Star Trek: My Vacation is Trying to Kill Me!

Lieutenant Barclay departs the holodeck in the TNG episode “Hollow Pursuits”

I’ve long forgotten who first pointed out that much 1990s science fiction begins with the premise that we can’t tell what’s real. Movies like Alex Proyas’ Dark City or the Wachowskis’ The Matrix address different aspects of what happens when a gormless Everyman (who is, naturally, White and male) discovers that his entire life is a simulation. The original list included the ubiquitous Holodeck episodes in Star Trek: TNG.

Having ruminated upon that thought for a while, I was recently struck when a friend described watching a TNG episode and noting that the holodeck wanted to kill the crew, again. I realized that the holodeck isn’t really the same as those all-encompassing simulation narratives. First, the characters usually know they’re in simulations. Second, the characters’ own malevolent pleasures want to kill them.

Unlike those other movies, most holodeck episodes begin with the protagonists generating their own simulation. The holodeck’s purpose, established in the TNG pilot “Encounter at Farpoint,” is to offer the crew the deep-space equivalent of shore leave, the opportunity to put aside their Starfleet identities and be someone else, somewhere else, for a few hours. Options, the show demonstrates, are endless; they’re circumscribed only by characters’ imaginations.

That imagination, however, repeatedly proves the characters’ undoing. The most common outcomes are a mechanical failure trapping characters inside their own simulation, a recurrent theme in Picard’s Dixon Hill episodes; characters getting so entranced by their fantasy that they lose track of reality, as in “11001001”; or the simulation seizing control of the ship, as in “Elementary, Dear Data.” Characters never stop being aware that the simulation is a simulation.

Therefore, rather than repeat the 1990s theme that we’re trapped in a program we can’t even see—which, in practice, starts looking like a reheated critique of capitalism—the holodeck takes on a moralistic tone. The characters are punished for indulging their imaginations too often. Holodeck episodes don’t encourage audiences to resist the unseen program dictating their lives. Rather, it scolds them to more closely police their own imaginations.

In movies like Dark City and The Matrix, the simulation generally doesn’t want to kill humanity. The Strangers or The Agents only actively oppress those who dare stray from the official narrative; those who comply, get ignored, or occasionally even rewarded. Sure, the characters have no control over the simulation they’re trapped in, which the movies depict as oppressive. But it’s easy to avoid punishments; just go with the flow.

LaForge, Pulaski, and Data in the TNG episode “Elementary, Dear Data.”

By contrast, the holodeck punishes those whose imaginations are too fruitful. When characters believe in their dreams, those dreams become malevolent. Consider the recurrent Moriarty character, depicted as the only character ever to escape the holodeck. He actively punishes his creators for giving him an identity, because they were busy dreaming when they should’ve been working. Agent Smith wants Neo to remain in the dream; Moriarty punishes anyone for straying from reality.

This theme becomes most pointed with the character of Lieutenant Barclay, whose holodeck fantasies are presented as inappropriate, but essentially harmless. (More on that elsewhere.) Barclay’s retreat into fantasy is, on some level, a scolding of fanfic writers and cosplayers who rewrite the canonical characters to suit their own sexual or power fantasies. The show basically reprimands fans for getting too deeply immersed in their favorite franchise.

As the holodeck premise becomes more familiar, writers do expand their vision. The Voyager episode “Bride of Chaotica!”, for instance, depicts a photon-based lifeform that thinks the holodeck is real, and the organic crewmembers are invaders. But it still fundamentally scolds Paris and Kin for creating a fantasy so realistic that it threatens to overtake the ship. Like always, the sin is dreaming too big.

Star Trek isn’t opposed to play. Episodes show characters using the holodeck as dance studios, dojos, and gymnasia. Some episodes even show characters using the holodeck to practice religious devotion, a rarity in Star Trek. The show only punishes them for caring too deeply about their fantasies. When the holodeck becomes more important than “reality,” the holodeck chastises them and returns them to the real world, where they belong.

The Matrix depicts humanity fleeing the illusion to rediscover reality. The holodeck, by contrast, scolds characters for escaping reality and preferring their illusions. It moralistically demands that characters ground their lives in “reality,” which is defined by uniforms, rank, and work. The holodeck is basically a starched-collared schoolmaster, rapping a ruler on a student’s desk and saying, “Get your head out of the clouds.” Which is, of course, ironic.

You can find this analysis continued in My Vacation is Trying to Kill Me (Part 2)