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Star Wars, prudence, morality, and the future – Part 1

I like to keep an eye out for philosophical themes in films, novels, and other forms of art. It’s not only fun. I also think it can be fruitful. Art can illustrate philosophical ideas in particularly vivid ways, making abstract philosophical claims and arguments come to life. Last year, I shared how a couple of holiday classics—A Christmas Carol and It’s a Wonderful Life—illustrate claims about morality and prudence I defend in my 2016 book, Rightness as Fairness. This year, over the course of three posts, I’m going to take a stab at Star Wars!

My spouse and I saw Star Wars: The Last Jedi on opening night. I’m not going to say what I thought of the film, as I like to let people make up their own minds. Instead, I’d like to explore some philosophical themes from The Last Jedi that have been central to the entire movie series dating all the way back to the original trilogy. A quick, important heads-up: I am not going to spoil any plot-points of the new film. What I will do is mention two themes that appear throughout the saga and in the new movie, playing a few central roles in its plot. So, if you do not even want to know what that theme is, please do not read on below the fold.

Whenever a new Star Wars film comes out, my spouse and I have a fun little tradition of binge-watching all of the previous films in order. This time, two themes stuck out to me that never did before. First, I was struck by the fact that beyond the obvious themes—the Force, family, oppression, and rebellion, etc.—one of the most consistent themes in the entire saga is characters thinking they know the future. 

To begin with, consider the entire plot of the prequel trilogy (Episodes I-III). The Emperor's plan for turning Anakin to the Dark Side and overthrowing The Republic is fundamentally based on his ability to foresee the future. As the Wookiepedia entry on Force Vision puts it, "[The Emperor] was able to use the dark side to peer into the future and manipulate events on a galactic scale to suit his ends." The Emperor's capacity to foresee the future then reappears in Return of the Jedi, when he says, "Everything is proceeding as I have foreseen", saying later to Vader of Luke Skywalker, "I have foreseen it. His compassion for you will be his undoing."

Now consider the Jedi in the prequels. Beginning with Qui-Gon Jinn in Episode I, the Jedi become convinced that Anakin is the Chosen One, whose prophesied destiny is to bring balance to The Force. Now consider Anakin Skywalker. In Episode III, he comes to believe through Force Vision nightmares that he can foresee that Padme will die in childbirth. Then of course there is Luke Skywalker in Empire Strikes Back, who foresees Han Solo and Leia suffering in Cloud City. The Last Jedi emphasizes the same theme yet again, if anything even more strongly. In the new film, not one, not two, but five different characters all think they can foresee the future. Further, as we will now see, throughout the saga–The Last Jedi included–the theme of people thinking they can know the future appears to be an allegory.

A second theme that pervades the Star Wars saga is that, with one notable exception (discussed below), characters thinking they know the future leads them to make morally and prudentially tragic choices.

At one point in The Last Jedi (and this is not a spoiler, it was in the movie trailer), Luke Skywalker agonizingly says to another character, "This is not going to go the way you think." As I will now explain, I don't think this is just a minor plot point. It actually ties the entire series together, and contains a genuinely important philosophical insight. The philosophical lesson Luke is expressing–a lesson that applies just as much to us in real life–is that morally and prudentially bad decisions are the result of hubris about the future, and morally and prudentially good decisions the result of humility about it. I will explain how I think this is in more detail in Parts 2 of this series. However, allow me to provide a quick preview.

To see how hubris about the future leads people morally and prudentially astray, consider first the Emperor. While the Emperor's ability to foresee the future enables him to temporarily take over and oppress the galaxy (a moral disaster for others), his inability to foresee the future perfectly ultimately leads to personal disaster for the Emperor (a prudential mistake). The Emperor's hubris about the future leads him to fail to foresee Luke's choice not to turn to the Dark Side, and then Vader's subsequent choice to save Luke by turning on the Emperor. 

