Leonard Nimoy’s passing was news that rocked me even from halfway around the world.
Not only did I grow up loving Star Trek, but I also appreciated his particular skill for
presenting a character who was at once both coldly logical and eminently relatable.
Nimoy’s signature alter-ego came to define him as an actor, and in a large sense was his
greatest contribution to cinema and society. It’s interesting to note that he resisted the
role so forcefully upon initially being offered it, and after the cancellation of the show
spent the next ten years or so trying to distance himself from that iconic performance.
I guess in some sense we all struggle with the same fear, that we’ll be defined by one
particular trait or achievement for the rest of our lives.
The idea that a perfect stranger could evoke such a visceral emotional response from
me upon news of his passing is a testament to the fact that his work had a palpable and
lasting impact. We all long to have such significance in life, and yet like the reluctant
Nimoy, some of us fail to recognize that our insecurities about a particular aspect of our
lives may be the one great barrier to achieving the significance we all so desperately
crave. Had he listened to his inner worries and turned down the role, we may never
have remembered the quirky sci-fi series which has now etched itself permanently on
our cultural memory. Though the show was certainly an intellectually stimulating and
well-acted innovation on the part of the whole cast, the ensemble would have been
sorely lacking had it not been for one man’s contribution. A team may only be as good
as its weakest link, but when good links come together around a solid anchor, the chain
it forms will be virtually immovable. Though he wasn’t the leading man of the show,
Nimoy’s presence (and even his physical stillness in performance) provided a secure
anchor around which the other characters were free to oscillate wildly for dramatic effect.
The lessons I derive from Nimoy’s life and performance are twofold: One, embrace
your identity. You may think that your quirks or your individual mannerisms might
preclude you from doing certain things. Nimoy may have thought initially that he was
too “dignified” or “serious” as an actor to take on the role of a funny-looking alien.
Yet it was that very dignity and gravity which made that alien so singularly memorable
among fiction characters, and even gave a wild and tumultuous 1960s culture someone
to emulate who could operate solely on logic while the world around him was a storm of
emotion.
Second, don’t take your contribution lightly. While an actor naturally assumes that his
work will be used for entertainment purposes, most good actors approach their craft
from a far more philosophical frame of mind. If Nimoy had assumed that this low-budget show was going to be a quick way to pay his bills before moving on to bigger and
better, he never would have devoted the time and discipline necessary to create such a
well-developed persona who ultimately inspired Gene Rodenberry to use the character
as a metaphor for the deep psychological war that rages inside every man and woman
on earth, which is the battle between head and heart, between left and right, between
love and hate. Spock was more than just a foil to the callow and jovial Kirk, he was a
metaphor for the duality of man; a proposal that without emotion, logic is cruel, and that
without logic, emotion is an unbridled storm. Spock was ultimately far more than a TV
character, he was a philosophical principle, and Nimoy saw that implicitly when he took
the role.
My point in all of this is that God has given each of us a part to play in life. By playing
this part to the utmost of our abilities we will come to the fullest expression of ourselves
as God designed us to be. Let us not be, as Shakespeare once wrote, “a poor player
who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.” Let us boldly
wear the face which God gave us, and commit the fullness of our skills and talents to
the execution of the role which he gave us to play. “Before I formed you in the womb,”
declares the Lord to Jeremiah, “I knew you. Before you were born I set you apart and
appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
Not only did I grow up loving Star Trek, but I also appreciated his particular skill for
presenting a character who was at once both coldly logical and eminently relatable.
Nimoy’s signature alter-ego came to define him as an actor, and in a large sense was his
greatest contribution to cinema and society. It’s interesting to note that he resisted the
role so forcefully upon initially being offered it, and after the cancellation of the show
spent the next ten years or so trying to distance himself from that iconic performance.
I guess in some sense we all struggle with the same fear, that we’ll be defined by one
particular trait or achievement for the rest of our lives.
The idea that a perfect stranger could evoke such a visceral emotional response from
me upon news of his passing is a testament to the fact that his work had a palpable and
lasting impact. We all long to have such significance in life, and yet like the reluctant
Nimoy, some of us fail to recognize that our insecurities about a particular aspect of our
lives may be the one great barrier to achieving the significance we all so desperately
crave. Had he listened to his inner worries and turned down the role, we may never
have remembered the quirky sci-fi series which has now etched itself permanently on
our cultural memory. Though the show was certainly an intellectually stimulating and
well-acted innovation on the part of the whole cast, the ensemble would have been
sorely lacking had it not been for one man’s contribution. A team may only be as good
as its weakest link, but when good links come together around a solid anchor, the chain
it forms will be virtually immovable. Though he wasn’t the leading man of the show,
Nimoy’s presence (and even his physical stillness in performance) provided a secure
anchor around which the other characters were free to oscillate wildly for dramatic effect.
The lessons I derive from Nimoy’s life and performance are twofold: One, embrace
your identity. You may think that your quirks or your individual mannerisms might
preclude you from doing certain things. Nimoy may have thought initially that he was
too “dignified” or “serious” as an actor to take on the role of a funny-looking alien.
Yet it was that very dignity and gravity which made that alien so singularly memorable
among fiction characters, and even gave a wild and tumultuous 1960s culture someone
to emulate who could operate solely on logic while the world around him was a storm of
emotion.
Second, don’t take your contribution lightly. While an actor naturally assumes that his
work will be used for entertainment purposes, most good actors approach their craft
from a far more philosophical frame of mind. If Nimoy had assumed that this low-budget show was going to be a quick way to pay his bills before moving on to bigger and
better, he never would have devoted the time and discipline necessary to create such a
well-developed persona who ultimately inspired Gene Rodenberry to use the character
as a metaphor for the deep psychological war that rages inside every man and woman
on earth, which is the battle between head and heart, between left and right, between
love and hate. Spock was more than just a foil to the callow and jovial Kirk, he was a
metaphor for the duality of man; a proposal that without emotion, logic is cruel, and that
without logic, emotion is an unbridled storm. Spock was ultimately far more than a TV
character, he was a philosophical principle, and Nimoy saw that implicitly when he took
the role.
My point in all of this is that God has given each of us a part to play in life. By playing
this part to the utmost of our abilities we will come to the fullest expression of ourselves
as God designed us to be. Let us not be, as Shakespeare once wrote, “a poor player
who struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more.” Let us boldly
wear the face which God gave us, and commit the fullness of our skills and talents to
the execution of the role which he gave us to play. “Before I formed you in the womb,”
declares the Lord to Jeremiah, “I knew you. Before you were born I set you apart and
appointed you as a prophet to the nations.”
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