This is an episode that has, it seems to me, gradually attracted ever-increasing attention and admiration over time—and rightly so. It’s not at all the sort of episode that becomes an instant classic: neither epic, flashy, and action-packed, nor even deeply personal and character-focused. And yet, it is both profound and deeply moving. My notion that it has garnered increasing praise over time is merely a subjective impression based on personal experience and may well be inaccurate, but in my mind, if there is any TNG episode that could be described as the show’s “sleeper hit,” that episode would be “Darmok.” In any case, it’s a fantastic piece of work that deserves every accolade bestowed upon it. It is quite unique, and yet it’s also classically Trek in the very best of senses. As a tightly focused exploration of a big thematic idea, it has few peers…and perhaps no other episode has ever embodied the ideals baked into Trek’s identity, about “seeking out new life and new civilizations,” as profoundly and beautifully as this one does.
To be sure, “Darmok” is the sort of episode whose plot requires a generous helping of suspension of disbelief. To a viewer who was not willing or able to allow for some poetic license, it would be easy to nitpick it to death. Why is the Tamarians’ language, uniquely among all the languages encountered by the Federation, impervious to the technological wizardry of the universal translator? Could a people truly communicate entirely via imagery and allusions (even, for instance, about highly technical matters)? And even if so, could they not still (by virtue of having the vocabulary necessary to invoke those images and allusions) at least understand the more literalistic communication style of outsiders? Etc. But, hey, this is and has always been a show about people zooming around the galaxy at speeds many times faster than that of light, and interacting with aliens who mostly turn out to be surprisingly similar to humans. Suspension of disbelief has always been the price of admission…and science fiction’s entire raison d’etre revolves around using high-concept yet fantastical scenarios to dramatize meaningful ideas in new ways. And on the level of metaphor (precisely, that is, in that realm of thought in which the Tamarians are most at home!), this episode just sings.
We open with an irresistible premise: a mysterious alien race, seemingly friendly yet historically impossible to communicate with, has sent the Federation a message that seems clearly to represent an opening, an overture to establishing some kind of connection. You know…exactly what the Federation is all about? And, past failures notwithstanding, overcoming barriers to communication is sort of what our heroes do, right? It’s usually a matter of patience and imagination, Picard says. So, there’s plenty of good will on both sides. And yet, the “Children of Tama” do prove, initially, quite hard to fathom. They speak in gibberish, and make decisions that our people wouldn’t make. They even abduct the captain, for crying out loud! Their motives don’t make obvious sense. What are they playing at? On the other hand, once they are down on the planet together—just two people alone in the wilderness—Picard almost can’t help but to identify with Dathon, and to develop a genuine respect for him. The story plays out, and he has his series of epiphanies, and they have their coming together, and between the quality of the writing and the genius that is Patrick Stewart, it hits home far more forcefully than any attempt at description (at least by me) could possibly convey. Our captain’s initial moment of triumphant understanding (“That’s how you communicate, isn’t it?”) has always stood out as the episode’s single most memorable, defining, signature moment (easy to riff on and parody, but no less great for that). But the more intimate, fireside moment, when he comes to understand the significance of “Darmok and Jalad” and thus to appreciate Dathon’s full purpose and intentions, packs an even greater punch. When Pciard whispers, with that awed and tender smile of understanding, his realization that after arriving at Tenagra separately, Darmok and Jalad “left together,” it never fails to send chills down my spine. Because that’s the whole of what this episode is about: two parties, who don’t initially understand one another, overcoming their separateness, coming to see each other (or to see themselves in each other?), and being changed—enriched—by the experience. It speaks powerfully to one of our most fundamental needs as human beings, as well as to a core ideal at the heart of everything Star Trek.
The shipboard side of the episode is, for the most part, relatively routine in comparison to the planetside portion, but it more than gets the job done. Data and Troi manage, through research and analysis, to make enough progress in figuring out the Tamarians’ way of thinking and communicating (on an intellectual level that complements the more visceral and emotional meeting of minds that Picard and Dathon achieve) to pull the plot together and underline the theme, and Riker manages to overcome the Tamarians’ obstacles and rescue the captain without triggering all-out hostilities. (I recall finding RIker a bit overly impatient and aggressive on past viewings, but I found myself judging him more leniently this time around.) And when it comes to evocative utterances that are rich with layers of figurative and symbolic meaning, Data (for my money) takes the prize. The senior officers have gathered in the observation lounge in classic TNG fashion, and he and Troi are sharing what they’ve figured out with Riker and the others. Troi offers the example of “Juliet on her balcony” as the sort of allusion via which the Tamarians communicate, and after some more talk, Crusher picks up on the difficulty: if she didn’t know who Juliet was, or understand the context of the scene, the reference would have no meaning to her. And then Data, our perennial student of human nature, summarizes: In order to understand the Tamarians, “it is necessary for us to learn the narrative from which [they] draw their imagery.” Has he not, here, lain his finger precisely on the thing that lies at the heart of all of our failures of communication and understanding? Everyone is a stranger, an “other,” an alien, until we have learned their narrative. Only then can we understand them. And then, on another level, this exchange (and Data’s line) speaks to the power and purpose of storytelling in general, whether the stories be about Darmok and Jalad, Gilgamesh and Enkidu, or the officers of the starship Enterprise. We tell stories to better understand ourselves and each other.
And so, in the episode’s final scene, we see Picard reading up on “the Homeric hymns, one of the root metaphors of our own culture.” If learning another person’s (or people’s) narratives opens the door to understanding them, then attention to one’s own foundational stories is surely a key to self-awareness and self-knowledge, and Jean-Luc Picard (who looks both to the past, as an enthusiastic amateur archeologist, and to the future, as an explorer of the unknown) has always been a person who appreciates how linked these different kinds of understanding are. Captain Dathon obviously understood, too. There is a sense that the two are kindred spirits, notwithstanding the cultural divide separating them. The final moments, with Picard reflecting on how Dathon risked everything, and ultimately gave up his own life, “just for the hope of…communication…connection,” and then imitating the Tamarian captain’s hand gestures in a kind of respectful salute, are just beautiful. We all, as human beings, yearn for connection, and we all struggle to overcome the barriers that divide us. How much are we willing to risk in pursuit of these things?