Now turn to the Jedi. Their belief that they know Anakin's future leads them to make similarly morally and prudentially disastrous choices. Because they are convinced of the Prophesy of the Chosen One, they largely overlook a number of strands of evidence that Anakin might the exact opposite of what they think. This overconfidence in the prophesy's claims about Anakin's future not only leads the Jedi to train and trust the very person who will exterminate them (a prudential disaster for the Jedi); it is also obviously a choice with disastrous moral implications, as the Jedi fail to prevent Vader's turn to the Dark Side and the rise of the oppressive Empire.

Now turn to Anakin. His belief that he knows Padme's future leads to similar moral and prudential disasters. Because he is so convinced that Padme will die unless he does something, he fails to take seriously the possibility that he will be responsible for Padme's death. Anakin's belief that he knows Padme's future ultimately cause him to make terrible decisions that not only result in his own suffering as Darth Vader (a prudential disaster for Anakin), but also to the moral disasters of Padme's death, destruction of the Jedi, and rise of the Empire.

In each case, the characters' moral and prudential errors have the same basic source: overconfidence about the future when humility and caution are called for. I won't spoil The Last Jedi, but suffice it to say, a similar theme prevails. When Luke says, "This is not going to go the way you think", he is not just being dramatic. He is conveying a moral lesson: that all of the errors people have made throughout the saga have been based on them thinking things will go they way they think.  We see this later in the film, but once again the point is roughly this: immorality and imprudence result from hubris in thinking we can predict the future, whereas moral and prudential wisdom consist in grappling properly with the fact that we cannot predict it.

On that note, notice next that in the entire saga there is but one example of someone thinking they know the future and it not resulting in unmitigated disaster: Luke's choice to go to Cloud City in Empire Strikes Back to save his friends. Although Luke's choice here does result in short-term tragedy (Luke losing his arm and learning Vader is his father), there is one crucial thing different about this case: Luke promises to Yoda and Obi-Wan to return to Degobah to complete his training, and then he keeps his promise in Return of the Jedi. I will explain the significance of this in future posts in more detail, but the short story is this: Luke dealt with legitimate uncertainty about the future by trying to be fair to everyone his actions might affect. He sought to be fair to himself (viz. his desire to save his friends); he sought to be fair to Han and Leia (by trying to save them); and sought to be fair to Yoda and Obi-wan (by promising to return to finish his training and fulfilling his promise). Although Luke still took a risk–and notice, he would have taken a risk whatever he did (going to save them was a risk, and not saving them would also be a risk)–Luke dealt with his uncertainty by doing what he could to be fair to and balance the concerns of everyone he cared about.

Finally, the wisdom of humility in the face of the future is also illustrated Luke in Return of the Jedi. During the film's climax, after severing Vader's robotic arm and being egged on to kill Vader by the Emperor, Luke looks down at his own robotic arm, realizing that if kills his father his future could be as tragic as Vader's. It is this "moment of conscience"–his seeing Vader's reality as his own possible tragic future–that leads Luke to avoid that error and instead do the right thing.

In other words, as I will explain in more detail in Parts 2 & 3, I think Star Wars plausibly illustrates a number of claims I defend in Rightness as Fairness:

  1. Moral and prudential wrongs are typically the result of focusing too much on likely futures, ignoring possible tragic outcomes one might regret (viz. Anakin, the Emperor, the Jedi in the prequels, etc.).
  2. Morally and prudentially good actions are the result of properly worrying about and wanting to avoid potentially tragic outcomes one could regret (viz. Luke in the Emperor's throne room).
  3. Wanting to avoid potentially tragic outcomes leads one to simulate and care about others' perspectives (e.g. Luke imagining himself possibly sharing Vader's fate).
  4. Such that morality and prudence ultimately require negotiating between the legitimate interests of those affected (viz. Luke's choice to save his friends on Cloud City, while promising and keeping his promise to complete his training).

