24
Growth, change, and
the definition of power
Star Wars Rebels, Season 3, Episode 20, “Twin Suns”
Writers: Dave Filoni & Henry Gilroy
Director: Dave Filoni
We were all geared up for a fight. A good, old-fashioned, light versus dark, lightsaber fight. Episode twenty of the third season of Star Wars Rebels was building up to the final duel between Maul and Obi-Wan Kenobi. Thirty years in the making, following Maul’s first “death” at the hands of Kenobi on Naboo, this feud was going to be settled. Under the stars of Tatooine and by a humble campfire, these two adversaries faced off. Kenobi stood at the ready, in the fighting stance of his former master Qui-Gon Jinn, not to attack or even defend himself, but to protect Luke Skywalker. Maul seethed and ignited his double-bladed saber. In seconds, it was over. Maul tried to use the same tactics that killed Qui-Gon, and Kenobi countered. In three quick hacks of a lightsaber, it was done.
That was it?
That was all?
This was the fight?
Yes. That was it because this final duel was never going to be just a fight. This wasn’t the leaping, flipping, slashing sequel to the iconic duel on Naboo. This wasn’t meant to be a simple lightsaber duel easily squeezed into your best of lists. It was more than that. This was about dueling ideologies. Vengeance versus forgiveness. A lesson in growth and the importance of change. And, above all, it was about the definition of power.
It’s ok to question things in Star Wars. That is sometimes lost on fans, especially in this modern age of discussion-based media where content begs you to have an immediate opinion and proper place for everything you’ve just watched or read. Though this is pretty straightforward entertainment, it has absolutely affected all of us on many levels. That doesn’t mean you’re going to love everything presented to you and it doesn’t mean everything is going to be fully understood upon first viewing. Star Wars is popcorn storytelling, but it was created by a true artist who wanted to make a modern myth and those creating it now follow the same desire to add to that myth. And myths teach, challenge, and counsel. Give yourself the space to grow and to look at things a second time.
It would have served Maul a little better if he had done the same.
Maul has spent his entire life burning with rage. His existence can be tracked on a straight line. Now, to be certain, Maul had no choice in how his path began. He was given over to Palpatine as a child and raised to be a weapon for the Sith Lord. Inside Maul was a suffering that could never be healed, though he definitely tried. Everything he did was defined by his ability to conquer, rule, menace, and destroy. That fruitless pursuit of revenge lurked in the shadows of everything he did, and all of his revenge-filled rage was focused squarely on Kenobi (though Palpatine certainly stopped getting Life Day cards from Maul). Maul pulled himself back up from death, rebuilt himself, and fought violently to get back to where he felt it all went wrong. Every path he stomped down in his life has led him to this one final grasp for power: Kill Kenobi and win this lifelong fight. He’s shocked, though, at what he finds.
Obi-Wan Kenobi had everything a decent, code-abiding Jedi could want at one point. He was trained by one of the best Jedi, pulled deep into the inner circle of the Order, and sporting an impressive resume of victories, successful missions, and friends all around the galaxy. (I’m pretty sure Dexter Jettster named a space sandwich after him.) Obi-Wan Kenobi was a poster boy for the light side, but along the way fortunes turned, loved ones died, and everything he believed in or everyone he trusted had to be challenged, not unlike Maul. Kenobi’s view of the galaxy had to change. Unlike Maul, he knew he had to change to find true healing. A new purpose was in front of him and it took Kenobi far from the glorious heights he had been residing in and away from any personal desires. Maul arrived to find what he describes as a “rat in the desert.”
Nearly thirty years have passed since they first met. Then, Maul was a seething ball of evil, confidently devouring his prey, and Kenobi was an anxious, eager Padawan ready to leap at his mentor’s killer. Now, beneath the Tatooine moonlight, Maul has arrived as the exact same, seething creature to find a calm, patient Jedi at peace with what he must do and knowing that he rose above all the temptations, trials, and losses that brought him here. Kenobi has changed and accepted his new purpose in life. Maul cannot understand it.
This is not a fight with lightsabers. This is a fight with words and Maul strikes first, japing that he shouldn’t even worry about killing Kenobi and should just leave him amongst this squalor, alone, adrift, and powerless. Kenobi strikes back, telling Maul, “If you define yourself by the power to take life, the desire to dominate, to possess…then you have nothing.” A fatal blow of truth before one weapon has even been drawn. Seconds later, Maul is dying in his rival’s arms. Thirty years and no change or growth. Thirty years and no hint of forgiveness. Thirty years in pursuit of the wrong kind of power. It cost Maul everything.
We were all indeed geared up for a fight, Maul–Kenobi 2, the final chapter in a heated rivalry, but this moment asked you to look at the story in another way. The final image is Kenobi holding a dying Maul. It is not a moment of victory, it’s a moving moment of compassion. A perfect end to the tale of this feud. Kenobi provides peace to the being that spent a lifetime trying to destroy him. It was compassion over vengeance. It was growth versus the same path. It was the power to kill falling before the power to heal.
That was the real fight all along.