A/N: A seven-year-old Spock reflects on the most significant holiday of the Vulcan people—Gad Kaunsh'es—and reaches a decision about his future. Written for the 'Holiday' challenge at Ad Astra.
This is born from two free writes completed several years ago, now meshed together into one cohesive (I hope ;) ) story.
Okay folks, here goes nuthin'. I want to preface this by saying this is a hot-button, often controversial topic, and is merely an outpouring of my own ramblings on the matter. It is in no way intended to belittle or nullify anyone's beliefs, and if there are those who find it in any way offensive, please accept my humblest apology, for that was certainly not what I had in mind.
Matters of the Vulcan Heart
"Spock," she called softly. "All done?"
"Yes, Mother," he answered politely, respectfully.
"Teeth brushed, face washed?" she asked playfully.
"Yes, Mother," he reiterated, unsure as to why she found it necessary to repeat herself—not literally, of course, but the second question had been implied by the first.
She patted his sheets, beckoning him to come and join her where she was seated on his bed. He complied, dutifully sliding his legs beneath the covers, leaning his back against the pillow, waiting expectantly for her to continue. "Are you excited about tomorrow?" she asked finally, a hint of a smile playing about her lips.
"I do not understand," the seven-year-old responded. "Tomorrow marks the most sacred holiday of the Vulcan people, celebrated universally across the planet, but it is not a time for excitement; rather for personal introspection and reflection. A way for Vulcans to appreciate the sacrifices and wisdom of our ancestors, which led to our acceptance of total logic as the basis for our current way of life, and as a means to preserve our culture and prevent the total annihilation of our race—the path that was sure to follow had we continued to allow ourselves to be ruled by our passions."
"It sounds to me like you understand perfectly," his mother answered with a hint of pride, "But did you know that this year the Vulcan holiday of Gad Kaunsh'es corresponds with a significant holiday on my homeworld as well?"
The youngster considered that for a moment. At this point in his life he was only more than peripherally familiar with two Earth holidays—Christmas and the Fourth of July. A quick mental calculation to compare the two calendars, allowing for the differences in rotational times and the length of an orbital year for each world told him unequivocally that neither one was correct. "I did not," he replied truthfully.
"Well, the holiday in question is Easter. It is a religious holiday, celebrated by many different sects all across my home planet, but in a way, it is quite similar to Gad Kaunsh'es," she informed him, a twinkle in her eyes.
"Indeed," he responded in all seriousness. "I was not aware humans had ever attempted to cast out their animal passions," he finished with no small measure of surprise.
She chuckled softly. "Oh, Spock, they aren't similar in a literal way, but figuratively."
He raised an eyebrow at that, silently waiting for clarification.
"Both represent a rebirth, of sorts. You already understand the rebirth commemorated by the Vulcan holiday. I wish to explain to you the meaning behind this holiday from my planet," she announced. "While Gad Kaunsh'es represents the intellectual rebirth of the Vulcan people, Easter represents rebirth for humans, both literally and figuratively. It is meant to denote the literal rebirth of the man Jesus Christ three days after he was crucified, but also the figurative rebirth of the human race," she continued.
Spock struggled to remember the name. "Jesus Christ is the child whose birth is observed on Christmas is he not?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Why would a child whose birth was deemed so important have been crucified later in life, Mother?" Spock had studied some of Earth's early history. He knew this was a particularly barbaric and cruel way to be put to death, and was often used for what would be considered minor crimes by today's standards throughout the galaxy.
"There are those who believe He was the Son of God, and He was sacrificed as a way to offer salvation for any of Earth's people who believed in Him."
The boy's dark eyebrows flew up in surprise. "Is there proof of this claim?" his logical mind asked. "How can one be the son of a mythical being?" For one whose life experiences were dedicated to all that was tangible, that which could be seen, touched, or explained through science, it was a most challenging hypothesis to grasp.
"There are many on my planet who do not believe God is mythical, but that He does exist, despite the fact that no one has ever seen Him. That is the primary tenet of faith. As for Christ, believers on my world see the teachings outlined in the Bible as proof of His lineage."
