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revdorothyl at 04:16pm on 07/03/2004 under angel episode commentary
revdorothyl at 04:16pm on 07/03/2004 under angel episode commentary[Sorry for more delays. My younger sister drove down from Milwaukee yesterday to stay the week with me and help me clean up my pig-sty of an apartment (she's already made an excellent start on bringing order to all my chaos, bless her heart), so this is the first chance I've had to continue posting, since Friday night when they started to turn the lights out in the library. Hopefully, I'll be able to get the rest of my first reactions to the AtS episode "Shells" down while sister is napping.]
III. "I'm Not Stupid, I'm Not Expendable, and I'm Not Going" (or, 'Ding-Dong. Avon Calling.')
After I logged out on Friday, I realized that there was yet ANOTHER science fiction show (beyond the aforementioned "Babylon 5" episode -- where Sheridan ended up dying, but then also 'got better'), even further back in time, which the Wesley-Illyria interactions were calling to mind.
One of the episodes Tanith Lee wrote for the British sci-fi series "Blake's 7" in the early 1980's -- an episode appropriately titled "Sarcophagus" -- featured an ancient and powerful being whose rebirth had been prophesied. Somehow the sarcophagus infected the mind of the telepathic Callie and was draining her life-force to create a new body for itself, in Callie's image only super-powered and kind of metallic-looking.
As I recall, Avon (the brainy stud in black leather with lots of attitude, source of that immortal quote, "I'm not stupid, I'm not expendable, and I'm not going" -- sort of the Spike/Wesley combo guy of his day, come to think of it) was able to stop the resurrection just in time, by challenging the creature to kill him: "Go ahead. MAKE ME DIE. There's nothing else you can make me do."
The creature had been trying to use her resemblance to Callie to seduce Avon into cooperating (saying that Callie didn't want to fight her, to resist the transfer of life-energy, but that Avon could console himself for Callie's death by getting cosy with HER, now), but Avon was having none of it, and rather than let this super-being kill Avon, Callie forced herself to break their psychic connection at the last minute (as Avon had known she would, 'cause it turns out Callie had a fondness for him), thus destroying the creature for good.
Way too much information for anyone who's never seen that old series, I know, but I find the resemblance interesting. Even more intriguing are the differences, since -- unlike Fred -- Callie had been depressed over the recent murder of her home world, her twin sister, and almost all of her race, and was vulnerable to something 'greater than herself' offering to make the pain go away, but Callie COULD reverse the parasitic relationship up until the very last second, if she WANTED to badly enough. Our Fred, on the other hand, had been happy-happy, getting all cosy with Wes before Illyria started to eat her up, and Fred's resistance and intense desire to stay -- right up until the last second and maybe a bit beyond -- didn't seem to matter at all, as far as the outcome was concerned. Fred was dragged, valiantly kicking and screaming, from her life and all that she held dear, rather than seduced into surrendering it painlessly.
Again, I have to wonder about the theology behind that part of the story-line, where a human being can be so essentially choiceless, not just over whether her body lives or dies, but over the disposition of her own soul. I could get rather depressed about that, I think. But then, I was never very comfortable with the doctrine of 'Double Predestination' (horrendously oversimplified, this refers to the idea that just as some are predestined to be saved, no thanks to their own efforts, so also some are predestined to be damned, no matter what they do).
In a way, what happened to Fred in AtS 5.15 and 5.16 seems like a rather monstrous, negative-image version of the "T.U.L.I.P." Calvinism of the late 17th century: Total depravity, meaning all humans are infected with evil and incapable of earning salvation on their own; Unconditional election, meaning (among other things) that your salvation is no thanks to your own works; Limited atonement, meaning that Christ died for some but not for all (if I've understood this right); Irresistible grace (pretty much self-explanatory, by this time); and Perseverence of the saints, meaning that if you're one of the elect, one of those predestined to be saved, you will persevere in your efforts to live a Godly life.
Call this 'T.U.L.I.P. Whedonism', maybe: Total humanity, Unconditional calling to be slayers and champions, Limited hope for outside help, Irresistible mutual attraction, and Perseverence of ensouled vampires.
Yeah, I admit that needs a lot of work, but I only just now thought of it, so give me a little credit.
IV. "Worthy is the Lamb" (or, 'Please Pass the Mint Jelly?')
No matter how I try to get past it, I keep coming up against the sacrificial imagery and language used to describe Fred and her fate this week and last. Since I do happen to have my Bible handy tonight, I couldn't help but turn to Revelation 5:12, "...'Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!'"
