The Sith are often more vivid, more honest about appetite, and more effective in the short run. They diagnose the Jedi's failures so well that Star Wars repeatedly needs them to expose what the Order cannot admit. But diagnosis is not destination. The Sith cannot convert victory into a world worth inhabiting because their organizing principle dissolves trust: even two Sith require a rule explaining when one should murder the other. Their freedom contracts into slavery to fear, grievance, and the need to remain strongest. The Jedi deserve no easy acquittal. Their late-Republic order helps manufacture Anakin's fall by demanding serenity where it should offer understanding, then lends sacred authority to a decaying political center. Yet the tradition contains the resources for its own correction. Luke's defining victory is Jedi precisely because he refuses both prescribed roles: he will neither kill his father nor join him. Compassion succeeds where institutional orthodoxy and Sith mastery both fail. So the compressed verdict is decisive but not absolute. The Sith make the stronger accusation; the Jedi make the better life. A tradition capable of returning from failure through mercy outranks one whose successes perfect the conditions of its own collapse.