We see this illustrated near the end of Luke’s training period. Sensing that his friends are in pain and suffering, he asks Yoda, “Will they die?” But Yoda can’t see their fate. Luke is in anguish. Both of his teachers, Yoda and Obi-Wan, counsel him to wait before going to their aid. If he decides to help them, he risks possible danger to himself. Yet if he decides not to help them, they may die. Even though Luke has incomplete information and is aware that he may be mistaken, he arrives at a decision, one that he has not reached lightly. He courageously decides to help his friends.
So suppose you fear skydiving, but you learn to overcome your fear. If you decide to go ahead and skydive because you are essentially a thrill-seeker, would this count as a courageous act? While Aristotle would applaud Luke’s decision to help his friends as a courageous act, he would probably label your decision to satisfy your thrill-seeking desire as a rash act rather than a courageous one. What’s the difference? Well, for Aristotle, the act of confronting danger or risk becomes courageous if and only if both decision and just cause enter the picture. The skydiving decision lacks just cause, which is essential to a courageous act. In contrast, Luke’s decision, reached after serious consideration, involves a just cause—the lives of his friends.
Yet the very notion of fear seems to oppose the Jedi teaching at its core. Yoda tells Anakin that he’s not fit to begin training because of the great fear the young boy feels. The Jedi Master warns, “Fear is the path to the Dark Side. Fear leads to anger, anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering.” Yoda also warns Luke about anger, fear, and aggression. Does Yoda mean a Jedi should never experience fear and anger? His words could be interpreted in this way. But if we think about it, although the virtue of courage and the emotion of fear may seem to be mutually exclusive, they’re actually quite compatible. The truly courageous person not only fears what she should when there’s a reasonable basis for fear, but she can also stand up to fear and confront risk or danger. This is also true of anger, provided that anger is guided by reason. When Luke battles his father for the last time, as the Emperor goads Luke to “use your aggressive feelings” and to “let the hate flow through you,” he controls his anger when he realizes it will lead him to the Dark Side. He reasons that the only way to destroy the Dark Side is to renounce it. Yet his anger, controlled by reason, is what gives him the courage to stand up to the evil, powerful Emperor. Throwing his lightsaber aside, he says with resolve, “I’ll never turn to the Dark Side. You’ve failed, your highness. I am a Jedi, like my father before me.”
Not only is “righteous” anger compatible with courage, but it can also result in acting justly—another virtue. Feeling angry about someone’s unfair treatment could lead you to take positive action to correct this treatment. For the Jedi, it’s important to stop violent and abusive behavior, and to defend the innocent against assault. Yet, if possible, a Jedi should use nonviolent means to accomplish this. It is true, now, that your emotions enable you to act more promptly and easily than merely reasoning about a situation. So if controlled by reason, emotions can actually fuel the kind of virtuous action a Jedi should engage in.
It’s thus unlikely that Yoda’s admonitions about fear and anger should be interpreted as meaning that a Jedi never feels those emotions. Rather, he probably means that a Jedi never acts from fear and anger. A Jedi acts when reason is in control, when he’s “calm, at peace, passive.” In fact, as Yoda tells Luke, only a calm mind can distinguish the good side from the bad. In contrast, acting from an agitated condition clouds one’s mind from knowing right from wrong. Anakin acts from uncontrolled anger when he sees his mother die at the hands of the Sand People. He confesses to Padmé that, in retaliation, he killed them all: “They’re dead, every single one of them. And not just the men . . . But the women and the children, too. They’re like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals . . . I hate them.” Padmé attempts to console Anakin by reminding him that “to be angry is to be human,” to which Anakin responds sharply, “I’m a Jedi, I know I’m better than this.”