In Part 2, I'll explain in more detail how Rightness as Fairness explains different characters' choices in Star Wars, and leave it to you to decide how persuasive the analysis is. Then, in my final post in this series, I'll explain–following this fan theory–why I believe the final film in the saga (upcoming Episode IX) is likely to drive the above lessons home, particularly the moral and prudential importance of negotiation. Star Wars is not likely to end with the Light Side defeating the Dark Side. It is more likely going to end with balance finally being achieved between the Light and Dark sides of The Force, the real allegory being (I think) that true prudence and morality are ultimately not a matter of achieving "victory" over one's enemies–which is always only temporary–but instead a matter of pursuing the very difficult tasks of mutual understanding, negotiation, and reconciliation. While I could of course be wrong about the future of Star Wars, this is at any rate my hope about how it might go! 😉

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5 responses to “Star Wars, prudence, morality, and the future – Part 1”

  1. wes

    Kind of seems like you’re cherrypicking outcomes. Reckless future knowledge use also helps them and precipitates good outcomes. For example, the core Vader prophecy was correct and thinking they knew it ultimately saved the entire galaxy. Alternatively, appropriate future knowledge use also causes plenty of harm. For example, Luke’s “fairness” in balancing concerns ultimately results in a million deaths abroad the death star, and as some have pointed out, destroying it may have been worse for the galaxy. (I also don’t understand the Luke thing; it does not balance concerns to promise to fix things if you happen to survive being reckless.)

    Reply
  2. Marcus Arvan

    wes: good worry. I don’t have time to give an in-depth reply right now (I’ll get to it first thing tomorrow!), but as a very rough first gloss I want to say:
    (1) In terms of outcomes, anyone (the Jedi, the Emperor, Luke, Anakin) can get lucky or unlucky.
    (2) On my account, morality and prudence are not to be understood in terms of actual outcomes (i.e. saving the Galaxy, etc) but instead in terms of what is rational given imperfect knowledge of the future.
    (3) Even though Luke takes a risk in leaving Degobah, risks are unavoidable and someone who makes decisions the way Luke does (both on Degobah and in the Emperor’s throne room)—in terms of seeking to be fair to all those one’s actions might affect—is likely to enjoy better outcomes over the course of a life than people who make them in the ways that lead to tragedy in the series (viz. Anakin, the Jedi, etc.).
    (4) On my account, it is rational for someone in Luke’s position (both on Degobah and in the throne room) to choose the things he does for their own sake, recognizing that while the future is inherently uncertain (he could fail to save his friends, Vader could fail to come to his rescue, etc.), fairness to all those who one could care about for its own sake is all that person ultimately has control over in the face of an otherwise uncertain future.
    Anyway, this isn’t to say that I’m right about any or all of these things, and I’ll explai some uncertainties I have tomorrow. But I hope this reply helps give you a rough sketch of how I’m thinking about these things in the interim.

    Reply
  3. wes

    Thanks Marcus, it’s pretty hard to see how Luke’s choice on Dagobah is rational on your view, let alone according to basic common sense.
    Perhaps I’m confused: If actual outcomes are irrelevant, rationality is determined in part by appeal to imperfect knowledge of the future, and force visions tend to give you that knowledge, then it seems perfectly rational for Jedi to act on them. For example, that it was rational for Anakin to go save Natalie Portman. The fact that choice ending up being disastrous is beside the point. In any event, why doesn’t your reasoning about Luke’s choice apply to Anakin’s?