Many times, it seemed, during the course of "Shells" someone felt the need to expound upon Fred's worthiness and wonderfulness. Here's the execrable Knox's version of the "Hymn to Fred":
Given the choice, Fred would doubtless have said "Thanks, but no, thanks" to the 'honor' for which Knox had chosen her. But, of course, she didn't get the chance, didn't get that choice.
Looking over the notes I took during my second viewing of this episode -- the sections of dialogue I tried to get down word-for-word on paper -- there seem to be two themes that get hammered home, over and over and over again: 1) Fred's gone, and 2) Fred was the best of the best -- 'practically perfect in every way.' ("I love my dead, straight Fred!")
Wesley, of course, ends up singing the hymn to Fred more than anyone else, with several variations on these words to Angel in an early scene: "...You didn't feel her die. She was shaking with pain and terrified, and so brave! She was better than anyone I know, better than.... She's gone." [followed by the 3rd most popular theme song of this episode, as Angel replies, "I know. Now let's get her back."]
I've seen some of the rather compelling arguments people have made about Fred being Mutant Enemy's own "Mary Sue" character, the one who's so perfect she's almost insufferable in her wonderfulness, and who dies heroically/tragically, leaving the regular characters free to grieve her passing and the empty place that will forever remain in their hearts or at their table, because she's so irreplaceable.
Whatever the reason, it DOES seem that many of Fred's human foibles and weaknesses were filed down this season (apparently consigned to the same circular file as her romance with Gunn, who had killed a man for her when he couldn't talk her out of her desire to take lethal revenge on the professor who'd tried to kill her, thus taking the burden of blood-guilt in her place and marking the beginning of the end for their relationship), leaving Fred as the girl everybody loved (or at least didn't mind too much, if you count Eve), the one whose goodness seemed least vulnerable to the evil temptations of W&H.
And so she was transformed into the worthy sacrifice, spotless and without blemish?
Or had the writers simply written themselves into a corner, using Fred too often as the fount of all goodness, the mirror in which others could see the best of themselves reflected back to them? Had it come to the point where an astounding capacity for food, a tendency to babble when excited or nervous, social skills forever altered by her sojourn in Pylea, and an occasional and quite understandable blood-thirstiness in defense of herself or her loved ones, were no longer sufficient 'foibles' to make her an interesting character?
And, since it would be too "been-there-done-that" if Fred simply became a vampire or went all dark and vengeance-y on us, the only option seemed to be to kill Fred off completely, forever beyond all hope of resurrection or reclamation, and leave behind a fish-out-of-water demon goddess with only the merest fragments of human memory and an urgent need for remedial education in the most basic aspects of human life?
Plus, as a bonus, her death allows Wes and Gunn and Angel and Spike, each in their own unique ways, to confront their own weaknesses and worst fears, apparently.
V. "The Pandora Pandemic?" (or, 'In Case of Emergency, Break Glass')
When a friend in Iowa, after seeing "A Hole in the World" (AtS 5.15), argued that Fred was being portrayed as Pandora, I pooh-poohed, her, I'm afraid. I countered that Fred had NOT chosen to open that sarcophagus, or done anything which could be construed as INVITING or CHOOSING what had happened to her, through giving in to temptation of some kind. I felt quite secure in that opinion . . . until this latest episode, when Wes started talking as though Fred's only besetting 'sin' or weakness was her curiosity.
Contemplating the sarcophagus in Fred's former lab, Wes muses out loud to Harmony, "She was curious. That's why Fred didn't put it into containment immediately. How things work, what makes them special -- she was always searching for what other people couldn't see. She was just curious. I think I hate her a little for that."
And Fred's not the only one Wes is having a little trouble forgiving, it seems.
Gunn's desire to know how things work in the legal world, to be special himself (though, of course, I'd argue that he already WAS special and never needed that mental enhancement in order to be a worthy member of the champions' club) led HIM to open a box, of sorts, that he sorely wishes he could shut again, now. And the fact that Wes can understand how Gunn feels only seems to make it harder to forgive (in fact, it could be argued that when Wes stabs Gunn, he's really stabbing himself -- blaming himself for coming to W&H, for taking the bait, along with everyone else, because he wanted to be more and better than he had been, and for not being able to keep Fred from dying -- AND in a sense he's also stabbing FRED, whose curiosity and interest in all things special and unusual and dangerous has contributed to his current pain:
VI. "Extraordinary Sneakiness" (or, 'Comes the Apocalypse, Don't Count Us Out')
Of course, in spite of what Knox, or any of us, might like to think, there's no getting away from our humanity, it seems. As Angel declaims in his challenge to Illyria,
That's what we do, we humans, we people, in spite of all the unlovely and unlovable aspects to our character and behavior. We value human lives. And that's what makes us better than the old ones, it seems.