Entering the Deep, Dark Cave
In order to succeed as a Jedi Knight, one must identify one’s deepest fears and learn to overcome them. As part of his Jedi training, Yoda makes Luke enter the recesses of a dark cave where he will come face to face with himself as he confronts the fearsome apparition of Darth Vader. When Luke enters the cave, he’s ignorant of the nature of these fears; he doesn’t know himself as well as he should. Clearly, this lack of self-knowledge can interfere with his self-control. It’s difficult to control what you don’t understand. Self-knowledge entails an understanding of our fears and other emotions, habits, and personal relationships. It implies an understanding of the possibilities that are open to us, as well as a realistic sense of our limitations. And it implies an understanding of our strengths, weaknesses, and faults. So when Luke enters the cave, as frightening as it is, he’s given an opportunity for self-knowledge, a release from his ignorance of the hidden aspects of his nature.
Similarly, Plato has a famous story about a cave of ignorance, the condition he thinks most people live in. Here chained prisoners, unable to see one another, see only the wall of the cave in front of them upon which appear shadows cast by small statuettes of animals and objects that are passed before a burning fire by people behind a low wall. The prisoners believe that the shadows they see are all there is in the world. By this imagery, Plato wants to show us that most people are ignorant of their true selves and reality. Although they’re deeply ignorant, the cave dwellers are content with the “knowledge” they think they have. Then someone releases one of the prisoners. Standing up and looking around him, the former prisoner now has a clearer perception of the cave he inhabits. Yet the light from the fire, which he has never seen before, hurts his eyes. In other words, he is quite uncomfortable with his new knowledge. It even pains him and he desires to return to his chained position. Aside from the literal experience of suddenly looking at a bright light, why would he experience discomfort and pain from learning something new? Well, looking at himself in this new light would force him to revise the familiar image he had of himself and of the world he’s been living in. He may then have to change his former beliefs, values, and ways of doing things. Few people welcome this kind of change in their lives. Yet his rescuer encourages him to search further until he’s finally freed from the cave’s confines and attains a vision of the Good, Plato’s highest principle.
Yoda, of course, corresponds to the rescuer. When he sends Luke into the cave, Luke first sees shadows of the truth, for the youth mistakenly believes that his deepest fear is Darth Vader. However, after decapitating Vader’s image, he sees the severed head more clearly. The experience provides him with an alternative shadow to help him discover his true nature. Gazing in horror, he recognizes that the face looking up at him isn’t Vader’s, but his own! Corresponding to the freed prisoner’s first sight of the fire, Luke first recognizes his real fears. He realizes that he’s afraid of becoming evil, fears that his weaknesses of unrestrained anger and impatience would prevent him from becoming the Jedi he yearns to be. These fears are based on his failure to fully trust himself to resist temptation. By realizing and confronting the implications of his fears about himself, Luke is liberated from the chains of ignorance.
When Luke meets his father for the second time in a real battle, he succeeds in overcoming his anger and hatred by seeing the good in his father. His vision of this good results in forgiveness and compassion, such that he refuses to kill Vader. At this moment, Luke experiences the ultimate triumph of a Jedi Knight. The Jedi Knight resists evil, but does so motivated by a compassion that remains open to forgiveness and reconciliation.
Both Luke’s experience and Plato’s story urge us to look beyond the familiar image each of us has of ourselves, so that we can be aware of our weaknesses. Being aware of our weaknesses, we are able to rectify them. Once our weaknesses are rectified, we will have the stability of character that is desirable both
in a Guardian and in a Jedi since it enables them to remain unchangeable in the face of dangerous internal and external forces. If someone displays the character traits of justice, courage, and compassion to the extent that it has become a habit for them to act in these ways, they can be counted on to behave in these ways. They will rarely be influenced by conflicting self-interests or swayed by temptations, as Obi-Wan wasn’t at all tempted to join Dooku to obtain release from captivity. When Obi-Wan refuses to join the Dark Side, he displays the virtue of integrity. Having integrity, he can discern what is right from wrong and act on what he discerns, even at personal cost.
Just as the former prisoner in Plato’s Cave Allegory at last sees the Good, the successful Jedi must see the good in others, a recognition which motivates forgiveness and compassion. These two virtues drive out uncontrolled anger and hatred so that the Dark Side is no longer a threat. Forgiveness frees a Jedi to overlook transgressions made against him so that he no longer needs to carry around the burdens of resentment and hostility. Even without saying the words “I forgive you” to his father, Luke’s forgiveness of his father is clear as Vader lies dying in his son’s arms.
