly impossible.

Christina Luckings of Chrissie's Transcripts Site: For dedication and generosity in creating a vital resource I simply could not do without.

Matt Wimer, Rodney Clapp, and everyone at Cascade Books: For enthusiasm, flexibility, 
support and faith.
 
Leigh Hickman: For true friendship. Every semicolon in this book is dedicated to you.
​
Finally, and most importantly, I am grateful to and for my wife Melissa and son Aidan, 
who are why I get up in the morning, why I have hope for my life, and the reason I want 
to be a better version of myself. I love you both so very much. 

Keeping Busy

The two of them kept up with Shop LLAP despite their own busy schedules.

The shop itself was set up in the house of Julie Nimoy, Dani’s mother. That is where Dani did the majority of the work, from customer service to packing and shipping orders. But the grandfather/granddaughter business associates did find time to work together. 

“My grandpa and I were both busy - he was traveling and still working a little bit and I had a full time job - but we constantly emailed and made an effort to meet up once a week or every other week. We did have “business meetings” at his house in his office. . . . I would go over, and for an hour or two we’d go over things, he’d sign some merchandise and then we would do some brainstorming. Once we finished, we’d hang out and eat lunch in the kitchen.”

“He taught me so much, like how to communicate better in business and how to problem solve.” ​

If you’re a Star Trek fan and you’ve been on Twitter for awhile, it’s likely you’ve been one of the million-plus followers of @TheRealNimoy, the account of actor Leonard Nimoy, who passed away in 2015 at the age of 83. Leonard was very active on Twitter, and his tweets were usually capped off with the abbreviation “LLAP” - Twitter-speak for “Live Long and Prosper,” that famous Vulcan greeting from Leonard’s Mr. Spock.

Today, more than a million people still carry him on their “following” list and every once in awhile, in several hundred timelines, an erstwhile @TheRealNimoy tweet pops up and reminds us of a different, kinder era. And above that tweet, the words “A retweet for my Poppi. #LLAP.”

Dani Schwartz

The person behind the retweet is Dani Schwartz, Leonard’s granddaughter. Dani maintains the @TheRealNimoy account, and she also runs the Twitter account for the online retail business, Shop LLAP, that she and Leonard co-founded. Dani, who refers to him as “Poppi,” is the reason Leonard joined Twitter in the first place. ​

Zachary Totah recently asked on the Speculative Faith blog, “Should Villains Be Redeemed?” (You’d be well served to read his post here before going further.)

I found this an interesting question, but one that is ultimately too broad. Of course redemption should be an option that is open for villains (differentiating here from the broader category of "antagonists"). But the determining factor must always be what is best for the story and makes the most sense for the characters.

​Khan, for example, must be destroyed, simply because he must represent the consuming, destructive nature of vengeance and hatred. It would also make little dramatic sense for him to, at some point, say, "You know, Jim. Can I call you Jim? Jim, I've reconsidered. You didn't mean to ruin my life. I'm really sorry for killing all those innocent people. I'd like to use my superior intellect and genetically enhanced strength for good instead of evil. Where do I sign up for Starfleet Academy?"

He's Ahab. Ahab doesn't have a change of heart - not because we're making a broad statement that certain people cannot be redeemed, but because he must represent the self-destructive nature of obsession.
 
On the other hand, I used to review films directed at kids and teens and I was always disappointed by the trope that, since we can't kill the villain, we must thoroughly humiliate them. It somehow seemed more cruel that, instead of the villains' actions tragically leading to their own demise, our heroes laughed and smiled as the villains were electrocuted, drenched in muck, tortured, and reduced to whimpering masses in public view. I thought these films often missed clear opportunities to offer redemption to their villains.
 
And perhaps that's what's missing more than anything else - the offer. Heroes are so consumed with overcoming the villains that they rarely reach out a hand to offer them a way out. If the villain accepts, then our hero is lifted even higher in our estimation and illustrates grace and compassion as leading to the truest victory. If they refuse, the audience has the moral reassurance that "at least we tried" and is reminded that redemption is available.

The rejection of an offer of redemption also serves to show that the villain is committed to his or her chosen path, regardless of the consequences. Again returning to Star Trek, this is demonstrated in the final encounter between the Enterprise and Nero in the 2009 film, and more tragically in the TOS episode "Balance of Terror," which takes the approach of suggesting that our "villain" is no more evil than we are. (This calls to mind for me Derek Webb's song "My Enemies Are Men Like Me.") Sometimes the most powerful stories remind us of the humanity of even our most hated foe.
 
Still, in mythological tradition, there is often a need for characters to be icons and archetypes, which often necessitates certain fates, so that the ideals with which those characters are aligned may be clearly shown to lead to greater good, or to destruction. So, the upshot is that a good storyteller should be aware of all these tools and of the type of story he or she wishes to tell. All of the available options are valid and all can fall flat with misapplication. In the end, the hero of every story is good narrative structure.