Spock considered this bit of information as well. The Bible was one of many religious works from his mother's world, other notable teachings being the Koran, the Tanakh, the Book of the Dead, and the Bhagavad Gita to name a few. "The Bible is a text many millennia old," the young man offered astutely, "often copied by hand by scribes who themselves were unable to read or write. Those who could were often given the task of translating the work in question into another language. How can we be sure that what was written so long ago has been accurately portrayed throughout the ages? That errors were not made in transcription or translation? And given that there are a significant number of religious texts on Earth, spanning numerous belief systems, how can we know with certainty which is correct?"
"That's the definition of faith, my son. It's not really important to know which is correct. All may be correct or incorrect in their own way. The importance is simply to believe in something, to have faith in that belief and draw strength from it."
"Forgive me, but I do not follow how these two holidays, these two principles, relate to one another. One is based in fact while the other is strictly conjecture."
"Do we know that for sure? Isn't it possible as well that that which has been written and passed down through the ages regarding the teachings of Surak and the casting out of emotions on this world have been distorted over the millennia? Or that the teachings of the Bible are accurate and come down to us without change? For those who believe this to be true, that is the epitome of the concept of faith."
"I do not understand. Please clarify this concept," the child asked, nonplussed.
"Faith is not based on something concrete, but rather is a belief not resting on logical proof or material evidence," his mother explained patiently.
"Then how is one to conclude that the events described are indeed, fact?"
"That's the biggest mystery of faith, for it doesn't come from without, but within."
"How is that possible?"
"On my world, belief in a Supreme Being stems from individual faith that despite not having seen this God, He does, in fact, exist."
"And why would one choose to believe such a thing without absolute proof?"
"It depends on your personal definition of 'absolute proof.' To Vulcans, who pride themselves on their logic and ability to explain all things rationally, it means believing only in what they can see, whereas humans sometimes believe in the intangible." At her son's look of confusion, she pressed on. "They look for ways to explain those feelings of unease that niggle at the back of your brain, perhaps dissuading one from getting on a maglev train that later crashes, killing all aboard, or the person who wakes up one day, miraculously cured from a debilitating disease that modern medicine couldn't treat. How do these things come about? There is no logical explanation, and there are many throughout the galaxy who attribute these things to faith—whether it be in the form of a Supreme Deity, the belief that ancestors who have passed on watch over and protect future generations of their families, or a concept that we have yet to learn."
"I do not comprehend the meaning of this lesson, Mother. Vulcans do not practice a belief in faith, so how is this knowledge meant to impact me?"
"I'm just trying to open your mind to the wide variety of viewpoints expressed throughout the galaxy. I didn't bring this up in an effort to undo all the concepts and philosophies you have learned to date, but to make you aware that a diverse assortment of sentient life allows for just as many differing points of view, all of which seem quite normal and natural to the races who subscribe to them. Just as logic and the casting out of emotions worked for the Vulcan people, faith can and has proven to be a powerful tool for others. Unfortunately, differences in faith can also lead to horrible tragedies, to huge misunderstandings between people who cannot see eye to eye because their basic ideologies differ from one another.
"I just want you to realize that in some things, there may be more than one answer, and that each may be right in its own way. That just because we can't explain something, or understand it fully, that doesn't make it wrong by default."
A frown creased the youngster's brow. "It is a complicated concept," he admitted finally, confusion swirling in the dark eyes that met hers.
"Agreed," she conceded. "And declarations of faith, or what one group of people considers to be of supreme importance can often be difficult for others to comprehend.
"There will come a time in your life when your experiences are not solely limited to this planet, or how Vulcans view the world around them," she announced prophetically, "and you will therefore need to understand that there are many philosophies throughout the galaxy; that all races and sentient beings need to be mindful and respectful of these differences if we are to be able to live together in harmony."
The confusion suddenly lifted from the youthful face. "It is much like the concept of IDIC," he declared resolutely.
"Exactly. It was a lesson it took us a long time to understand and master on Earth, and is a lesson that is now being played out in the galaxy as we encounter more and more intelligent life. As Vulcan's Ambassador to the Federation, your father must juggle ideas such as these on a daily basis. They influence how he interacts with those around him, and rightly so. Faith may not be logical, but it is of great importance, especially for those who have it, and we must never forget that."
