Science Fiction as Societal Antibodies

I was at the library a few days ago, chatting with another longtime fan of scifi. He was older than me, perhaps in his fifties, and despite not being very up-to-date with politics or current events, with what's happening with Musk in USA or China, he's also heard of this idea of colonizing Mars.

He immediately pointed out that it was bullshit, and he was sure that it wouldn't be feasible within our lifetimes: we're yet to manage a stable, manned base on the Moon, let alone Mars; we're yet to manage the runoff chemicals within our own atmosphere, let alone create a breathable one from scratch.

He said all this as a passionate reader of the Mars Trilogy by Kim Stanley Robinson, so he has an idea of what it takes to terraform a whole planet or even place a manned base. This knowledge safeguarded him against the narrative that Musk is trying to build around Mars (which, as a matter of fact, is the only thing that can be built at present).

Of course, that conversation made me reflect. As a scifi writer myself (albeit still an amateur), I had always believed that the only way to have a tangible impact on the reader was to provide imaginary alternatives (be they positive or negative) to our current world, with a great disdain for neutral visions, those who are agnostic towards the future. And yet, writing about technology in and of itself can be useful as a social antibody, rhetorical if you will: readers of scifi already have an idea of the necessary conditions for certain technologies to emerge, spread and have meaningful impacts on society and ecosystems at large. This awareness helps them spot the underlying flaws of the rhetorical somersaults that the Silicon Valley or the powers that be try to spin, which are more often than not fallacious and based on nothing more than a dreadful mix of vibes and economic interests.

Science fiction, as my friend Margherita suggests, can be declined in various ways: from dystopia to utopia to space exploration, but first of all it originates as a critique to scientific progress. Now, since we live in a time when the scientific point of view (and science in general) is the dominant mode of interaction with the world and even with nature (but also with various elements of society), science has almost risen to the level of a faith: faith in progress no matter the cost, faith in technical solutions to social or political problems, faith in technology as a set of tools that cannot be anything else than positive. Whoever contradicts the tenets of this faith and dares criticize the benefits of progress or shed light on the required sacrifices is immediately delegitimized and labelled as a luddite or primitivist. In this sense, writing and reading stories that are deemed heretic is crucial to provide a counternarration, to contradict the dominant framing of progress as inevitable and inevitably positive.

These musings are, of course, also borne of a time when the discourse on artificial intelligence has already penetrated everyone's life, even those of us that are least interested in discussing technology or work. These AI have been either promoted as revolutionary technologies that will free mankind of toil, or touted as a looming, world-ending threat that will oppress humanity and can only be stopped by surrendering all policymaking powers to the same companies that develop them. What could go wrong, after all?

Science fiction readers, however, have already been discussing the idea of artificial intelligence for over sixty years: they have, indeed, been the first to point out that a mere virtual parrot won't free anyone from construction sites, cleaning offices or assisting patients. Scifi then becomes a crucial channel for citizens to interact with ideas and possibilities brought forth by technological advancements before these are brought into the world. It becomes a discipline ancillary to ethics, which should intervene upstream to examine the flowing consequences, whether these will be beneficial or harmful, safe or dangerous, before the touted innovations flood our lives without any embankments or protection measures in case things turn out worse.

Writing and reading science fiction also means being able to tell apart which stories can shed light the fault lines of progress, technological advancements or our current relationships with technology, and which don't say much in this regard. In the last few decades, perhaps since the Star Wars saga has become a global phenomenon, the mainstream has seized most of the scifi imagery, twisting it to the requisites of the dominant narration and removing most elements of reflection, speculation or critique to progress. Quoting my friend Paweł, it's a medieval knight story with a few lasers on top.

Let's make an example: the latest Avatar, the Way of Water. Despite having several elements that belong in scifi (exploring an alien planet, battlesuits, interstellar travel and resource harvesting), it never delves into the relationship with such technologies and rarely and shallowly explores that among humans and aliens, or between humans and the ecosystem in which the aliens live. Sure, Spider is a human and needs a mask in order to live with the na'vi, but it's never a limit, a burden, an advantage or anything that highlights the differences between him and his friends. It is reduced to a character quirk. Avatar is, in essence, a story about colonialism that could be very well told in any terrestrial setting, without summoning aliens or mechas.

This is just an example, but there are plenty of space operas that don't really bother with exploring the role of technology or our relationship with it, but simply use it as a vibe because it's popular, and many scifi fans are content with that. To many, it's enough to feel in space, seeing spaceships and missiles and nothing else.

Our resolution, as writers and readers, should be to resist being “just fans” and instead approach science fiction with a more critical eye; to become the vaccine of the future, which aids the lacking immune system by communicating dangers within before the become a full-fledged ailment.