Saving the Kobayashi Maru

Lately I've had several friends facing emotional trials. As I'm not normally the most perceptive or even emotionally stable person myself (in my opinion), I'm finding it an unusual position to be in, struggling to support and advise them.
A couple times my friends have found themselves facing a set of choices of which none were satisfactory. In short, they could see no way to win--or even come out happy. I admit, it has been frustrating to discover that I am fairly helpless to help solve these problems. What I bring to the table is generally fairly specific: I am good at thinking through problems systematically, and I have a strong faith in the power of God. Both have served me well when I apply them, and have often been useful to my friends.
Now I find that neither strength is of use, as all I can do is be a supportive presence, muttering the same encouraging words any good friend would. All my scheming and brainstorming can't solve these problems for them, and it frustrates me.

Through this, though, I have learned something important about myself:

I don't believe in the no-win scenario.

Now, that statement requires a bit of background. Forgive me a moment of nerdiness.

In t.v. series and subsequent movies called Star Trek (the original), the hero, Captain James T. Kirk (William Shatner) is a swashbuckling, daring, smart captain who originally existed for the sole purpose of solving the numerous problems the crew of the starship Enterprise ran into during their space explorations. Despite his fairly one-dimensional character, one trait emerged that was both highly characteristic of him and actually quite deep.
This trait was best summarized in the second Star Trek movie, The Wrath of Khan.
It begins with a Vulcan officer (Vulcans are the superlogical folks, this one is actually played by Kirstie Alley) commanding a ship in a test simulation. They recieve a distress call from a ship called the Kobayashi Maru, which is in the neutral zone between them and a hostile alien empire. To ignore the ship is to allow them to die. To enter is to take their lives into their own hands. They enter, and are ambushed by three alien vessels, who promptly destroy them. After the test, the Vulcan confronts Kirk and complains that it wasn't a fair test of her abilities, because there was no way to win. Kirk gives her the line everyone does: sometimes, you face a scenario you can not win, and how you respond to the situation matters. The test is a test of character and a lesson. Of course, his colleagues inform her that Kirk is actually the only person in Starfleet history who has actually beat the Kobayashi Maru scenario (though he doesn't tell her how).

Later in the movie, Kirk has been outmaneuvered and marooned by an old and brilliant enemy, Khan. Khan is genetically engineered to be the superior being, both through charisma, through intellect, and even physically (played by Ricardo Montalban, who had huge pecks). The straits seem dire, but Kirk seems unworried and content to wait a bit. The same Vulcan is with him and a few others, and she asks him how he beat the Kobayashi Maru test. He tells her that he hacked the program and made it possible to rescue the ship.
"He cheated!"
"I changed the conditions of the test...
I don't believe in the no-win scenario."

Upon which, Kirk contacts his ship and reveals that he has tricked Khan and is in a better position than we thought he was.

Today I saw the new Star Trek movie, and to my delight the Kobayashi Maru and the principles behind it played a large role. They did an amazing job of portraying Kirk, and showing that irrepressible faith of his that there was always a way to win . . . even if victory meant sacrifice.


As I have pondered my friends' problems and the options that seemed to suggest a hopeless future, I found myself rebelling against the notion that these choices were really the only options, rebelling against despair.
Like Kirk, I don't believe in the no-win scenario. When I find choices that contain no way to be happy in the long-run, I feel that simply means I'm defining the problem wrong...or defining success wrong. The solution, when faced with such choices, is to look for a new option, to redefine the problem, or to redefine my objectives. To give in to the idea that I'm caught in a catch-22 is to fall into a trap. Those are the kind of choices Satan loves to throw at us, to make us think that there is no cause for hope.

It's true that I worry a lot. It's true that I often allow my thoughts to cascade down into claims of hopelessness and failure. I always balk, however, at actually accepting that hopelessness. When I am having a crappy day and someone asks me how life is, I give the honest answer: life is wonderful. My day sucked, but God is good, it is good to be alive, and The World is Just Awesome.

The Kobayashi Maru can be rescued. It's just a question of how, and are we willing to do what it takes?