Why science fiction is no longer a warning!
Texte
Humanity in the Age of its Last Excuses
Why science fiction is no longer a warning, but a description of the present!
There comes a point at which a civilisation no longer fails because it knows too little. Rather, it fails because it knows enough — and yet carries on regardless. Humanity in the 21st century stands at precisely this point. We know that the Earth is heating up. We know that forests are dying, oceans are becoming acidic, species are disappearing, soils are drying up and entire regions are becoming increasingly uninhabitable for humans. We know that wars destroy not only countries, but also the future. We know that greed can poison entire societies. We know that political power, when it no longer feels bound by the common good, becomes an instrument of ruthlessness. And yet we act as if all this were merely background noise. As if the planet were an inexhaustible backdrop for consumption, power games and political theatrics. As if ecosystems could be treated like an Excel spreadsheet. As if the future were negotiable, provided the share price is right.
The Earth remembers longer than humankind
The accompanying image for this article depicts three stages in the Earth’s history: the reign of reptiles and dinosaurs, the arduous rise of our ancestors — and finally the brief, perilous chapter of humankind. It is an image as if from a museum following the end of our civilisation. On the left, we see the giants of a bygone world. Dinosaurs, volcanoes, a sky full of menace. An era that lasted for what seems to us an unimaginably long time, and yet vanished. In the centre begins the rise of those living beings from which, eventually, humankind was to emerge. Not a triumphant heroic tale, but a struggle in the shadows. Survival in secrecy. Adaptation. Loss. Chance. Time. And finally, on the right, stands humankind: alone, small, amidst the ruins of its own cities. Above him, the Earth, damaged and under threat. Beside it, a clock. This clock is the true centre of the image.
It does not say: ‘The Earth is running out of time.’
It says: ‘Our time is running out.’
For the Earth does not need humankind. It existed without us, long before our cities, our flags, our religions, our governments, our markets and our wars came into being. It will continue to exist after we are gone — different, perhaps wounded, but not dependent on our presence. We, on the other hand, are dependent on it. Completely.
Humanity: the Earth’s most dangerous experiment
Humanity is not dangerous because it is born evil. It is dangerous because it is capable of logically explaining its own destruction.
They call greed ‘growth’.
They call ruthlessness ‘freedom’.
They call wars ‘security interests’.
They call exploitation ‘competition’.
And they often call their silence in the face of suffering ‘realpolitik’. Whilst billions of people struggle for a livable existence, water, food, safety and dignity, the wealth of a small elite continues to grow. Whilst entire regions suffer from heat, drought, flooding or war, politics in many places becomes a stage for personal vanity. Not every government fails in the same way. Not every politician acts irresponsibly. But there are leaders who demonstrate just how dangerous power becomes when it no longer protects, but divides. When it treats climate action as a bogeyman. When it mocks social responsibility as a weakness. When it forgets those who elected it.
The Trump era is a prime example of a form of politics that often fails to protect the vulnerable, but instead serves the loud, the rich and the powerful. A form of politics that sows mistrust, attacks institutions, downplays scientific warnings and makes social division its modus operandi. The problem, however, is bigger than any single government. Trump is not an accident of history. He is a symptom. A symptom of a world in which outrage is easier to sell than responsibility. In which simplistic enemy stereotypes garner more applause than complex solutions. In which many people are so disillusioned with politics that they end up following those who exploit their anger rather than improving their situation.
Wars: The old scourge in the new century
Nor has war returned. It never went away. It has merely changed its guises: drones, satellites, cyber-attacks, disinformation, resource wars, proxy conflicts. The language has become more modern; the destruction has not. Whilst schools fall into disrepair, hospitals are overburdened and climate action is deemed ‘too expensive’, states keep finding new billions for weapons, deterrence and geopolitical dominance. That is the true madness of our age: we supposedly cannot find enough money to save the future. Yet there is always enough to threaten it. Humankind, which considers itself the most intelligent species, builds weapons capable of destroying its own world many times over.
The Earth is not a possession. It is the prerequisite.
Perhaps this is humanity’s fundamental mistake: we believe the Earth belongs to us. But the Earth does not belong to us. We belong to the Earth. Our cities, borders, companies, armies, ideologies and markets exist only because the atmosphere, water, soil, food chains and stable climate systems sustain them. If these systems collapse, it is not ‘nature’ somewhere out there that collapses. Rather, the stage on which we are able to be human at all collapses. The image with the three panels brings this idea to life: the dinosaurs did not last forever. Pre-humans were not safe. And modern humans are not invulnerable. Our era is no guarantee. It is a test.
Why ‘Paradise 4.0’ is not an escape
The worlds of ‘Paradise 4.0’ and Barry Redhead’s science fiction do not tell of distant stars in order to escape the present. They tell of distant stars so that we may see the present more clearly. For good science fiction is not an evasive manoeuvre. It is a mirror. It does not merely ask: What will we build? It asks: What will become of us if we carry on like this? What happens to a humanity that is becoming ever more powerful technologically, but is failing to keep pace morally? What happens if artificial intelligence thinks more soberly about responsibility than elected governments? What will happen if colonies spring up in space whilst Earth becomes a wasteland? And what does it say about a species when it seeks new worlds before it has learnt to preserve the old one?
The last excuse has been used up
Humanity can no longer claim it did not know.
It can no longer say the data is unclear.
It can no longer say that the warnings are new.
It can no longer say that the consequences lie far in the future.
The climate crisis is real. Inequality is real. Wars are real. Political irresponsibility is real. And the bill will not be presented at some point in the future — it has long been on the table. The crucial question, therefore, is no longer whether humanity can save the future. The question is whether it will finally grow up and become determined enough to want to. For perhaps the chapter on humanity really is just a chapter. Short. Loud. Greedy. Contradictory. Brilliant. Cruel. Beautiful. Self-destructive. But it has not yet been written to its conclusion. Not yet.