The Right Kind of Love
The other virtue that’s generated by seeing the Good is compassion . Anakin, in an intimate moment with Padmé, defines compassion as “unconditional love” which is “central to a Jedi’s life.” There’s a huge difference between unconditional love and erotic or romantic love. In the scene where Anakin defines compassion for Padmé, she’s beginning to fall in love with him. Aware that he’s very attracted to her, she asks Anakin, “Are you allowed to love? I thought that was forbidden for a Jedi.” The young Jedi responds with his definition of compassion, distinguishing it from attachment and possession, which are both forbidden to a Jedi. The Jedi approve of compassion, a higher and more universal form of love, while attachment to a particular individual is frowned upon. Personal attachment to someone or something is an intense emotion, which can lead to fear of losing what one is attracted to, and we know already where fear leads; compassion is a virtue. More precisely, compassion is a selfless love, involving a deep, cherishing concern for each individual as having intrinsic value. That is, individuals are valued for their own sake, regardless of their capacity to achieve anything else.50
Plato also seeks to prevent the Guardians from having private attachments and possessions, which might conflict with wholehearted devotion to the public welfare. Since the Guardians are servants of the Republic, they should have no temptations to neglect the public interest; they should have no land, houses, or money of their own. This approach avoids the corruption and conflicts that can happen when it’s possible for authorities to place their own good above the public good.
Plato maintains that the virtuous life is much more satisfying than personal relationships. It is so much more real than romantic attachments that those who live it will lose a great deal of the ordinary person’s interest in sexual satisfaction. The very intensity of a guardian’s universal love or compassion will make him less dependent upon particular attachments. The Guardians devote as much of themselves as they can to public service. By forbidding romantic attachments, Plato hopes to free the Guardians from the competition and jealousy of these exclusive relationships. More importantly, without romantic attachments, the Guardians won’t be tempted to prefer such private interests to those of the entire community. We see how Anakin almost puts his love for Padmé above the safety of the entire galaxy when she falls out of a gunship chasing Count Dooku. Aware that he may be expelled from the Jedi Order, Anakin wants to rescue her, even if it means that Dooku might escape and the Clone Wars expand beyond Geonosis. Only when Obi-Wan reminds him that in such circumstances Padmé would fulfill her duty does Anakin agree to fulfill his.
But does compassion for others necessarily require people to sacrifice personal attachments to concern for the larger society? Compassion is at the root of virtuous conduct; it is the notion that everyone counts. But to say that is to say that you count as well. And an individual may feel more fulfilled when allowed to love particular others and to be loved by them in return. At the end of Luke’s training on Dagobah, he experiences an internal conflict between his commitment to becoming a Jedi and his loyalty to his friends, whom he senses are suffering. Loyalty is a Jedi virtue for clearly the Jedi should be loyal to one another, to their ideals, and to the Republic. Yet loyalty also entails an unwavering commitment to the people you value. It involves the subordination of your private interests in favor of their more pressing needs. Not only would Luke have been disloyal if he had ignored his closest friends in their distress, but he would also have lacked compassion. And it is the virtue of compassion that enables him to see through Vader to the good within him and to bring that goodness out. There’s nothing inherently unethical about living in a way that enhances one’s personal relationships. But neither does the advancement of personal relationships allow one to disregard the well-being of others or ignore duties. So perhaps the Jedi Order should allow family life, but prevent it from interfering with public duty.
Is Brainwashing Ethically Sanitary?