The boy pondered that in silence, sliding farther beneath his blankets and laying himself down upon the mattress. His mother pulled the covers up around him, smoothing them across his slender form.
"Just something to remember and consider during your reflections and private meditations of tomorrow," she stated softly as she climbed to her feet, switched off the lamp, and pulled his bedroom door closed gently behind her.
oooOOOooo
Spock lay in bed, the soft starlight playing over the walls and floor of his bedroom as he contemplated those words for many hours. He knew, as did his parents, that tomorrow's holiday would hold special significance for him this year. In light of that, what lesson was his mother trying to impart, besides the obvious one she had expressed to him? Was it meant to be an affirmation of her faith in him? That he was free to choose the path that best suited him, even if that should be the Vulcan one? That was a path his older half-brother (they shared a common father) viewed as the highly successful attempt to stifle the very heart and soul of the Vulcan people, yet to his father it represented salvation for the only son he had sired who still had the option and potential presence of mind to choose to embrace the tenets of Surak. The only one who could still offer Sarek the redemption he sought in the eyes of his fellow Vulcans.
Thoughts of his brother, Sybok, banished from their home and all of Vulcan as well, led to an overload of conflicting emotions that manifested as a sharp pain in his forehead, a burning in his eyes. Sybok had expressed unwavering faith in Spock, believing that due to his mixed heritage his baby brother could temper the passionate Vulcan side of his soul by understanding and embracing the human part of himself that lent itself easily to the expression of emotion. That he, Spock, of all people, could accomplish this without being a slave to the logic and non-emotion touted by the Vulcan people as the only course to true enlightenment. Were Spock to follow this rigorous, restrictive path, Sybok felt his younger sibling would thereby be dismissing half of who he was.
But where Sybok was ready to reject his brother's logical, unemotional Vulcan side, it seemed to Spock that his mother wanted him to find the balance between the two separate parts of his psyche. This view was quite different from that of his father, who believed the only way Spock could master the human side of himself was by bottling it up, locking it away, using his Vulcan half to keep the alien emotions under tight control—the epitome of what tomorrow's holiday represented.
Spock recalled again what Gad Kaunsh'es—the Day of Remembrance—was meant to signify. It was the most important holiday on his world, a day dedicated to commemorating the most noteworthy event in his planet's long and tumultuous history. It marked the day Surak had proposed total logic to a war-torn planet in order to keep a society whose technology was ever improving from completely annihilating all life on the planet, from destroying in one fell swoop a race that had the capacity for greatness. Surak's philosophy became the method Vulcans were able to use to harness their ardor, their zeal, and channel this collective fervor into the pursuit of intellectual enlightenment as opposed to the utter destruction of everything and everyone around them.
At least that was the interpretation favored by his father and all the adult Vulcans who had a significant role in Spock's young life. But for his half-brother, the Day of Remembrance held a different meaning altogether. The boys had discussed it last year, several days after the holiday had passed, on a night when their parents had attended a function at the diplomatic headquarters in Shi'Kahr, leaving the two at home.
"And what does Gad Kaunsh'es mean to you, little brother?" Sybok had asked him.
Again, Spock had reflected on the holiday, two thousand years in the making, so very different from the ones traditionally celebrated on his mother's world. On Terra, there were no holidays that marked the coming together of the entire planet's population. Most were driven by the many different religions on his mother's homeworld, or the achievements of individual governments or countries. And often, the true meaning of the celebration became lost in the act of celebrating itself. The need to give gifts or observe a pivotal historical or sacred event with boisterousness and overindulgence frequently overshadowed the significance of that singular milestone which was being honored.
Vulcan holidays and celebrations were much more cerebral, the focus squarely centered on the message which made the day worthy of remembrance. The youngster chose his response carefully: "Survival," he said at last.
Sybok snorted. "You mean subjugation."