    Reply
  4. Marcus Arvan

    Hi wes: thanks again for your comments! They raise very good worries. This is one of the trickiest parts of my account in Rightness as Fairness, and I’m not sure I have the details right. Still, I’m hopeful my account is at least in the ballpark.
    I’ll try to spell everything out in greater detail in Part 2 of this series, but here’s a first stab at answering your last question about the difference between Luke and Anakin.
    One key to my account is that it holds that we should not evaluate choices as “one-off” things. Rather, on my view, rational choice is matter of (1) becoming a person who is disposed to make fair choices, and then (2) makes them. Allow me to explain.
    In Chapter 3 of RF, I allow that when considered in isolation, an immoral/unfair choice can have higher likely utility than a fair choice. This is why, I argue, immoral choices are so tempting: they look like they are advantageous simpliciter, because in a one-off case they can actually have a higher likely utility. The problem, I argue, is that being a person who thinks this way has lower likely utility over the course of a complete life. To be genuinely rational, on my account, one must not always aim to maximize expected utility in one-off cases, because the psychology that fosters than form of decisionmaking actually undermines the maximization of likely utility over the course of a life. Instead, to maximize expected utility over the course of a life, one must become the kind of person who sometimes worries that aiming to maximize expected utility may result in irreversible tragedy–and, from time to time, prioritize avoiding such possible tragedies above all (prioritizing risk-aversion). My argument then is that once one develops this adaptive disposition–a psychological disposition to encounter the “problem of possible future selves”–from that dispositional standpoint norms of fairness are uniquely rational to pursue.
    Here is how this analysis applies to Luke and Anakin. Luke and Anakin plainly have very different characters and deliberation-styles. Anakin repeatedly acts on impulse, always doing what appears to him to have the greatest expected utility. He wants Padme, and despite warnings from Obi-Wan, thinks he is likely to get away with a relationship with her, and so he does it. By a similar token, he wants to take on Count Dooku on Geonosis and thinks his powers are likely superior, but despite Obi-Wan’s admonition to take him on together, Anakin acts impulsively. Then, in Episode III, when egged on by the Emperor to execute Dooku, Anakin once again acts impulsively. Although he considers the possible tragic consequences very briefly (viz. “It is not the Jedi way”), he immediately suppresses those worries and goes through with the execution. And, of course, in Episode III instead of respecting Mace Windu’s request that he stay home while the Jedi go to arrest the Supreme Chancellor, Anakin once again succumbs to his belief that it is likely that Padme will die unless he intervenes. Finally, there is his fateful choice to kill Mace Windu, once again on the impulse that Padme’s death is likely unless the Emperor survives (viz. “I need him”). Luke, on the other hand, acts on impulse only very occasionally, usually pausing to consider the possible ramifications of his actions before he acts–and when he does act impulsively he learns (often at key points in the saga) to not doing it again.
    I’ve done a lot of research on psychopaths. Anakin’s style of deliberation is, by and large, precisely how psychopaths (and criminals) deliberate. They focus primarily–indeed, almost exclusively–on what they think is likely to satisfy their impulses. And, of course, in some cases, they are right. In any given crime, it may be likely that they will get away with it and not get caught–just as Anakin gets away with impulsivity for several decades. The problem, though–one that most of us learn–is that this strategy of deliberation is not utility-maximizing over the course of a complete life. If it were, we would all be criminals and psychopaths. What we learn, however, is that if even “getting away with it” is likely in a single case, the probability that one will repeatedly get away with it over the course of many iterations is close to zero (thanks to our inability to be omniscient about the future). Further, we also learn to recognize that the more we engage in this type of deliberation, the more reckless we are apt to become at it–as we have a tendency to become over-confident in our abilities to get away with it (think here of the student who cavalierly plagiarizes a paper in your class because they’ve gotten away with so easily many times before). Anakin is just Bernie Badoff with a lightsaber. Like Madoff, his focus on likely outcomes worked to his advantage in the short-run. But, just like Madoff, his decisionmaking style predictably led to tragedy in the long-run. Which is why we learn not to be like Anakin or Madoff. We learn to become people who deliberate differently.