Us.
For all Angel's angst and moaning about not being emotionally useful or part of humanity, not being deserving, etc. ("I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!"), when push comes to shove he sees his virtues as human virtues, and he counts himself as "one of us." (Interesting that Gunn, in the passage quoted above, goes from saying he didn't think anyone would get hurt, to admitting that he just didn't think that the one to get hurt would be 'one of us,' much less Fred -- so there's an implicit distinction between 'one of us' and just any old human? No, I don't want to go there -- Gunn has already been bashed about way too much, and carried more than his share of shame and guilt and blame, from this episode, in my view.)
But somebody else has joined the "one of us" club, it seems. Spike no longer fancies the idea of being the roving agent abroad, the James-Bond-but-cooler solo operator.
[not sure I heard that last word correctly]
Humanity isn't always pretty, and the fight that's coming is certain to be ugly and to require some ugly choices, but hey, humanity's all we've got, and ugly death happens all the time (more often, when Angelus is on the loose, but never mind that now). We're back to fighting the good fight, for the greater good of humanity, rather than for the sake of any higher powers or belief in a divine and benevolent providence.
Ultimately, Fred's unwilling death and the unconscionable sacrifice of her unwilling soul seem to hint that nobody's refereeing this game (or that would surely have been a 'foul!'). Since no all-powerful and beneficent divinity can be relied on to see that rules are enforced and some measure of fair play is guaranteed, we'll just have to count on our own, sneaky, human and more-or-less-human/demon selves.
Okay, tired now, and not making much sense, I fear, so I'll let it go at that.
After I logged out on Friday, I realized that there was yet ANOTHER science fiction show (beyond the aforementioned "Babylon 5" episode -- where Sheridan ended up dying, but then also 'got better'), even further back in time, which the Wesley-Illyria interactions were calling to mind.
One of the episodes Tanith Lee wrote for the British sci-fi series "Blake's 7" in the early 1980's -- an episode appropriately titled "Sarcophagus" -- featured an ancient and powerful being whose rebirth had been prophesied. Somehow the sarcophagus infected the mind of the telepathic Callie and was draining her life-force to create a new body for itself, in Callie's image only super-powered and kind of metallic-looking.
As I recall, Avon (the brainy stud in black leather with lots of attitude, source of that immortal quote, "I'm not stupid, I'm not expendable, and I'm not going" -- sort of the Spike/Wesley combo guy of his day, come to think of it) was able to stop the resurrection just in time, by challenging the creature to kill him: "Go ahead. MAKE ME DIE. There's nothing else you can make me do."
The creature had been trying to use her resemblance to Callie to seduce Avon into cooperating (saying that Callie didn't want to fight her, to resist the transfer of life-energy, but that Avon could console himself for Callie's death by getting cosy with HER, now), but Avon was having none of it, and rather than let this super-being kill Avon, Callie forced herself to break their psychic connection at the last minute (as Avon had known she would, 'cause it turns out Callie had a fondness for him), thus destroying the creature for good.
Way too much information for anyone who's never seen that old series, I know, but I find the resemblance interesting. Even more intriguing are the differences, since -- unlike Fred -- Callie had been depressed over the recent murder of her home world, her twin sister, and almost all of her race, and was vulnerable to something 'greater than herself' offering to make the pain go away, but Callie COULD reverse the parasitic relationship up until the very last second, if she WANTED to badly enough. Our Fred, on the other hand, had been happy-happy, getting all cosy with Wes before Illyria started to eat her up, and Fred's resistance and intense desire to stay -- right up until the last second and maybe a bit beyond -- didn't seem to matter at all, as far as the outcome was concerned. Fred was dragged, valiantly kicking and screaming, from her life and all that she held dear, rather than seduced into surrendering it painlessly.
Again, I have to wonder about the theology behind that part of the story-line, where a human being can be so essentially choiceless, not just over whether her body lives or dies, but over the disposition of her own soul. I could get rather depressed about that, I think. But then, I was never very comfortable with the doctrine of 'Double Predestination' (horrendously oversimplified, this refers to the idea that just as some are predestined to be saved, no thanks to their own efforts, so also some are predestined to be damned, no matter what they do).
