It is a fact universally acknowledged that Mormons love Star Wars; it is also a fact universally acknowledged that not nearly as many Mormons love Star Trek. To be clear: there are indeed Mormon Trek fans aplenty (myself included, obviously), but clearly not nearly as many as there of the Wars variety. Partly this disparity can be chalked up to the the fact that Trek at present has a much smaller pop-cultural presence than Wars generally (e.g. 2019’s The Rise of Skywalker made over a billion dollars, despite no one appearing to even like it; while 2016’s Star Trek Beyond barely made back its budget, despite good reviews and good word-of-mouth). That is, perhaps more Mormons love Star Wars simply because more people overall love Star Wars. Sometimes the simplest solution is the best.

But Mormons are never presented as merely loving Star Wars, but rather as loving Star Wars for very Mormon-specific reasons. In particular, we love to equate the Force with our conception of the Priesthood. This is not a superficial similarity: I had an ex-hippie Bishop growing up in the Pacific Northwest, who once stated unironically during a Fast & Testimony meeting that watching the OG Star Wars back in 1977 prepared him to meet the missionaries; he had became convinced that there really must be some sort of sacred life-force binding the universe together. For that matter, when I was in the MTC back in the early-aughts, I attended a Large Group Meeting wherein they showed us the clip from Empire Strikes Back when Yoda explains the Force to Luke, as a way to teach us missionaries about the power of the Priesthood. They knew their audience.

Of course, the whole Priesthood/Force analogy falls apart the moment you start poking at it: there is for example no “dark side of the Priesthood” (in fact, per D&C 121:37, you purportedly lose it the moment you exercise “unrighteous dominion”); LDS theology generally leans more Augustinian (evil is but a corrupted, weaker version of good), while the Star Wars moral universe is thoroughly Manichean (evil and good are equal and opposing forces); and the fact that there were also female Jedi wielding the Force definitely never came up in those Large Group Meetings^[1]Maybe they should’ve, but that’s a discussion for a different day.

But then, all analogies fall apart when you poke at them; that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun with them. My goal here isn’t to knock or denigrate Mormon Star Wars fandom in favor of Trek. (I’m a fan of both franchises, for what it’s worth.) Rather, my purpose today is to explore why there are not similarly wide-spread Mormon readings of Star Trek, wherein the LDS parallels are, in my opinion, far more numerous, obvious, and striking.

Just to back-up a second: How many futuristic dystopias can you name off the top of your head? 1984? Fahrenheit 451? Blade Runner? Mad Max? Hunger Games?  Divergent? Maze Runner? Soylent Green?  Brazil?  We could go on. 

Now, how many genuine utopias can you name? And I don’t mean seemingly-perfect societies with dark secret underbellies á la Brave New World or The Giver or what have you, no–I mean real, bona fide, beautiful utopias that you would actually want to live in.

I’ll wait.

Really, the only one in the running–the only one even existing–is Star Trek’s United Federation of Planets.  That’s it.  I defy you to name me a second.  (And no cheating by citing The Orville or the like, since those are clearly just riffs on Trek as well.)

It’s not hard to understand why there are so few utopias in fiction: we all have such Stockholm Syndrome with our misery. We treat the fact that the world always feels so miserable as proof that it’s supposed to be this way, rather than sure sign that it isn’t supposed to this way at all.

It’s similar to the Satan Syndrome in art: everyone can (and does) imagine what Satan must be like. From Milton’s Paradise Lost clear down to that silly crime-solving Lucifer TV show, Satan remains one of the most fascinating and fleshed-out characters in all of Western art & literature.  Now, by contrast, what is God like?  Sculptors, painters, poets, authors, and Hollywood hacks alike have banged their heads against the wall for veritable centuries trying to imagine a plausible God.  Compelling goodness eludes us. It’s why Dante’s Inferno is so much more widely read than Dante’s Paradiso.

Degradation, evil, and misery we just find so much easier to imagine than genuine goodness and happiness–doubtless because we have so little experience with the latter.  Likewise, Futuristic Dystopias are a dime a dozen, yet still we crank them out as though there were something “edgy” or “bold” about them.  Bah!  Dystopias are the easy way out, the lazy way out.  It takes not only real imagination but real audacity to imagine a possible future for humankind that is genuinely utopic!  Not to mention genuinely difficult: the English philosopher Mark Fisher once said that it is easier today to imagine the end of the world than the end of capitalism–Star Trek alone has tried to imagine it!