    How then do we learn to deliberate? Answer: by becoming people more like Luke. We learn to become people who worry about merely possible (if seemingly unlikely) tragic outcomes, because we learn from experience that sometimes that outcomes are so tragic and irreversible that they are not worth risking (note: this is the basic point of almost every “after-school” special, viz. “You might think you can lie to your parents and get away with it, but Aha!, the unexpected happens and you suffer…learn the lesson!”).
    Let’s think, then, about Luke’s character. Again, the question here is not whether every single action of Luke’s is likely to maximize utility. I don’t think that’s true of the choice he made on Dagobah. Luke realized full well it was a risk, and that he would making a risk either way: the risk of allowing Leia and Han to die if he didn’t go, and the risk of failure if he did. Because he had no idea how to weigh these risks, but was concerned about tragedy either way, he aimed simply to be fair to all those involved. He cared about Han and Leia’s interests (which is why he attempted saving them), and he cared about Yoda and Obi-Wan’s interests and wisdom (which is why he promised to return and kept his promise).
    Now, on a one-off case, this could have gone badly for Luke. Right? In real life, he could have been killed and the entire rebel cause lost. However, in real life there is also no way he could have known which would actually be better. No, what he could do–and did do–is what we do who understand the dangers of Anakin’s single-minded focus on seemingly likely outcomes. He (Luke) became a person of conscience. What kind of conscience? Answer: the kind of person who worries about possibly tragic outcomes and (following my account) grapples with the problem of possible future selves by aiming to be fair.
    We can see how this aspect of his psychology leads to very different types of choices than Anakin. Whereas Anakin always acts impulsively, Luke does on occasion but mostly does not. For instance, when Obi-Wan holds his dream of leaving Tatooine and joining the rebellion in front of his nose–something Luke very much wants–Luke demurs, recalling the promise he made to Uncle Owen. He worries that he could regret breaking his promise. Similarly, consider the scene on Dagobah. Although he initially rushes to his X-wing, he does not merely act on impulse or what he thinks is likely. When Obi-Wan warns him that it is “too dangerous” and Yoda says, “Yes, you must complete your training”, Luke once pauses and thinks about very carefully. Although we can only speculate what went on in his head, I think Rightness as Fairness tells a plausible story. He recognized that he could regret either decision, and thus, that all he could do is try to be fair to all of the individuals whose interests he could care about. This is, on my account, why he was led to “split the difference” between his own desires and his mentors’. Unlike Anakin, who simply ignored Mace Windu’s interests (leading to tragedy), Luke saw that he could regret not helping his friends and regret not completing his training. So, what he did–and what I think is rational–is he tried to be fair to both. And I think, as my account recommends, he did this for its own sake, believing that it would be better to try to save Han & Leia and try to keep his promise because this, fairness, is all he could really do given the uncertainty of the future. In other words, given his character–which is rational to have (more below)–he did what is rational: aim to be fair for its own sake.
    Now, the final question is why it is rational to be someone who deliberates this way. Well, the answer I think is fairly clear, both from the saga and from real-life. The kind of impulsivity Anakin demonstrates is precisely what lands criminals and psychopaths in prison (or worse). The kind caution and risk-aversion Luke demonstrates is not easy–and may not always be utility-maximizing in the short-run–but leads to better, safer deliberation in the long-run. The moments that define our lives–whether it is cheating on an exam, or cheating on a spouse, etc.–are, in greater or lesser ways, a lot like Luke’s moment in the Emperor’s throne room (and Anakin’s moment with Dooku). Impulsive people do what Anakin did with Dooku: act impulsively, chopping his head off, failing to adequately attend to the pain and suffering it might cause later on (viz. cheating on exams, spouses, etc.). People of conscience do what Luke does when he looks at his own severed hand, realizing that if he kills Vader his future could be just as tragic: they stop short of doing the tragic thing (they don’t cheat).
    This what morality is all about on my account, and I think the picture it draws is plausible or at the very least onto something important, even if I haven’t gotten all of the details right!

    Reply
  5. wes

    It’s hard to follow this in the present case because Luke is actually an incredibly impulsive and reckless character throughout the original trilogy. Despite your spin, blatantly rushing off to save friends at Cloud City when he isn’t ready and the rest of the galaxy counting on him to become a Jedi is a good example of this. He’s pretty clearly blinded by emotion and inexperience and in doing so foolishly endangers everything they ever fought for. Doesn’t seem like too much fairness or rationality.

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