“We spend all this time looking for something greater than us; something that will bring us all together. But what if it’s not even there?” -MARS: S1, E5
Mars is the Red Planet, blood red when it shines, and has taken its name from the Roman god of war. As far back as our species can remember, the stars and planets have held deep spiritual significance for us – further back even than the ancient Greeks and Romans. Recent analysis of the oldest cave paintings reveal that they match the positions of constellations and stellar events. Turns out, what we always thought were “primitive” “proto-religious” imaginings were actually sophisticated observations of the heavens, right in the middle of the last ice age.[1] And they may have been spiritual too, for all we know. Did they think about the stars in religious terms, perhaps astrologically?
CS Lewis had a lot to teach us about the enduring spiritual symbolism of the planets and stars. You know that already, if you’ve read his cosmic trilogy, or one of his poems like “the Planets” or “the Turn of the Tide”. But Lewis had some concerns about humanity literally reaching out into space. “Hush, be still. Outer space/Is a concept, not a place./Try no more. Where we are/Never can be sky or star.”[2] Lewis wanted us to think about what we’re taking with us when we go, and why we’re leaving in the first place. He rightly understood that the leaving and the search were essentially spiritual in nature. “From prison, in a prison, we fly;/There’s no way into the sky.”
It's not just spiritual either; it’s become basically religious. For a hundred years we’ve been building a massive myth about space and the universe, looking for ways to express our fears and hopes and anxieties out into the context of the other planets; we look there for other life so we might know we’re “not alone”; we contemplate a great, apocalyptic struggle for survival; we hope it will unite us; we fear it will end us.
All of these (and more) are drawn together into a single program on Netflix: MARS. This show contains factual people in a documentary inter-spliced with a fictional drama about the first manned mission to Mars. What I’m going to demonstrate – and it won’t be hard – is that while the space race started out as an exercise in nationalism, it has become overtly religious. Not just spiritual: Religious.
I noticed it during the first episode, when many of the people being interviewed started to discuss colonization in terms of continuing on with the human race. What the experts were saying was that, one day, earth will no longer have the ability to have any human life, or else all human beings on earth will die off, and the only way for humanity to continue on is to do so elsewhere. This is nothing more or less than a definition of “Salvation.” In this religious view, the thing we need saving from is the final death of the last human being; the salvation is performed by our own human might and main; the means is interstellar travel. Oh by the way, the priesthood of this new religion is comprised of the scientists and the innovators who are inventing the technology to make it happen.
Of course, this is all implied. Nobody in the first episode says We’re really talking about classical Salvation. You only hear it underneath what they’re saying. In the fictional portion, you see it when one of the main characters dies, and then moves out onto the landscape (as a ghost, or a spirit, or a post-mortal entity) and encounters his dead father. "I knew I'd find you up here" he says. Now heaven isn't viewed as a place in the clouds; it's a barren, rocky terrain with nothing but stone and sand as far as the eye can see.
But in order to have my suspicions truly confirmed, I had to wait all the way until episode 2. That’s where it got blatant, and the first one to make it blatantly religious was Ann Druyan, a writer and communicator who was married to Carl Sagan, with whom she co-wrote the famous “Cosmos” miniseries. Listen to how she put it:
“I think sending humans to space is our latest expression of the ancient human practice called human sacrifice; but really in the service of something much greater.”
“Human sacrifice”? (I can almost hear someone asking, Well, I guess it the person being sacrificed is willing, what’s the harm?) Whether they’re willing or not isn’t the point. The point is that it’s clearly a fixed religion, and now we know what price its adherents are willing to pay in pursuit of their goals.
“Something much greater”? There have been lots of different motives for human sacrifice down through the ages, but survival, knowledge, power, and resources have all been part of the mix. By sacrificing pilots and astronauts, we're not looking for "something much greater"; we’re looking for exactly the same things that other ancient religions were seeking – we’re just looking in a new location. And by telling ourselves that our motives are superior, we seek to justify our sacrifices in a way that those more direct, primitive practices didn’t. And of course, we’re fooling ourselves in the process.
Just as blatant is the moment in the fourth episode, when Roger Launius, a historian who’s worked for NASA and the Smithsonian, speaks of the search for extra-terrestrial life: “There’s almost a religious belief that we will find it [life] eventually if we just keep looking; and it’s based upon faith and not knowledge, in the same way that religion is based upon faith and not knowledge.”
Well, there you have it. For many people, the Salvation which humanity yearns for is tied into the space-myth we’ve been telling for the last century. We want there to be life on other planets, totally distinct from us, and accidental in its origins. We want to take our species to the stars, so that our story will last as long as the galaxy itself. We want to feel noble because of the motives which have caused us to explore, advance, and progress. We want to pay for these things with the lives of those whose shed blood will represent all of us. We believe those who repeat the myth, the storytellers and the experts, and we trust them with what can only be described as zeal. And for those who aren’t yet on board – there are shows like MARS which seek to strengthen the faithful and convert the agnostics.
Of course, I’ll continue to watch the show because I do admire the spirit of adventure and exploration, just as I admire compelling drama, and innovation. I’m hugely entertained by all of those things. I just don’t have the delusion that any of those things can save us.