For in the Star Trek universe, all of humanity’s social problems have been solved: there is no more poverty, no inequality, no bigotry, no pollution, no exploitation, no violence, no corporations, no capitalism, not even any money–Earth is a paradise, and the interstellar Federation that it headquarters is a model society that we would all want to actually live in. Their starships are dispatched to the far reaches of the galaxy not to invade or colonize, but to explore, to learn (for “the glory of God is intelligence”). Utopia in Greek literally means “nowhere,” but here in the deepest depths of nowhere–in empty space itself–the Federation has built it!  Everyone is healthy.  Everyone is happy.  Frequently on Trek shows, we observe a staggering diversity of races and cultures–both human and alien–walking the halls, thronging the streets, strolling the promenades, just enjoying one another’s company, motivated solely by a desire to better themselves, each other, and to work for the common good. 

You will also note that this is–per our own scriptural canon–the only sort of society acceptable before the Almighty:

Acts 2:44-45–“And all that believed were together, and had all things common; And sold their possessions and goods, and parted them to all men, as every man had need.”

4 Nephi 1:3–“And they had all things common among them; therefore there were not rich and poor, bond and free, but they were all made free, and partakers of the heavenly gift.”

Mosiah 18:27–“And again Alma commanded that the people of the church should impart of their substance, every one according to that which he had; if he have more abundantly he should impart more abundantly; and of him that had but little, but little should be required; and to him that had not should be given.”

You will also note that any society that falls short of this egalitarian ideal is explicitly condemned of God:

D&C 49:20–“But it is not given that one man should possess that which is above another, wherefore the world lieth in sin.”

D&C 70:14–“Nevertheless, in your temporal things you shall be equal, and this not grudgingly, otherwise the abundance of the manifestations of the Spirit shall be withheld.”

D&C 78:6–“For if ye are not equal in earthly things ye cannot be equal in obtaining heavenly things.”

1 Timothy 6:10–“For the love of money is the root of all evil.”

And of course Christ’s declaration to the rich young man in Matthew 19:21–“If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.”

And so forth.

My point is that our scriptures (not to mention our Temple covenants) are replete with references to the Law of Consecration and the United Order, the heavenly system of perfect equality that Joseph Smith and Brigham Young both sought to establish in the American Midwest and Rocky Mountains respectively, and that we are still supposed to be striving to establish on the Earth here and now. And that same United Order is exactly what we find in the Trekverse. Like the D&C, Star Trek intuitively understands that we must be equal in Earthly things before we can obtain heavenly things. It is Zion by any other name. That which we ignorantly worship, Star Trek declares unto us.

In fact, now that I say all this out loud, it becomes depressingly obvious why Trek’s utopia isn’t nearly as beloved in Mormon spaces as Star Wars is: Zion remains far too alien for us. It’s not even on our radar. We draw close to Zion with our lips, but our hearts are far from it.

It’d be one thing if we weren’t yet living the United Order because this fallen world simply isn’t ready for it yet, but let’s be honest, we’re not even trying to prepare for it. In its place, the Utah/Idaho corridor is choked with pyramid schemes, ponzi scams, Summer Sales, hedge funds, the worship of wealth and the golden calf. (In this sense, we have earned the smog that literally chokes the region each year). We seek not to end inequality (the root of the word “iniquity”), but to exasperate it. Maybe the mass of Latter-day Saints haven’t yet adopted Star Trek as their own simply because it reminds us too much of everything we’re supposed to be, but are clearly not.

But perhaps more charitably, another potential reason why Mormondom has never quite warmed up to the Trekverse is simply because there would be no place for us in it. For all of the show’s high rhetoric about the importance of pluralism and tolerance, the Federation is an unapologetically secular humanist enterprise. Roughly a third of the episodes of the original 1960s series involved the Enterprise crew encountering–and ultimately outwitting–some God-like being (sometimes literally, like when they meet the Greek God Apollo), as an obvious way to show how humanity has progressed beyond the need for gods and religion. According to William Shatner in his memoir Star Trek Movie Memories, the big reveal in the first draft of Star Trek: The Motion Picture was supposed to be that the malevolent being at the center of energy cloud threatening Earth was Jesus Christ himself, angered that no one worshiped him anymore. The Enterprise would then kill him with photon torpedoes. (The studio wisely nixed that idea–though it later got recycled half-assedly for Star Trek V: The Final Frontier).

For that matter, the series premier for Star Trek: The Next Generation launched with the crew encountering a malicious god-like entity named Q, who puts humanity on trial for its many crimes, only to be foiled when the Enterprise-D crew proves itself to be virtuous and selfless. There’s also a fourth season TNG episode, “Devil’s Due,” wherein the crew encounters a demonic-woman who has come to claim for herself a utopic civilization that made a deal with the devil a millennium early–only to expose her as a charlatan with a hologram-projector and a cloaking-device. Captain Picard then preaches to the planet that their ancestors saved themselves not through any supernatural help, but their own committed efforts. The show could get a little sanctimonious a-times (though again, in a way that probably just reminds us too much of ourselves).

