And let me be clear, I mean straight-up lying. No "certain point of view" waffling to be found here.
Revisionism has already eviscerated the Holy Trilogy in terms of both film quality (well, 2/3 of it; Empire remains mostly unmolested) and the rationale underlying certain characters' actions. I find this assessment as undeserved as the partial redemption of the prequels proliferating the Internet. It's unforgivable regression to the mean - although I am trying to give the prequels another chance.
No one decision made by characters in the Original Trilogy has received more criticism than Obi-Wan's (and Yoda's, if only through omission) choice to misrepresent to Luke the relationship between Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker.
If this post-trilogy criticism has done me any favor, it's been to remind me of one of the core tenets of sci-fi/fantasy nerdery: to apply far too much real-world critical thinking to plot elements that should stand simply on suspension of disbelief and thus do not require analysis.
So let's dig too deep in the lore of something.
I want you to put yourself in a pair of shoes worn far too often in our reality: those of a friend watching another friend suffer, in anguish from your inability to prevent or alleviate it. Ultimately, your friend projects his suffering outward and causes those around him to suffer as well. This, you try to arrest directly - for your friend's own good, you think - but again you fail. Your friend suffers more thanks to your intervention.
You've got a chance for redemption in taking up distant guardianship of your friend's son. Nineteen years later, that distant guardianship becomes up-close mentorship, perhaps a few years before you think the boy is ready. You've got a lot to tell him about his true identity and the potential influence he has over the political shape of his reality. That influence is huge, and while the boy remains ignorant you are its steward. Your goal was going to be to guide him into this responsibility carefully. Events have outpaced you; now instead of a full adult, you're faced with training an impulsive, emotional teenager.
The boy asks about his father. At this point, you have two options:
I know what I'd do. I would try to prevent what happened to my friend from happening to his son because it happened to my friend. I would hope to have time to sort out the truth later.
How many times in your youth did your parents/guardians try to shield you from uncomfortable truths until you were (in their estimation) ready to hear them? Looking back, I bet you find that some of those times they should have just gone ahead and told you what you needed to know when you asked. Other times, I'm certain, your hindsight reveals that you wouldn't have understood the true answers to your questions, and may in fact have done something dangerous in response.
Lots of parents struggle with that choice - sadly, many of them pass away or are otherwise separated from their children before they have time to revisit the uncomfortable truths they previously concealed. And none of us (to my knowledge) have the ability to maintain a posthumous imprint of ourselves upon reality capable of interacting with the living.
So cut Old Ben some slack. What happened on Dagobah and then on Cloud City isn't his fault and it isn't Yoda's. It's the no-fault consequence of a parenting decision, made in good faith, that turned out poorly. And hell, everything turned out well enough in the end, right?
Revisionism has already eviscerated the Holy Trilogy in terms of both film quality (well, 2/3 of it; Empire remains mostly unmolested) and the rationale underlying certain characters' actions. I find this assessment as undeserved as the partial redemption of the prequels proliferating the Internet. It's unforgivable regression to the mean - although I am trying to give the prequels another chance.
No one decision made by characters in the Original Trilogy has received more criticism than Obi-Wan's (and Yoda's, if only through omission) choice to misrepresent to Luke the relationship between Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker.
If this post-trilogy criticism has done me any favor, it's been to remind me of one of the core tenets of sci-fi/fantasy nerdery: to apply far too much real-world critical thinking to plot elements that should stand simply on suspension of disbelief and thus do not require analysis.
So let's dig too deep in the lore of something.
I want you to put yourself in a pair of shoes worn far too often in our reality: those of a friend watching another friend suffer, in anguish from your inability to prevent or alleviate it. Ultimately, your friend projects his suffering outward and causes those around him to suffer as well. This, you try to arrest directly - for your friend's own good, you think - but again you fail. Your friend suffers more thanks to your intervention.
You've got a chance for redemption in taking up distant guardianship of your friend's son. Nineteen years later, that distant guardianship becomes up-close mentorship, perhaps a few years before you think the boy is ready. You've got a lot to tell him about his true identity and the potential influence he has over the political shape of his reality. That influence is huge, and while the boy remains ignorant you are its steward. Your goal was going to be to guide him into this responsibility carefully. Events have outpaced you; now instead of a full adult, you're faced with training an impulsive, emotional teenager.
The boy asks about his father. At this point, you have two options:
- Tell the truth. "Your father was a deeply troubled man who chafed against the rules to which he had previously voluntarily subjected himself. We responded very, very poorly to his chafing, which made it worse. This pattern repeated until your father did some very bad things. I tried to stop him. I failed. Now your father causes many, many more to suffer. By the way, you have the same power he did - you can move things with your mind and bend the minds of others to your will. Here's a laser sword to cut people with."
- Lie, lie like a rug. A rug that can tell lies.
I know what I'd do. I would try to prevent what happened to my friend from happening to his son because it happened to my friend. I would hope to have time to sort out the truth later.
How many times in your youth did your parents/guardians try to shield you from uncomfortable truths until you were (in their estimation) ready to hear them? Looking back, I bet you find that some of those times they should have just gone ahead and told you what you needed to know when you asked. Other times, I'm certain, your hindsight reveals that you wouldn't have understood the true answers to your questions, and may in fact have done something dangerous in response.
Lots of parents struggle with that choice - sadly, many of them pass away or are otherwise separated from their children before they have time to revisit the uncomfortable truths they previously concealed. And none of us (to my knowledge) have the ability to maintain a posthumous imprint of ourselves upon reality capable of interacting with the living.
So cut Old Ben some slack. What happened on Dagobah and then on Cloud City isn't his fault and it isn't Yoda's. It's the no-fault consequence of a parenting decision, made in good faith, that turned out poorly. And hell, everything turned out well enough in the end, right?
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