[1] https://www.ed.ac.uk/news/2018/cave-paintings-reveal-use-of-complex-astronomy

[2] Lewis, CS, Cradlesong. For an even more explicit warning about carrying our humanity out into the galaxy, try reading his poem “Prelude to Space.”

William Dunbar's original poem, written in the 16th century, is one that deserves to be shared over and over. Unfortunately, it uses a lot of archaic words, and the all-important repeating final line of each stanza is written in Latin. This makes it hard to read for most modern people; but even with those obstacles the sense and force of the poem are still compelling after five centuries. In order to make this poem easier to share, I used an English translation of the Latin and updated the unfamiliar words wherever possible. This means that the only way to keep the rhyme and meter was to change some of the lines and compress several images and references into less space. Therefore this version is shorter than the original, but anyone who looks at the two side-by-side will realize it’s obviously the same poem. So, if this updated version works at all, it’s because the original rocks. If this version doesn’t work, it’s my fault for messing with a masterpiece. Two other things I want to mention: I intentionally omitted a reference to “The Jowis” (Jews) for purely theological reasons; I hope this decision will also be acceptable for many additional reasons as well. Lastly, I left the opening line completely untouched, except for the spelling; it’s one of the most justly famous opening lines in English poetry, and without that strong beam to hang upon, the rest of this poem would fall to the earth under its own tremendous weight.

Done Is a Battle
By William Dunbar [1460-1520]
Updated by Josh McFarland
 
Done is a battle on the Dragon black,
Our champion Christ decimated his force;
The gates of hell hang broken and cracked,
The sign of his victory, the upright Cross.
The devils now tremble with a hideous voice,
Blissfully outward go the souls of the saved
Their ransom by Christ’s precious blood is endorsed.
Our Lord has risen from the grave!
 
Beaten is the deadly dragon Lucifer,
That oily serpent with a deadly strike;
The wily old tiger with brittle teeth ajar,
Claws outstretched, grasping, filled with spite.
But the one who loved us more than his life,
The Lamb who himself as a sacrifice gave,
Awakens the dawn like a giant, like a lion;
Our Lord has risen from the grave!
 
Our foe has been routed, the battle has ceased,
The prison bars broken, its guardians banished,
The war has been won and our Prince declares Peace,
The chains are abolished, the hostages vanished.
Our broken foe squirms on the field of strife,
Deprived of the hoarded treasure in his cave;
Over him stands the victorious Christ,
Our Lord has risen from the grave!