In a way, what happened to Fred in AtS 5.15 and 5.16 seems like a rather monstrous, negative-image version of the "T.U.L.I.P." Calvinism of the late 17th century: Total depravity, meaning all humans are infected with evil and incapable of earning salvation on their own; Unconditional election, meaning (among other things) that your salvation is no thanks to your own works; Limited atonement, meaning that Christ died for some but not for all (if I've understood this right); Irresistible grace (pretty much self-explanatory, by this time); and Perseverence of the saints, meaning that if you're one of the elect, one of those predestined to be saved, you will persevere in your efforts to live a Godly life.
Call this 'T.U.L.I.P. Whedonism', maybe: Total humanity, Unconditional calling to be slayers and champions, Limited hope for outside help, Irresistible mutual attraction, and Perseverence of ensouled vampires.
Yeah, I admit that needs a lot of work, but I only just now thought of it, so give me a little credit.
No matter how I try to get past it, I keep coming up against the sacrificial imagery and language used to describe Fred and her fate this week and last. Since I do happen to have my Bible handy tonight, I couldn't help but turn to Revelation 5:12, "...'Worthy is the Lamb that was slaughtered to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!'"
Many times, it seemed, during the course of "Shells" someone felt the need to expound upon Fred's worthiness and wonderfulness. Here's the execrable Knox's version of the "Hymn to Fred":
Harmony: Wait, I'm confused. It looks like Fred, but it's not?
Knox: She's so much more than that, now. Beyond flesh. Beyond perfection. I loved Fred. I really did. She had...a warmth that took you in and held you, until everything cold and distant melted away. She was the most beautiful, perfect woman I ever met. That's WHY I chose her. She's the only one that was WORTHY.
Given the choice, Fred would doubtless have said "Thanks, but no, thanks" to the 'honor' for which Knox had chosen her. But, of course, she didn't get the chance, didn't get that choice.
Looking over the notes I took during my second viewing of this episode -- the sections of dialogue I tried to get down word-for-word on paper -- there seem to be two themes that get hammered home, over and over and over again: 1) Fred's gone, and 2) Fred was the best of the best -- 'practically perfect in every way.' ("I love my dead, straight Fred!")
Wesley, of course, ends up singing the hymn to Fred more than anyone else, with several variations on these words to Angel in an early scene: "...You didn't feel her die. She was shaking with pain and terrified, and so brave! She was better than anyone I know, better than.... She's gone." [followed by the 3rd most popular theme song of this episode, as Angel replies, "I know. Now let's get her back."]
I've seen some of the rather compelling arguments people have made about Fred being Mutant Enemy's own "Mary Sue" character, the one who's so perfect she's almost insufferable in her wonderfulness, and who dies heroically/tragically, leaving the regular characters free to grieve her passing and the empty place that will forever remain in their hearts or at their table, because she's so irreplaceable.
Whatever the reason, it DOES seem that many of Fred's human foibles and weaknesses were filed down this season (apparently consigned to the same circular file as her romance with Gunn, who had killed a man for her when he couldn't talk her out of her desire to take lethal revenge on the professor who'd tried to kill her, thus taking the burden of blood-guilt in her place and marking the beginning of the end for their relationship), leaving Fred as the girl everybody loved (or at least didn't mind too much, if you count Eve), the one whose goodness seemed least vulnerable to the evil temptations of W&H.
And so she was transformed into the worthy sacrifice, spotless and without blemish?
Or had the writers simply written themselves into a corner, using Fred too often as the fount of all goodness, the mirror in which others could see the best of themselves reflected back to them? Had it come to the point where an astounding capacity for food, a tendency to babble when excited or nervous, social skills forever altered by her sojourn in Pylea, and an occasional and quite understandable blood-thirstiness in defense of herself or her loved ones, were no longer sufficient 'foibles' to make her an interesting character?
And, since it would be too "been-there-done-that" if Fred simply became a vampire or went all dark and vengeance-y on us, the only option seemed to be to kill Fred off completely, forever beyond all hope of resurrection or reclamation, and leave behind a fish-out-of-water demon goddess with only the merest fragments of human memory and an urgent need for remedial education in the most basic aspects of human life?
Plus, as a bonus, her death allows Wes and Gunn and Angel and Spike, each in their own unique ways, to confront their own weaknesses and worst fears, apparently.
When a friend in Iowa, after seeing "A Hole in the World" (AtS 5.15), argued that Fred was being portrayed as Pandora, I pooh-poohed, her, I'm afraid. I countered that Fred had NOT chosen to open that sarcophagus, or done anything which could be construed as INVITING or CHOOSING what had happened to her, through giving in to temptation of some kind. I felt quite secure in that opinion . . . until this latest episode, when Wes started talking as though Fred's only besetting 'sin' or weakness was her curiosity.
