I HAVE WATCHED so much damn Star Trek in my life I really have to step back and think about what ties it all together. Why was Deep Space Nine considered Star Trek when any other series about a remote space outpost could just as easily have been produced by Fox or Universal? Why was Voyager a Star Trek but Lost in Space not a Star Trek? The Star Trek universe represents varied characters, varied time periods, varied ships. Even the enemies change from series to series and movie to movie. In 1966, Klingons were bad, but by 1987 they were trusted at tactical.
There's an idea that ties together all of Star Trek, for sure. The idea transcends characters, star dates, and ship designs. The idea endures whether it’s the Romulans attacking or the Cardasians or the Borg.
No, I'm not referring to Star Trek's Big Idea, which is that humanity achieves global peace, eliminates poverty, and sets out to explore the galaxy. True, all of Star Trek tells that story, one way or another. But there's other sci-fi based on that same story, too. So, no, the Big Idea doesn't really define Trekdom.
Instead, what makes a series, a movie, or a book belong to Star Trek is the prominent role of an institution known as Starfleet. Every series has its own captain, but they all wear the Starfleet insignia. They take place at different times, but Starfleet endures. The huge variety of ships literally makes up Starfleet. Star Trek Enterprise, in its stories about the Temporal Cold War, hints at a Starfleet of the 28th or 29th century. So, Star Trek writers have it in mind that Starfleet becomes something like the second most enduring institution in the history of mankind, after the Catholic Church.
Now this central role of Starfleet is interesting. I like Star Trek very much; I like its Big Idea and I find the idea of Starfleet entertaining. But, honestly, there's no way we have in our futures both the Big Idea AND Starfleet. We get either peace, prosperity, and exploration or we get Starfleet. We don't get both.
Why not? Well, look at Starfleet. It is completely, utterly oppressive. Oh, they try to hide it, sure. Star Trek fans cut Starfleet a lot of slack. So, Star Trek XI managed to take Starfleet to new heights of absurdity. It's great. So here's peace and prosperity, according to the illustrious writers of that action flick:
No doubt Starfleet leans heavily on this bunch of liberty-dispensers to keep things quiet on the home front while they are busy expanding Federation borders. This is, after all, how narrow sci-fi writers understand the Big Idea. If only we could some day perfect the police force, some day make them invincible, capable of overpowering any feeble citizen that makes trouble. Then, we will have lasting peace (submissiveness) on our streets.
Of course nothing rivals the command and control you find within Starfleet itself. It starts in the Academy, of course, where apparently by the 23rd century, we've finally gotten where we've been going with military uniforms. In Starfleet Academy, your opinion either matters (you may wear all black) or it doesn't (wear red.)
But Starfleet has gone way beyond conquering academia. The militarization of education is surely old news by the 23rd century. By then, it has gone on to conquer the family, that mysterious, troubling, final frontier for collectivists everywhere. Now, I've got to give Starfleet props for its handling of the family problem. Rather than undermine families slowly through standardized education or dismantle them by seizing children, Starfleet takes the approach of simply annexing the family to the military structure. The Kirks of Star Trek XI are of course an early prototype for this approach. Uninterrupted attachment is demanded of them, even in battle. A great leftist dream is finally realized as the men and women aboard the Kelvin and later, the Enterprise-D, simultaneously serve their families and the fleet. Indeed, they can not defend their families without defending Starfleet. To endanger Starfleet would mean to endanger one's family.
Besides the Kirks, the only other family given any attention in Star Trek XI is Spock's family. Now here you have something resembling royalty. A Human female is wedded to a Vulcan male, thus solidifying an alliance for generations to come. This involvement of family in 23rd century politics oddly smacks of old world conservatism. It is hard to believe Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command would expose their alliance to such flimsy family virtues as trust, sacrifice, and honor. What a relief, then, that we find out by the end of the movie that indeed political wisdom had nothing whatsoever to do with the marriage. It was just love. Not good, old fashioned love, but undoubtedly that modern feels-good kind of love.
But really the kind of love there was in the Spock household is irrelevant. By the 23rd century, ethics has finally been reduced to its mechanical essence, anyway. The great dream of materialist philosophy is realized as Vulcans coldly calculate which actions can be considered "morally praiseworthy" and which are "morally obligatory". The very same gear work of atoms and chemicals that determines what is physically possible can now be analyzed to determine what is right. Vulcans can safely proceed to suppress any thoughts not needed in logical calculation. And yet, Vulcans don't hold a candle to the specimen Starfleet enlists in the 24th century. This is of course Commander Data, a computer who's ethical and moral subroutines keep it on the straight and narrow. Compassion is finally replaced by causation.