​

One of the things which set Star Trek apart from the very beginning was Spock; and the first and most obvious thing about Spock was that he was an alien. He was hardly the first alien to grace the world of science fiction, but what was unusual about him was simply his presence aboard a mostly-human vessel, working hand-in-hand with other species as they cooperated to complete a peaceful mission of discovery. Compare that to the way aliens were nearly always viewed as outsiders back then: outsiders who invaded (War of the Worlds) outsiders who were benevolent (the Day the Earth Stood Still) or outsiders who were the subject of intense personal contact and curiosity (Out of the Silent Planet).
Spock was none of these things. It’s true that his Vulcan identity was often a source of contention, or conflict, or curiosity, but it was all of those things precisely because he was part of the crew, one of the group, initiated; because he was included – even if he was unique. That was a genius adaptation.
But of course, once he was in, he had to stand out. And the way they did that was to allow his character to evolve (very quickly, and with a good head start) into the logical being whom we all know and love. His Vulcan philosophy of eschewing emotion and embracing pure logic made him seem relatable but distant. We understand what logic is, therefore we know what Spock was up to; but it was his lack of emotion that seemed inhuman.
Or did it?
Here we have to delve into the man behind Spock. Leonard Nimoy wrote several books about his life and his character, and he took pains to describe how he protected the character from being written off the rails. Especially at first, during the early years, writers would have Spock getting angry or happy, and he’d have to fight for the emotionless logic of the character. But in spite of the supposed “emotionlessness” of Spock, Nimoy was able to imbue the character with just as much expressiveness and character – and humanity – as the most grasping over-actor. But in Nimoy’s case, he did so with subtlety. In the process, he gave us a character who was rich and full, convincing as a character who had emotions but who was never controlled by his emotions. In short, when it came to emotions, Spock was in charge; this was demonstrated because when it came to facial expressions, Leonard Nimoy was in charge.
I’m going to give you concrete, visual examples, and just to make sure I keep it fair, I’ll tell you what I ruled out. Firstly, I ruled out the first season, just to make certain that I'd be limited to examples of Spock’s character after he was more firmly fixed in Nimoy’s mind and in the expectations of the audience. Secondly, I’ve avoided any of the episodes where the writers used a “hook” or a gimmick to make Spock temporarily emotional (like time-travel or pon far). I’m sticking to just those episodes where Spock is being himself naturally. And what you’ll see as you look at these examples is dozens of tiny, fleeting micro-expressions on Nimoy’s face, communicating a wide range of very human responses and feelings.

​In episode 36 ("Catspaw") Spock, Kirk, and McCoy must face gothic terrors in a seemingly haunted castle. As he tries to think through their predicament, Spock gives us the quintessential Spock-thinking-deeply expression: eyebrows slightly furrowed and leaning downward to create a look which would be sinister on anyone else. On him, this expression evokes curiosity - even slight befuddlement. 

Now look at this image from episode 75 ("The Way to Eden"). Nimoy has almost transformed Spock's angry eyebrows during the course of a quiet conversation. Now nearly flat, they allow the shape of his eyelids to show, creating a much softer look as he and Kirk contemplate their dilemma.

In the same conversation, Spock begins to pace while Kirk speaks. Notice, though, that instead of allowing his face to remain placid, he purses his lips slightly, moving fluidly from the compassionate thought at the start of the conversation to deeper concentration here, evident in the set of his mouth.

Then as he responds to Kirk: combining the full force of his impeccable facial control, he not only gives us the famous single-raised-eyebrow, he also allowed his mouth to curl downward in a sort of grimace, trying to match the words he's saying with an expression which tells us that his conclusions are difficult, yet necessary. 

One final example, this time from episode 66 ("Wink of an Eye"). In this shot, Spock isn't trying to wrestle with a thorny ethical dilemma like he was in "The Way to Eden", and he wasn't trying to work through a sticky logical problem the way he was in "Catspaw". Here, he's merely responding to the taste and texture of a chemical drink mixed by McCoy. I defy the most experienced, highfalutin, self-important wine taster on this planet to come up with a more complete facial expression. In fact, if you cover the left side of this image and look only at the right side, Spock looks like he's listening to a lecture about tax law. If you cover the right side so that you can only see the left side, he looks like he just caught you in the act of trying to be smarter than him. The requirements of this role were more than met by Nimoy, and his portrayal was nothing less than a mastery of subtle human facial expressions.

[Brent Spiner as Data - three shots from Season 5 E. 26, "Time's Arrow"]

​The android Data was a continuation of Spock, and because of Spock, Data was able to be both believable and brilliant. What’s more, Spiner’s ongoing adaptation of Nimoy’s brilliance is what made Data, by far, one of the most beloved non-human characters in Star Trek. It’s just a pity that so many other actors hired to portray Vulcans never got on that band-wagon.
The inhabitants of Vulcan started out as possibly the most interesting part of the Star Trek universe. They started out being like us only more so. Because so many would-be-Vulcans believed their job was to never show any expression at all, they ended up being like us... only less so.