Philosophy of the future

The philosophy of the mid-to-late 19th century gave humanity more than plans for social reconstruction or two world wars. She gave us hope for a better future. It doesn’t matter in what form and in what order. The fact is that we have it. And after these hopes, they appeared, the futurist writers, who are now called science fiction writers. Edgar Berous, Stanislav Lem, Robert Heinlein, Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov … There were dozens of them.

And then the fantasy became reality. Satellite. Space flight. The man in the moon. Microwave. Chemotherapy. Antibiotics It seemed that everything was submissive to the Man. Some were preparing to conquer Mars, others were studying Venus. Voyagers have launched beyond the solar system. “Peace. Lenin. USSR” and “Arecibo Message” went into the Great Nothing. Our footprints appeared on the dusty paths of distant planets. The embodied expectation of near happiness. Happiness of conquering the Universe.

And then the cyberpunks came. Bruce Sterling and his pack of young and disaffected, of which someone was hiding in Canada from the call to the Vietnam war, someone considered him the only chance to get to the top, to the tops, someone just nailed to the proximity of views. But they were all united by one thing, the main thing – they all wanted to take the world by the throat and shake it up properly. Tear off the pink glasses of the sweet distant future from him and show the unsightly near-by. To thrust humanity with its very muzzle into the fall of all morals, the growth of crime, the possible consequences of technological progress and the development of corporations … Well, they did it.

For several years we were plunged into the near future, in which the hi tech low life approved by Sterling in the preface to “Burning Chromium” reigned, after which a natural failure of systems occurred. Nobody wanted something so uncomfortable and unattractive. And then the Cold War ended, because of which everyone joyfully proclaimed the “end of history” and the onset of universal happiness here and now.

And somehow everything. The enthusiasm faded. And no one needs dusty paths anymore, because why? After all, the end of history, the peak of development, will not be better. The future was selected so beautifully and so gracefully that you can’t even dig in. Here’s your faith in gods of any color and kind. Conquer personal afterlife. The soul wants to fight? Well, take everything from life, from pleasure and ending with group class justice in the absence of any or any gender characteristics. The main thing is to be here and now.

And the books went well. The shelves were filled with reading books for babies from the series “he / she is not like everyone else”, attempts to rewrite history and Stephen King. Those authors who still wrote something, seemed to have hit the competition, who colonize Mars or the Moon with an even more stupid society and world order without explaining the reasons and logic. The main thing is drive. The main thing is to make a blockbuster on paper. It doesn’t matter who and why. we make ourselves a drive and we are afraid of the world around us. Super. Great. Emotions.

The fashion for realism even came into the genre of originally literary fabulous. It’s just that one day someone took and instead of Tolkien put the Black Squad on the table together with Gervant from Rybla and said “THIS IS SO NECESSARY!”. And it started. As if everyone at once decided to surpass each other in the most literal introduction of their abomination and naturalism into a fairy tale.

And as a result – a complete lack of reference points. And, as a consequence, retrofuturism. Trying to go back in time when everything made sense. This, you know, is the highest meaning. Because there, ahead, the future awaited us. It was only necessary to try and work. And it doesn’t matter where – in a mine in Kuzbass or at a steel mill in Gary. Each by his work brought us closer to him. Sweet tale.

Well. Now we are all living in reality. With a wide range of benefits on offer. Universal happiness. Everyone. For nothing. Even with guaranteed death from someone.

But we have no future.
Without a goal.
Without meaning.
No stars.

Author: Alexander Viktorov


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