The idea that our offspring have the potential to be admirable and explore human destiny has always captured my attention in the "Star Trek" universe. The science fiction series "Star Trek" stands out from the competition because it tackles important topics and considers what it means to be human if we eventually become space travelers. The Enterprise, a sizable Federation starship modeled after 19th-century sailing vessels like HMS Beagle, serves as the centerpiece of this exploration. The Enterprise, piloted by a plenipotentiary who serves as both a hero and a parent figure, is more than just a fighter jet; it is a veritable city in motion that is constantly cruising toward the unknown. Any one of us can make a difference in our future endeavors, as demonstrated by the crew of the ship, which includes both ordinary men and women.
What always entranced me about "Star Trek" - helping turn this physicist into a science fiction author - was the vision it offered, exploring human destiny, confronting big issues and pondering a unique notion, seldom expressed anywhere else: that our descendants might somehow be admirable.
I won't comment on the plot of the new "Star Trek" film, or the way director J.J. Abrams relayers a familiar cosmology with glittery action, snappy dialogue and voluptuous intricacy.
Unlike many fans, I am cold to the "old pals effect" - the tedious crutch of reintroducing the same characters, in every sequel. I care little about James T. Kirk or even Mr. Spock.
The real gift that we are given by this enterprise is much bigger than the characters. Optimism doesn't come easily to post-Hiroshima science fiction, nor should all tales of tomorrow be sunny.
Some futuristic cautionary tales, like George Orwell's "Nineteen Eighty-Four," warn usefully about potential failure modes.
If they gird us sufficiently, these stories rise to the august level ofself-preventing prophecy "What if children can learn from the mistakes of their parents?"
Suppose (oh, unique thought!) our heirs begin living up to some of our deepest hopes? Won't they still have interesting problems? Like what to do when we become mighty star-travelers?
Humanity has yet to crawl beyond the moon, yet we are already contemplating how to behave, under the light of distant suns.
Shall we interfere in the development of younger intelligent species, for example? Could a mix of pragmatism and sincerity prevent us from repeating the mistakes of the Conquistadors?
Premature or not, such thought experiments may be a sign of a precocious maturity, a lifting of the eyes. And many of these ruminations - engaging millions of fascinated minds - have taken place under the banner of "Star Trek."
Central to "Trek" is the image of a large, quasi-naval vessel called Enterprise, based on 19th-century sailing ships like HMS Beagle, dispatched to practice peacemaking and war, diplomacy and science, tutoring and apprenticeship, all in equal measure.
How different from the tiny fighter planes featured in "Star Wars," each piloted by a solitary knight, perhaps accompanied by a loyal squire, or droid, symbols as old as Achilles.
In contrast, the Federation starship in "Trek" is a veritable city, cruising toward the unknown. Its captain-hero is a plenipotentiary representative of his civilization and parent figure to the crew . . . but any one of those normal men and women may suddenly matter, during the next adventure, and perhaps become heroes themselves.