Complicating things, however, is the fact that sometimes those exact same god-like beings weren’t just obstacles for the Enterprise crew to overcome, but exemplars of humanity’s eventual destiny. Literally the first episode of the original series involved an Enterprise crewman, Gary Mitchell, attaining god-like powers after an encounter with a mysterious energy field at the edge of the galaxy, and then running amok. But the episode also makes it clear that the problem wasn’t that Mitchell was endowed with these powers, but that he received them before he was morally ready to wield them. (As Captain Kirk shouts during their final showdown, “Did you hear him joke about compassion? Above all else, a god needs compassion. Mitchell!”) In fact, I would argue that throughout the Trek, the real question is never if we should be as the Gods, but when.

Take also this scene from the otherwise-campy old episode “Arena,” wherein Captain Kirk, after sparing his enemy in hand-to-hand combat, is visited by an angelic being named, significantly, Enoch

Enoch, of an advanced alien race known as the Metrons (also a Biblical term), expresses admiration for how Kirk demonstrated “the advanced trait of mercy,” something they hardly expected from humanity; “therefore, you will not be destroyed.” He tells Kirk that he looks forward to “half-savage” humanity eventually progressing in grace and mercy through the millennia to at last join his people (the City of Enoch?) in the celestial realms; “we will contact you when you are ready.” For those of us Latter-day Saints who take seriously the ideas of Eternal Progression–of Lorenzo Snow’s “As God is now/Man may become,” the King Follett Discourse and the Temple Endowment–this scene should hold especial interest for us, because that is what we are ostensibly looking forward to as well.

We have previously published about how the potential godhood of humanity is an idea so radical, many writers have failed to even recognize the possibility at all, even when it stared them straight in the face. Star Trek alone has recognized it, and that for the same reason Trek alone has imagined a genuine utopia: Trek correctly intuits that the purpose of Zion is not just to save us, but exalt us. Again, “if ye are not equal in earthly things ye cannot be equal in obtaining heavenly things” reads D&C 78:6, with the obvious corollary being that if we are equal in earthly things, then we will obtain the heavenly–in every sense of the word.

Let us return, in fact, to Star Trek: The Motion Picture. In the final draft that actually made it to film, the big reveal is that V’Ger–the mysterious being at the center of the aforementioned energy cloud–is in fact the long-lost NASA probe Voyager 6, which had gained sentience over the centuries, amassed knowledge that spans the universe, and is now returning to Earth in order to connect with its creator and continue its evolution. Absent any actual deity to touch, Kirk’s second-mate Will Decker chooses to connect with V’Ger directly, achieving a union (an At-one-ment?) of man and machine, in an apotheosis that causes them both to ascend to another dimension and higher plain of existence. It is, to put it mildly, a literal endowment of power. As God is now, man and machine may become.

(What’s more, in conformity with D&C 131 and 132, Decker also in this moment unites with his lover and help-meet Ilyia–and that within the Holy of Holies that is V’Ger’s inner-sanctum–in order to achieve a fullness of glory as he ascends to a sort of godhood. It’s almost too on the nose, as far as LDS doctrine goes.)

Nor is this deification limited to one-offs like Gary Mitchell or Will Decker, but implicitly is available to all of humanity. Such, at least, is indicated by the Star Trek: The Next Generation series finale “All Good Things…”, wherein Q reappears.

Q, over the course of the series, had gradually shifted from a malevolent figure to more of a mischievous trickster god, one who helps nudge the crew forward in surprisingly helpful ways. Q it is who first gives them a heads-up on the coming of the Borg; Q is also who helps Captain Picard “be not ashamed of his youth” in the acclaimed episode “Tapestry.” And in their final scene together–after having spent the episode yet again nudging Picard towards the solution that will save humanity from a temporal anomaly–Q at last lays out to Picard why he has been testing and prodding him all series long: [Start at 4:18]

That moment, when Picard asks, “Q, what is it that you are trying to tell me?”–at which Q leans into his ear, only to pull back like a teasing lover–gives me chills, every single time. “You’ll find out,” Q finally says with a sly smile, bidding him adieu with a cryptic, “See you…out there.”