Contemplating the sarcophagus in Fred's former lab, Wes muses out loud to Harmony, "She was curious. That's why Fred didn't put it into containment immediately. How things work, what makes them special -- she was always searching for what other people couldn't see. She was just curious. I think I hate her a little for that."
And Fred's not the only one Wes is having a little trouble forgiving, it seems.
Gunn's desire to know how things work in the legal world, to be special himself (though, of course, I'd argue that he already WAS special and never needed that mental enhancement in order to be a worthy member of the champions' club) led HIM to open a box, of sorts, that he sorely wishes he could shut again, now. And the fact that Wes can understand how Gunn feels only seems to make it harder to forgive (in fact, it could be argued that when Wes stabs Gunn, he's really stabbing himself -- blaming himself for coming to W&H, for taking the bait, along with everyone else, because he wanted to be more and better than he had been, and for not being able to keep Fred from dying -- AND in a sense he's also stabbing FRED, whose curiosity and interest in all things special and unusual and dangerous has contributed to his current pain:
Wes: ...What did you do, Charles?
Gunn: It was just a piece of paper. I was losing it, everything they put in my head, everything that made me different, special. And he could fix it. Make it permanent. So I signed a piece of paper. It was a Customs release form. I didn't think anyone would get hurt.
Wes: Nothing from Wolfram & Hart is ever FREE. You knew that.
Gunn: I couldn't go back, to being just the muscle. I...I didn't think it would be one of us. I didn't think it would be Fred.
Illyria: Your breed is fragile. How is it they came to control this world?
Knox: Opposable thumbs? Um, fire. Television. What they lack in strength, they make up for in extraordinary sneakiness.
Illyria: You are deceivers.
Knox: Yes, all of them. They deserve to be punished.
Illyria: 'They'? You don't consider yourself part of your race?
Knox: Not anymore. ...
Of course, in spite of what Knox, or any of us, might like to think, there's no getting away from our humanity, it seems. As Angel declaims in his challenge to Illyria,
Angel: You're as low as it gets, Knox, but you're a part of humanity. That isn't always pretty. [to Illyria] But it's a hell of a lot better than what came before. And if it comes down to a choice between you and him, then yes, I would fight for his life, just like any other human's. Because that's what people do. That's what makes us-- [Wes shoots Knox dead. Angel turns to Wes in exasperation.] Were you even listening?
That's what we do, we humans, we people, in spite of all the unlovely and unlovable aspects to our character and behavior. We value human lives. And that's what makes us better than the old ones, it seems.
Us.
For all Angel's angst and moaning about not being emotionally useful or part of humanity, not being deserving, etc. ("I'm not worthy! I'm not worthy!"), when push comes to shove he sees his virtues as human virtues, and he counts himself as "one of us." (Interesting that Gunn, in the passage quoted above, goes from saying he didn't think anyone would get hurt, to admitting that he just didn't think that the one to get hurt would be 'one of us,' much less Fred -- so there's an implicit distinction between 'one of us' and just any old human? No, I don't want to go there -- Gunn has already been bashed about way too much, and carried more than his share of shame and guilt and blame, from this episode, in my view.)
But somebody else has joined the "one of us" club, it seems. Spike no longer fancies the idea of being the roving agent abroad, the James-Bond-but-cooler solo operator.
Angel: You're not leaving?
Spike: It's what she would've wanted. [realization] It's what I want. I don't really like you. Suppose I never will. But this is important, what's happening here. Fred gave her life for it. Least I can do is give what's left of mine. The fight's comin', Angel. We both feel it. And it's gonna be a hell of a lot bigger than Illyria. Things are gonna get ugly. That's what I live.
[not sure I heard that last word correctly]
Humanity isn't always pretty, and the fight that's coming is certain to be ugly and to require some ugly choices, but hey, humanity's all we've got, and ugly death happens all the time (more often, when Angelus is on the loose, but never mind that now). We're back to fighting the good fight, for the greater good of humanity, rather than for the sake of any higher powers or belief in a divine and benevolent providence.
Ultimately, Fred's unwilling death and the unconscionable sacrifice of her unwilling soul seem to hint that nobody's refereeing this game (or that would surely have been a 'foul!'). Since no all-powerful and beneficent divinity can be relied on to see that rules are enforced and some measure of fair play is guaranteed, we'll just have to count on our own, sneaky, human and more-or-less-human/demon selves.