It is unsurprising that Vulcans and robots should prosper in Starfleet. Spock becomes ambassador; Data goes on to command Sutherland. Neither of these characters has a free will, of course. Well, Spock does have moments where he frees himself from logically-deduced commitments, but he's imperfect, a half-human weirdo. Spock's shortcomings notwithstanding, Starfleet would surely fill its ranks with legions of Vulcans and robots if it could. So long as Starfleet's actions are mechanically justifiable, they would forever have agents that are obedient, capable, predictable.
This lack of free will, the undeniable essence of collectivism, of materialism, is also the essence of Starfleet. It can answer this great calling because it is born of a unified planet. And unity here means exactly what unity means today: the destinies of a multitude brought under the crushing control of an elite few. But unlike now, where free will still escapes the grasp of competing nations and corporations, Starfleet is the final manifestation of the leftist utopia: one world government. No doubt the ravages of economic competition have been eliminated, too. Kirk says in Star Trek IV that money has been eliminated in the 23rd century. Never mind that money is probably the single greatest invention in the history of mankind.
Even on inter-planetary terms, Starfleet and its political arm, the United Federation of Planets, is well on its way to establishing a single galactic order. The piddly will of an individual to escape the dictates of the President of the U.F.P. is continually boxed-in, as more and more once-sovereign planets come under security and trade agreements with 23rd century leviathan.
It is actually comical that Star Trek writers are so confused about something so basic as the source of peace and prosperity that they have managed, over 40 years, to create probably the most elaborate mistake in the history of the human race.
Everyone in the 23rd century supposedly enjoys political freedom, yet majority rule is the cemented political order, protected as it is by the unquestioned authority of Starfleet. An imaginative writer might ask whether majority rule, the invention of primitive man, practiced by aboriginal tribes and warring nation-states alike, can truly carry us to the stars.
Everyone supposedly enjoys a lasting peace, but apparently, it's a highly militarized peace. The presence of a single, supreme authority on the planet somehow manages not to bother anyone. (I guess my breed is by then extinct or exterminated.) There are no uprisings, no factions; there is no underground. If there are qualms, then presumably the miracle of democracy ameliorates everyone.
Starfleet merely explores the galaxy and somehow one alien race after another is so moved by the egalitarian principles humans espouse that they can't help but add their planet to the growing list of U.F.P. protectorates. In Star Trek XI, Pike describes Starfleet at a "peacekeeping and humanitarian armada." So, we've ridded ourselves of greed, pettiness, and violence, and the debate about that tired old Orwellian concept of peace through war has been settled. It works.
The fact that peace and prosperity in human history is rooted in individual freedom, in classical liberalism, matters little to the writers of Star Trek. To them, such an achievement of human thought, manifesting only for brief, delicate pockets of time in the last couple centuries, is already too old fashioned and boring to be given serious credence in mainstream science fiction. The writers must instead catch that new wave of socialist thought. They cling to the idea that equality, common good, and benevolent authority will usher in a new era of peace. Of course, the only new era those ideals have ever ushered in is that new era of trenches, gas chambers, and mass extermination known as the twentieth century. But hey, one can always hope it will turn out differently next time!
And so against this backdrop of crushed individualism and free will, of militarism and subservience that is Starfleet, Star Trek's writers have little hope for redeeming their horrific franchise. Yet, surprisingly, those writers have been doing exactly that for over 40 years. And redemption always takes the form of characters that are refreshingly individualistic; they are opinionated, rebellious, principled.
This is what makes Star Trek so endearing. The New World Order it reveals comes across as sort of meek and helpless in the face of confident, capable individuals. One movie after another portrays Starfleet overlords that can't help but hand it to that likeable Kirk guy, even after he blatantly ignores their authority. The series goes to so much trouble to build up this authoritarian nightmare, only to constantly have it humiliated by individuals working against it.
Ultimately then, Star Trek portrays an impossible leftist utopia that is constantly being reshaped by larger-than-life individuals. Of course, the writers have no idea that this is the formula they're following. To them, these great characters somehow fit into a broad framework of collectivism. You can almost hear the writers debating time and time again, "would Starfleet really just let Kirk off the hook?" But whatever the writers realize about what they're writing, I find it entertaining. I also suspect Paramount doesn't care whether I like Star Trek for the reasons their writers think I will, so long as I like it.