Of course, in the context of the series entire, it’s not hard at all to decipher what Q was trying to tell Picard–nor why he thought better of it at the last second, that idea so radical that even the screen-writers behind “Soul,” “The Good Place,” and even stupid “Bruce Almighty” could scarcely conceive of it when it stared them in the face; the same radical idea that helped get Joseph Smith shot and which Q isn’t sure Picard is ready to hear even now–namely, that humanity’s ultimate destiny is to eventually join Q and the almighty gods in the distant eternities themselves, “charting the unknown possibilities of existence.” It is a re-enactment of the same scene between Kirk and Enoch (albeit without all those campy ’60s trappings)–and it is literally a core doctrine in the LDS faith, and no others that I am aware of.

And frankly, it’s too radical for most of us members of the church, too. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we throw that Lorenzo Snow couplet into our Sunday School manuals, and the doctrine gets some late-night chatter in BYU and MTC dorm-rooms and in symposiums and Deseret Book releases from time to time; but it’s never the theme of our General Conferences, nor of our Fast & Testimony meetings, nor of our missionary discussions or what have you. We correctly intuit that its too heretical idea for most folks to handle, but we’re not exactly comfortable discussing it amongst ourselves, either. It is as alien and strange to us as the United Order. We are much more comfortable with our pitiful get-rich-quick schemes than with the riches and mysteries of the eternities.

As the LDS uber-scholar Hugh Nibley once said: “If the world is a dark and dreary place, it is because we prefer it that way; for there is nothing in the world that can keep a man from joy if joy is what he wants…It’s altogether too much for us to bear. We must learn by degrees to live with it. It isn’t strange that we are afraid of so strange and overpowering a thing, that we are overawed by the feeling that it is all too good for us; the fact is that it is too good for us! Much too good!…We are not ready yet…we [must] come to support not the burden of great suffering, but the much greater impact of limitless joy…” (“The World and the Prophets,” Complete Works Vol. 3)

Hence perhaps why more Mormons prefer Star Wars to Star Trek: we understand evil, darkness, and power-grabs much better than we do joy, wonder, and the Law of Consecration. Hence why we have not yet claimed Star Trek as our own; we still have not yet claimed the United Order as our own.

Final thought: I can already hear the objection that the core of LDS doctrine isn’t deification or apotheosis, but the Atonement of Jesus Christ, full stop. I quite agree. But again, so does Trek. The prime example is of course Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, wherein Spock lays down his life–taking lethal amounts of radiation to fix the warp drive as the adversary’s doomsday weapon counts down to zero–all in order to save his friends (for “greater love hath no man…”):

That Spock’s death occurs concurrently with the creation of a new world–the Genesis Planet–only serves to punctuate the Christ-like parallels and divine energy of his salvific sacrifice.

It is a sacrifice that we must be willing to match–to “take up our cross and follow Him”–if we are to be worthy of it. Hence in the very next film, Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, Kirk ends up having to sacrifice everything that means anything to him–his ship, his career, and (like God our Father) even his own son–in a pure Abrahamic offering to bring back Spock from the dead. A cheap easy comic-book resurrection that robs death of its meaning this is not.

Spock had placed his chakra–his immortal soul–into Dr. McCoy during their final mindmeld, you see; hence his living soul is inside McCoy while his body has been regenerated on the Genesis Planet (which has become a forbidden place, like the Garden of Eden). The sheer amount of hard choices and sacrifices Kirk must make to retrieve the body so that Spock’s body and soul can be reunited back together on Planet Vulcan become staggering. The Vulcans were always portrayed as beings of pure logic; hence it is fascinating how much of the Judaism of Leonard Nimoy’s upbringing (right down to the temple robes, the Israeli-like desert, and the Aaronic breast-plate worn by Spock’s father) is played up during the film’s finale and resurrection scene on Vulcan:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q9GWWW2d700

Also a lovely touch is how, when the resurrected Spock asks Kirk why he risked so much to come rescue him, Kirk responds simply, “The needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.” But this is more than a rhetorical flipping of Spock’s own logical “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” no; it is also an expression of Christ’s own “if a man have an hundred sheep, and one of them be gone astray, doth he not leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray? And if so be that he find it, verily I say unto you, he rejoiceth more of that sheep, than of the ninety and nine which went not astray” (Matt. 18:12-13). Star Trek III really lays out the depths of what that doctrine actually entails.

The time would fail us to also discuss the role of the worm-hole alien “Prophets” in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, or how so many of the newer Treks (e.g. Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: Picard, the JJ Abrams reboots) have forgotten the importance of that utopic vision to the series’ soul in the first place. Suffice it to say for now, the best parts of this franchise have always fully understood the necessity of atonement, resurrection, eternity, equality, progression, redemption, and the United Order. For those of us essaying to be Latter-day Saints, Star Trek is a mirror that reflects ourselves back to ourselves. May we one day have the courage to look in that mirror–not to see our worst, but our potential best. Whosoever hath ears to hear, let them hear.