Star Wars and Philosophy (Popular Culture and Philosophy Series) - Kevin Decker [84]
If the mechanism of fear explains how it is the Emperor rules his Empire and primarily relates to his subjects, it is hatred that explains his relation to his closest advisors and minions—Darth Maul, Count Dooku, and most especially, Darth Vader. Neither equality nor recognition, but instead hatred ties each to the other, because hatred is the primary way by which each makes sense of themselves and the world. Each is driven by his own hatred of life, of all things good, and (it is likely) of himself. Not surprisingly, then, each sees in the other a reflection of himself: something to resent and hate perhaps, but also something intelligible and understandable, a kind of common ground.
Earlier we saw that the master seeks after equals with whom he can relate as a self-conscious being. If Hegel is right and the master can never be satisfied with himself and his life, then it’s not surprising that the Emperor should come to hate life and himself. In other words, it’s reasonable to think that hatred will become the primary way by which the master understands his experience of the world and himself. Consequently, that same hatred will constitute the sole means by which the master relates to others as self-conscious beings, that is, as relative equals. Naturally those relations will be seriously impoverished and deficient, as indeed they are. Even so, because those relations are formed around the principle focus by which each understands himself (in this case hatred), those relationships will be more personal, stronger, and more enduring than any other relation each might have. More than anything else, this explains the Emperor’s power over his minions and their respective allegiances to him. As Vader confides in Luke, “I must obey my master.”
We might see this most clearly if we think carefully about the evolution of Darth Vader and his eventual betrayal of the Emperor. Vader starts off, in A New Hope, as a dark embodiment of everything evil. In his first cinematic act, he crushes a man’s neck while questioning him about the whereabouts of some stolen plans. From there, things only get worse: with the hindsight of the later films, we know he allows the death of his step-family, Owen and Beru Lars; interrogates and tortures his own daughter; kills his old friend and mentor, Obi-Wan; and nearly kills his son in the Death Star trench. In The Empire Strikes Back, Vader does no better—in a number of instances he simply kills those subordinates who fail him in a kind of idealized form of corporate downsizing. And so by the time we reach the last installment of the saga, Return of the Jedi, and are aware of Luke’s parentage, we’re given almost no reason to think that Luke is anything more than deluded in believing there is “still good in him.” On the contrary, the so-called struggle Luke senses in his father is buried so deeply that, up until the point where Luke lays prostrate before a murderous Emperor, we’re given no indication that Vader is anything more than a willing servant of evil. Then, and only then, does Vader act to save his son.
So why does he do it? Or, better yet—how does Vader surmount the Emperor’s hold over him?
There’s really only one possible answer: Vader overcomes the Emperor by overcoming his hate and achieving a new self-consciousness. Confronted with his son’s unshakeable belief in his goodness, Vader comes to realize the truth about himself—he isn’t a pawn of evil, but a man of inherent goodness and nobility.129 Vader turns on the