They had gone back and forth for over an hour, discussing what each believed to be the merits of the opposing philosophies. Sybok believed that by caging and controlling their emotions, the Vulcan people were no longer free to be who they were meant to be. But the older boy's opinions were considered heretical, and were what ultimately led to his banishment three months ago. And yet, Spock found he was unable to dismiss them completely, at least privately. He had staunchly defended what he saw as a necessary shift in thinking, but much as he wanted to believe otherwise there was some truth to Sybok's words, particularly when applied to Spock's unique situation.
The youngster found himself torn between the opposing viewpoints. He strove to conduct himself as a proper Vulcan son; someone befitting the station in life into which he had been born. His was one of the more prestigious families, able to trace its roots back several thousand years. A noble House, quite undeserving of the taint his alien blood had brought to it. It was a situation only he could remedy, by conducting himself in a manner befitting one from the great line of Soltar.
But most of all, Spock wanted his father to be proud of him. While he knew unequivocally that his mother loved him unconditionally, he was not so sure this was the case where his father was concerned. Sarek had already allowed one son to be banished for not being Vulcan enough. If his father could not love him, Spock at least wanted to earn Sarek's respect. Seeing the disappointment that sometimes flared in his father's eyes when his behavior was less than Vulcan was often difficult to bear.
And yet, in order to do so, it meant he would have to deny that part of himself he had inherited from his mother. Despite his desire to prove himself to his father, there was the human child in him that still delighted in the time he shared with his mother when it was just the two of them; the part that took pleasure in seeing the joy in her eyes when he'd permit himself to smile shyly at her, or when a giggle escaped his lips as she tickled him, or when they played the Earth game called hide-and-seek in her terraced garden.
For the last seven years it had been a paradox, made more difficult during the fifteen months his half-brother had spent living with the family upon the death of Sybok's mother. The older boy's presence had only given rise to more questions, not helped bring about a resolution for the course his younger brother's life would take.
Spock didn't wish to exclude either of his parents by choosing one part of his heritage over the other, but was just now beginning to realize that this desire to spare them both was unrealistic, an idealistic dream viewed naively through the eyes of a child. He was seven now, almost a man grown, and could no longer subscribe to the folly and caprices of childhood.
He suspected that was the reasoning behind his parents' intention for him to attend the play in the outdoor amphitheater tomorrow: a reenactment of Surak's struggle to master his emotions—emotions that at the time were an integral part of the Vulcan psyche. It would show the conflict raging within Surak, a battle they knew Spock was currently waging, and one he would need to resolve before his kahs-wan next month—the mile-marker for choosing his life's path. Over the last few weeks he and his father had had numerous discussions regarding his upcoming life choice. Sarek had carefully explained the benefits of selecting the Vulcan way. Obviously not wishing to contradict his father his mother had kept silent, but Spock feared that she might view a desire on his part to be wholly Vulcan as a callous, calculated dismissal of her. Even though he could not express it openly he did love her and did not wish to make her think that he was ashamed of her in any way.
Growing up as a hybrid on this world, born of a Vulcan father and human mother, the struggle with his emotions was much more real for him, much more difficult, and frequently altogether confusing. In many ways, this task was much easier for his peers. Centuries of careful breeding and conditioning of the Vulcan mind had ensured that a predisposition for logic and control over their feelings was coded into their genetic makeup. For others his age, suppressing emotion had become instinctual, almost a reflex, but for him it was a constant battle to get the two halves of his psyche to coexist, to work together. And at this stage in his life, he often found himself failing miserably.
But Sybok was wrong, I see that now, he decided with the conviction of the very young. The only way our people were to survive was to adopt the philosophy of logic and non-emotion. Gad Kaunsh'es represents my survival, my salvation as well. If I am to find my place among my father's people it must be so. If Surak could manage it, then so can I, he resolved. I am not so different than he was all those millennia ago, and therefore am as able as any to achieve anything to which I set my mind.
The taunts of his schoolmates rang in his ears: Earther, barbarian, Terran, emotional Earther. He would prove them wrong; he would prove everyone who doubted him wrong. And he might as well start now. Closing his eyes and regulating his breathing, he willed his racing mind to be calm, be still, as the tendrils of sleep began to wrap themselves around the welcome silence.
A/N: To learn more about young Spock's relationship with Sybok see my story "Shiav."