Okay, tired now, and not making much sense, I fear, so I'll let it go at that.
rushed
(no subject)
I'd rather be soulless, like Spike, and create my own destiny, however hollow as in so much fanfic. But, then, I'm drunk.
"I love my dead, straight Fred!"
Comes closer than anything else could to making me want to write living Fred femslash. (Actually, she's kind of hot with blue hair.)
leaving Fred as the girl everybody loved
Well, sure. The actress looks like she has never eaten anything in her whole damn life. How could she help being America's sweetheart?
as a bonus, her death allows Wes and Gunn and Angel and Spike, each in their own unique ways, to confront their own weaknesses and worst fears, apparently.
It's been apparent from the first that WFH had to destroy the gang from inside. That they made a pact with the devil. Fred didn't have an obvious vulnerablity to exploit, so why not make her the focal point of the other character's descent?
I didn't think it would be one of us. I didn't think it would be Fred.
Remember the old question? If you could have everything you wanted just by kiling one old man in China you never met . . . But it's always someone dear to someone's heart.
We value human lives. And that's what makes us better than the old ones, it seems.
Except it's not the humans who understand its value in this episode. It's the vampires who have lost their cherished humanity.
Uh, have I mentioned I had a tough week and I'm totally plastered? Please ignore any parts (or all) of above post that are obviously drunken ramblings.
Plastered works for you
Drunk or sober, you make a lot of sense, Miss M. I think I was trying to get at that idea, that the theology in these recent episodes was REALLY trying to say that we only have ourselves and each other to count on, and we have to work out our own salvation -- as a species and as individuals -- without being able to rely on anything or anyone more powerful or benevolent than ourselves. I haven't had a drink in two days, but suddenly I'm flashing back on the classic 'Trek' episode "Who Mourns for Adonis?" (where Kirk tells Lt. Caroline whatever-her-name-was that the only thing that truly belongs to us in this vast universe is the rest of humanity and our bond to one another, so she needs to side with Kirk and co. against this redundant god Apollo).
"It's been apparent from the first that WFH had to destroy the gang from inside. That they made a pact with the devil. Fred didn't have an obvious vulnerablity to exploit, so why not make her the focal point of the other character's descent?"
Exactly. You said it much more plainly and concisely, but that's what I was trying to get at. OF COURSE Fred had to die for their 'sin' of trying to have their evil cake and fight evil too. She just didn't have enough 'darkness' in her, I guess, and what darkness she did have largely disappeared this season, in order to make the contrast with her colleagues more noticeable.
"Remember the old question? If you could have everything you wanted just by kiling one old man in China you never met . . . But it's always someone dear to someone's heart."
What's the point, otherwise? And isn't it the nature of demonic pacts that the person you sacrifice has to be dear to you, close to your heart? Demonic pacts, or rash vows to deities. Suddenly, I'm seeing Gunn as Jephthah in the book of Judges, the idiot who made a rash vow to God, promising to sacrifice the first living creature that met him on his return home, in thanks to God for giving him victory in battle -- except that his beloved daughter, eager to welcome her father home, was the first living thing to greet him, so he ends up killing her and sacrificing her to God, in order to fulfill his vow. Some people cite this as an example of sexism in the Bible, that God intervened to save Isaac from being sacrificed by his father Abraham, but didn't care enough to intervene to save the nameless daughter of Jephthah. But God had created the situation involving Isaac, so naturally it was up to God to stop it. I've always felt that maybe God figured since this was all Jephthah's idea in the first place, it was up to Jephthah to wise up and fix it (though that still leaves us with the theodicy question, trying to justify letting an innocent girl die just because her father is an idiot who makes rash vows, even though children have always suffered from the idiocies and mistakes of their parents, one way or another). Sorry. Rambling again.
"'We value human lives. And that's what makes us better than the old ones, it seems.' Except it's not the humans who understand its value in this episode. It's the vampires who have lost their cherished humanity."
Well put! If I'd been more awake last night, I might have been able to complete that loop, make that connection, because I certainly felt that was true. And perhaps THAT was the real reason why Angel gets to make the grand speech to Illyria, backed up by Spike, while Wes (much closer to the problems of humanity, and much less able to do as Angel had asked, less able to bury his pain and set aside his desire for vengeance in the service of the rest of humanity) was the guy who kind of undermines the speech by making a rude noise (which implies that shooting Knox was on a par with farting in public, but I don't have the energy to disentangle that right now).