There's an idea that ties together all of Star Trek, for sure. The idea transcends characters, star dates, and ship designs. The idea endures whether it’s the Romulans attacking or the Cardasians or the Borg.
No, I'm not referring to Star Trek's Big Idea, which is that humanity achieves global peace, eliminates poverty, and sets out to explore the galaxy. True, all of Star Trek tells that story, one way or another. But there's other sci-fi based on that same story, too. So, no, the Big Idea doesn't really define Trekdom.
Instead, what makes a series, a movie, or a book belong to Star Trek is the prominent role of an institution known as Starfleet. Every series has its own captain, but they all wear the Starfleet insignia. They take place at different times, but Starfleet endures. The huge variety of ships literally makes up Starfleet. Star Trek Enterprise, in its stories about the Temporal Cold War, hints at a Starfleet of the 28th or 29th century. So, Star Trek writers have it in mind that Starfleet becomes something like the second most enduring institution in the history of mankind, after the Catholic Church.
Now this central role of Starfleet is interesting. I like Star Trek very much; I like its Big Idea and I find the idea of Starfleet entertaining. But, honestly, there's no way we have in our futures both the Big Idea AND Starfleet. We get either peace, prosperity, and exploration or we get Starfleet. We don't get both.
Why not? Well, look at Starfleet. It is completely, utterly oppressive. Oh, they try to hide it, sure. Star Trek fans cut Starfleet a lot of slack. So, Star Trek XI managed to take Starfleet to new heights of absurdity. It's great. So here's peace and prosperity, according to the illustrious writers of that action flick:
No doubt Starfleet leans heavily on this bunch of liberty-dispensers to keep things quiet on the home front while they are busy expanding Federation borders. This is, after all, how narrow sci-fi writers understand the Big Idea. If only we could some day perfect the police force, some day make them invincible, capable of overpowering any feeble citizen that makes trouble. Then, we will have lasting peace (submissiveness) on our streets.
Of course nothing rivals the command and control you find within Starfleet itself. It starts in the Academy, of course, where apparently by the 23rd century, we've finally gotten where we've been going with military uniforms. In Starfleet Academy, your opinion either matters (you may wear all black) or it doesn't (wear red.)
But Starfleet has gone way beyond conquering academia. The militarization of education is surely old news by the 23rd century. By then, it has gone on to conquer the family, that mysterious, troubling, final frontier for collectivists everywhere. Now, I've got to give Starfleet props for its handling of the family problem. Rather than undermine families slowly through standardized education or dismantle them by seizing children, Starfleet takes the approach of simply annexing the family to the military structure. The Kirks of Star Trek XI are of course an early prototype for this approach. Uninterrupted attachment is demanded of them, even in battle. A great leftist dream is finally realized as the men and women aboard the Kelvin and later, the Enterprise-D, simultaneously serve their families and the fleet. Indeed, they can not defend their families without defending Starfleet. To endanger Starfleet would mean to endanger one's family.
Besides the Kirks, the only other family given any attention in Star Trek XI is Spock's family. Now here you have something resembling royalty. A Human female is wedded to a Vulcan male, thus solidifying an alliance for generations to come. This involvement of family in 23rd century politics oddly smacks of old world conservatism. It is hard to believe Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command would expose their alliance to such flimsy family virtues as trust, sacrifice, and honor. What a relief, then, that we find out by the end of the movie that indeed political wisdom had nothing whatsoever to do with the marriage. It was just love. Not good, old fashioned love, but undoubtedly that modern feels-good kind of love.
But really the kind of love there was in the Spock household is irrelevant. By the 23rd century, ethics has finally been reduced to its mechanical essence, anyway. The great dream of materialist philosophy is realized as Vulcans coldly calculate which actions can be considered "morally praiseworthy" and which are "morally obligatory". The very same gear work of atoms and chemicals that determines what is physically possible can now be analyzed to determine what is right. Vulcans can safely proceed to suppress any thoughts not needed in logical calculation. And yet, Vulcans don't hold a candle to the specimen Starfleet enlists in the 24th century. This is of course Commander Data, a computer who's ethical and moral subroutines keep it on the straight and narrow. Compassion is finally replaced by causation.
