The economics of Star Trek.

“It’s what I’ve always wanted” is a traditional — and not always insincere — way of expressing gratitude for gifts. But what would Christmas morning be like if everyone already had what they always wanted?

Economics is essentially a collection of “what if” stories, worked out to their logical conclusions. One of the more intriguing “what ifs” is explored in Trekonomics by Manu Saadia, an economist and — it need hardly be said — a keen Star Trek fan. The Star Trek universe is essentially one of optimism: by the 24th century, technological advances will have solved virtually all of the problems we face now. But how does that work, exactly? How does the economic utopia envisaged by Star Trek economy actually function?

This is mainly a matter of conjecture: Star Trek’s writers don’t spend a lot of time on the day-to-day world of normal people. Almost all of the action takes place in a military environment in which decisions are made under an ethos of centralized command and control, not one of decentralized, mutually consensual market-based interactions. On the other hand, who better than an economist to conjecture from limited information?

The fact that money no longer exists in Star Trek doesn’t really stretch the imagination of someone in the early 21st century: we are already well on our way to a world without cash. For an economist, the most attention-grabbing feature of the Star Trek universe is the replicator, introduced in Star Trek: The Next Generation.

The fundamental problem of economics is scarcity: who gets what is the defining question of the discipline. The replicator annihilates scarcity: anything can be produced instantaneously. All it takes is energy (which, thanks to Federation technology, is clean and in virtually infinite supply), a stock of raw matter (anything, really) and some software. And software is, as economic jargon puts it, non-rival: once the code is written, anyone can use it at zero additional cost. In Star Trek, replicators are ubiquitous and are viewed as a public good: people make use of them in the same way that we use street lights. (Apparently there have been dystopian treatments of replicator-like technology in which access is controlled by their owners, leading to inequality and strife. This is what happens when intellectual property is defended too strongly.)

The crew of the Enterprise-D treat replicators as little more than glorified drinking fountains, but the implications of replicator technology for the civilian population are staggering. If everyone has free access to replicators, then no-one ever has to work. People who want to live a life of extreme luxury and personal indulgence are free to do so: there are no binding budget constraints.

Of course, no-one ever seems to live like that, at least, not in Star Trek. Everyone seems to have something to do, but their “jobs” are better viewed as hobbies and not as a way of earning a living. Artists no longer have to worry about starving, and scientists don’t have to worry about funding. Since routine tasks have long since been left to the machines, humans can focus on creativity.

But what drives people to excel? There are still some things in the 24th century about which people still care deeply and which remain in limited supply: status and reputation, for instance. Starfleet, the Federation’s exploration and defence agency, is above all a military institution, and those who serve in it are motivated by its values, not material comfort. The rewards for performing well are promotion, greater responsibility and the respect of your comrades. The Klingons, too, are driven by a code of honour. (From the looks of it, the Ferengi have yet to make the transition to a postscarcity economy.)

For those outside of Starfleet, the stakes are murkier. Reputation certainly matters: the Enterprise is frequently visited by people who are presented as leaders in their spheres, and who are preoccupied with maintaining that status. But not everyone can be leaders in prestigious fields: what do they do?

If the Internet is any indication, the answer is probably more of what they’re already doing. There are millions of people producing content (text, music and video), curating sites about whatever interests them, or contributing to projects such as Wikipedia. Some of these projects will attract more attention than others, and people will always have an incentive to improve and to increase their audience.

It’s become a commonplace to view the trend to increasing automation with alarm, and not all critics are satisfied that expanding income transfers — a universal basic income, for example — can ensure living standards will increase even if you don’t work. Work, they say, is more than a paycheque; it’s a way of defining yourself. Giving people money to do nothing will keep them alive, but will destroy their souls.

This is a bleak prospect, and it may even be borne out by events. But it doesn’t have to be that way. I like to think that one of the reasons why Star Trek continues to have such a strong hold on our imaginations is its message that people will find other ways of defining themselves, and in the best way possible: by drawing on humanity’s capacity for creation.