The Inconceivable Courage of Sincerity

What The Princess Bride & Star Trek can teach us about dropping our armor

There is too much cynicism and not enough sincerity in modern life. We live in a time that treats cynicism as a form of intelligence. Irony has become the default setting and detachment is our shield. We are terrified of looking stupid or caring too much. We avoid believing too much in something lest it might ultimately break us.

But this ‘armor’ comes at a cost. When we are inured against vulnerability, we are not actually protecting ourselves from disappointment; we just proactively rob our lives of color.

Cynicism is not wisdom. The real driver of a meaningful life - and the only force capable of powering a full and adventurous existence - is sincerity.

The Inconceivable Triumph of The Princess Bride

I recently finished As You Wish: Inconceivable Tales from the Making of The Princess Bride by Cary Elwes. One of the recurring themes in the book is this wonder as how/why The Princess Bride eventually became one of the most beloved films of all-time. There are a myriad of reasons - timing, casting, the burgeoning VHS market, the fact that it’s just a damn good flick.

But I think the major reason that both the book and the movie have struck a chord with the public is its sincerity. It is neither maudlin nor ironic. In the hands of a lesser author than William Goldman, a story about giants, sword fights, miracles, and “true love” would have been written with a sarcastic wink to the audience. It would have had a protective layer of meta-commentary to shield the audience from looking naive.

But Goldman did not wink. He committed completely.

The film succeeded and continues to endure decades later because of its sincerity. It dares to believe in the reality of its own adventure. It treats the love betwixt Westley and Buttercup not as a cliche to be mocked, but as something worth braving the dangers of the Fire Swamp for.

Goldman proved that you don’t have to sacrifice your wit or sharpness to be sincere.

Picard vs Cynicism

Whereas Goldman chose sincerity from the start, Jean Luc-Picard’s journey in Star Trek: Generations shows us the difficulty of regaining it.

At the beginning of the movie, Picard is a broken man. He has just learned that his brother and nephew have been killed in a fire. The tragedy hits him hard; his family line ends with him. He will leave no legacy, no children, no future.

In his grief, Picard falls into an understandable and defensive form of cynicism. He begins to view the passage of time as an active enemy - a predator that is slowly hunting down everything and everyone he has valued.

And so he is led toward the Nexus, a physical manifestation of the ultimate cynical temptation. Inside the Nexus, time stops. Grief disappears. Picard is handed a perfect, simulated family in a never-ending Christmas. It is a protective shell where nothing can be lost. Because nothing is real.

Eventually, he realizes that a life without the risk of ending is no life at all. To stay in the Nexus is to let cynicism and despair win.

In choosing to leave that false paradise, to stand and fight with James T. Kirk opposing a madman, Picard vanquishes his own cynicism. He accepts that life is finite and that his loved ones are gone. Yet he refuses to let that pain turn him cold. He steps back into the flow of time, ready to enjoy the journey again, knowing that the fleeting nature of life is what makes each moment worth cherishing.

You Seem a Decent Fellow…

We worry that if we care too deeply about our work, our relationships, our dreams, we will look foolish or silly when things do not go perfectly.

Picard’s final realization in Generations reminds us of the opposite:

"Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. But I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey, and reminds us to cherish every moment because they'll never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived. After all, Number One, we're only mortal."

Sincerity does not rob us of our edge. It doesn’t make us naive to the dangers of the world. It certainly does not insulate us from avoiding grief. What it does, what it can do is grant us the courage to actually step out onto the field.

If we want to live lives that are daring and deeply felt, we have to find the courage to drop our armor. We have to stop treating time like a predator and start walking with it like a companion. Only then, with clear eyes and full hearts, can we finally begin the journey.