One more problem about Jedi training requires some reflection. Part of Luke’s training is to learn to control objects with his mind. First, he levitates a small rock, and then his sunken X-wing fighter. Now if this exercise is meant simply to learn concentration, there would be nothing wrong with it. Concentration, in itself, is a valuable skill and a necessary one for a Jedi Knight. But, eventually a Jedi progresses from mentally controlling inanimate objects to being able to mentally control “weak-minded” individuals. The Jedi can use mind control to plant suggestions in weak minds, making them do things they wouldn’t ordinarily do. For instance, at Mos Eisley Spaceport a trooper demands Obi-Wan’s and Luke’s identification, but speaking in a very controlled voice and with a slight wave of his hand, Obi-Wan makes the trooper think that he doesn’t need to see their identification. A much younger Obi-Wan used mind control to convince a young drug pusher that he doesn’t need to sell “death sticks” (which look suspiciously like cigarettes) any more and that he should go home and rethink his life. Now using mind control over others is a kind of brainwashing, a practice most people think of as horrible. But is the practice justifiable if it’s used for a good purpose? The problem is that anyone who brainwashes or controls the mind of another believes they are doing so for a good purpose. Can Plato help us out here?
Plato sympathizes with the desire to influence weak-minded people. However, rather than directly controlling the minds of such people by the power of his own will, he uses the power of his thought to construct a myth designed to control the beliefs of the weak-minded by appealing to their imagination. The myth is this: the earth gives birth to people, so that all citizens are born of the same soil and must protect the land that is their mother. Additionally, some people have gold in their souls (the Guardians), some have silver (the warriors), and some have iron on bronze (everyone else). The type of metal that courses through each person will determine the role they will play in the Republic. Plato suggests this influential myth in the interest of a higher purpose, namely, the unity of society. Unity is achieved when people prove that they can bear responsibility and give up self-interest in order to fulfill the common good. Most people won’t understand that it’s important for each individual to subordinate their self-interests to the common good. But patriotism is easily inculcated by careful control of information, and it serves the same purpose of producing unity in society. Plato thinks that using a myth to mentally manipulate the weak-minded will encourage the kind of allegiance to the Republic that people usually feel toward their family members. So, when the Jedi use their more direct mental manipulation for the good of the Republic, whether to fulfill a mission or reform a drug pusher, Plato would certainly validate this.
Also, in Plato’s Cave Allegory, the people who carry the objects that project the shadows on the cave wall are manipulating the minds of the
chained prisoners. The weak-minded are always being mentally manipulated by other people. Since they dislike thinking for themselves or are unable to do so, they turn to others to figure things out for them: family members, authority figures, the media, the rich and the powerful—you know, the Watto or Jabba the Hutt types who, interestingly, are immune to Jedi “mind tricks.” The weak-minded uncritically accept what such people want them to believe. They’re being mentally manipulated, although they’re unaware of it. Now it’s reasonable to believe that the overwhelming majority of mind-controllers have their own selfish interests at heart, rather than the common good, when they put thoughts in the minds of others. Since weak-minded people desire others to figure things out for them, and since there will always be people willing to do so, isn’t it better that the controllers be people who authentically care about the common good rather than people who seek to advance their own vested interests?
The Jedi Model
Despite the problem of controlling others’ thoughts, the virtues the Jedi possess make them great models to aspire to. As we’ve seen, in the eyes of an ancient Greek master and his padawan, the Jedi would likely appear courageous, loyal, compassionate, just, and forgiving. They have endurance (otherwise referred to as perseverance), are mentally focused, and have a healthy humility. Also, the Jedi have honor: they live by a code or a set of principles, and find such value in so doing that they count it as a basis of self-worth. For a Jedi, honor is closely connected to one’s role as a Jedi Knight as defined by the Jedi Code. Further, the Jedi regularly manifest nobility, a desire for moral excellence that permits them to overcome personal interests in favor or some purpose larger than themselves. They show great stature of character by holding to the virtues that define them. Nobility involves admiration of the virtues of others and a desire to realize one’s potential or, as the Army used to say, “Be all that you can be.” Such admiration for the virtues of others and desire to bring out what is best in oneself are part and parcel of Jedi training. Due to their desire to perfect their own virtue, noble persons serve as good role models for others. Having the tendency to influence others, the noble person provides a persuasive example of what can be done in the service of goodness, peace and justice, which are, after all, the ultimate aims of being a Jedi Knight.
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