It is unsurprising that Vulcans and robots should prosper in Starfleet. Spock becomes ambassador; Data goes on to command Sutherland. Neither of these characters has a free will, of course. Well, Spock does have moments where he frees himself from logically-deduced commitments, but he's imperfect, a half-human weirdo. Spock's shortcomings notwithstanding, Starfleet would surely fill its ranks with legions of Vulcans and robots if it could. So long as Starfleet's actions are mechanically justifiable, they would forever have agents that are obedient, capable, predictable.
This lack of free will, the undeniable essence of collectivism, of materialism, is also the essence of Starfleet. It can answer this great calling because it is born of a unified planet. And unity here means exactly what unity means today: the destinies of a multitude brought under the crushing control of an elite few. But unlike now, where free will still escapes the grasp of competing nations and corporations, Starfleet is the final manifestation of the leftist utopia: one world government. No doubt the ravages of economic competition have been eliminated, too. Kirk says in Star Trek IV that money has been eliminated in the 23rd century. Never mind that money is probably the single greatest invention in the history of mankind.
Even on inter-planetary terms, Starfleet and its political arm, the United Federation of Planets, is well on its way to establishing a single galactic order. The piddly will of an individual to escape the dictates of the President of the U.F.P. is continually boxed-in, as more and more once-sovereign planets come under security and trade agreements with 23rd century leviathan.
It is actually comical that Star Trek writers are so confused about something so basic as the source of peace and prosperity that they have managed, over 40 years, to create probably the most elaborate mistake in the history of the human race.
Everyone in the 23rd century supposedly enjoys political freedom, yet majority rule is the cemented political order, protected as it is by the unquestioned authority of Starfleet. An imaginative writer might ask whether majority rule, the invention of primitive man, practiced by aboriginal tribes and warring nation-states alike, can truly carry us to the stars.
Everyone supposedly enjoys a lasting peace, but apparently, it's a highly militarized peace. The presence of a single, supreme authority on the planet somehow manages not to bother anyone. (I guess my breed is by then extinct or exterminated.) There are no uprisings, no factions; there is no underground. If there are qualms, then presumably the miracle of democracy ameliorates everyone.
Starfleet merely explores the galaxy and somehow one alien race after another is so moved by the egalitarian principles humans espouse that they can't help but add their planet to the growing list of U.F.P. protectorates. In Star Trek XI, Pike describes Starfleet at a "peacekeeping and humanitarian armada." So, we've ridded ourselves of greed, pettiness, and violence, and the debate about that tired old Orwellian concept of peace through war has been settled. It works.
The fact that peace and prosperity in human history is rooted in individual freedom, in classical liberalism, matters little to the writers of Star Trek. To them, such an achievement of human thought, manifesting only for brief, delicate pockets of time in the last couple centuries, is already too old fashioned and boring to be given serious credence in mainstream science fiction. The writers must instead catch that new wave of socialist thought. They cling to the idea that equality, common good, and benevolent authority will usher in a new era of peace. Of course, the only new era those ideals have ever ushered in is that new era of trenches, gas chambers, and mass extermination known as the twentieth century. But hey, one can always hope it will turn out differently next time!
And so against this backdrop of crushed individualism and free will, of militarism and subservience that is Starfleet, Star Trek's writers have little hope for redeeming their horrific franchise. Yet, surprisingly, those writers have been doing exactly that for over 40 years. And redemption always takes the form of characters that are refreshingly individualistic; they are opinionated, rebellious, principled.
This is what makes Star Trek so endearing. The New World Order it reveals comes across as sort of meek and helpless in the face of confident, capable individuals. One movie after another portrays Starfleet overlords that can't help but hand it to that likeable Kirk guy, even after he blatantly ignores their authority. The series goes to so much trouble to build up this authoritarian nightmare, only to constantly have it humiliated by individuals working against it.
Ultimately then, Star Trek portrays an impossible leftist utopia that is constantly being reshaped by larger-than-life individuals. Of course, the writers have no idea that this is the formula they're following. To them, these great characters somehow fit into a broad framework of collectivism. You can almost hear the writers debating time and time again, "would Starfleet really just let Kirk off the hook?" But whatever the writers realize about what they're writing, I find it entertaining. I also suspect Paramount doesn't care whether I like Star Trek for the reasons their writers think I will, so long as I like it.
