Years ago, Neal Stephenson argued that contemporary science fiction was too focused on nihilism and apocalyptic scenarios. As an example, the Walking Dead was compared unfavorably to the hopeful view of the future claimed to be a common theme in the mid twentieth century. As the Walking Dead franchise is still walking and science fiction is still being written, I decided to revisit this subject.
One question is why the focus on nihilism and apocalyptic scenarios should be seen as a problem. Stephenson worried that science fiction of this sort lacked the optimism about the future needed to inspire scientists, engineers and others. If science fiction stories predict an apocalyptic world, then the readers will not be inspired to do things such as inventing space ships or solving the fossil fuel problem.
In support of his view, Stephenson pointed to an incident in which the president of Arizona State University and co-founder of the Consortium for Science, Policy and Outcomes Michael Crow told him that science fiction writers have been “slacking off” and are thus (at least partially) responsible for the (allegedly) slow pace of innovation. To address this problem, Stephenson created the Hieroglyph project which aims at getting science fiction writers to create inspirational works infused with optimism. As Stephenson put it, “we have one rule: no hackers, no hyperspace and no holocaust.” This rule seems to have three goals. First, avoid “hacking”, which is using old solutions rather than creating something new. Second, provide optimistic inspiration (hence no holocaust). Third, avoid any “impossible” or “magical” solutions to problems, presumably so that the inspiration will focus on what is possible. As might be imagined, Stephenson raised some interesting matters for philosophical consideration.
One obvious concern is that dystopian science fiction seems to be as old as science fiction itself. One example is Mary Shelley’s 1826 The Last Man. In this book, humanity is beset by a terrible plague, and the work ends in 2100 with the last man. A later work is H.G. Well’s 1895 vision of the far future in the Time Machine. In this classic work, humanity is divided into the cannibalistic Morlocks and their beautiful (but ignorant) food, the Eloi. Jack London even wrote within the dystopian genre, producing a political dystopia in his 1908 The Iron Heel . Rather interestingly, London’s 1912 The Scarlet Plague is about a worldwide pandemic which echoes the The Last Man. H.P. Lovecraft also presents a dystopian world during the early twentieth century—one in which humanity is apparently destroyed by Nyarlathotep. There are, of course, a wealth of classic dystopian works such as 1984, Brave New World, and a Clockwork Orange.
Given that dystopian science fiction is a well-established genre in science fiction, it seems odd to blame an alleged slowdown of innovation on the dystopian and nihilist science fiction of today. After all, if this sort of science fiction slows technological innovation due to its pessimism, then it would seem to follow that past dystopian science fiction should have been slowing down innovation all along. At the very least, it would seem to follow that it does not present a special problem now, given that it has been around so long.
One counter is to claim that while dystopian science fiction has been around for a long time, it is only recently that it has come to dominate fiction. By analogy, while there has been junk food for a long time, it is only relatively recently that it dominated the foodscape. Thus, just as obesity is now a serious problem in the United States, the retardation of inspiration is now a serious problem in science fiction.
As a science fiction fan (and a very, very minor writer), I am somewhat inclined to agree with this. In my own case, I find myself loading my Kindle with science fiction from the early to mid-twentieth century and ignoring many new novels. In part, this is a matter of being thrifty. I can, for example, get H. Beam Piper’s works for free. However, part of it is because much of the new stuff seems to lack something possessed by the good old stuff. While I have thought about this for some time, I considered that my experience matched Stephenson’s claim: the new stuff often lacks a certain thread of optimism that ran through the good old stuff, even the old dystopian stuff.
For example, consider Fritz Leiber’s 1960 story, “The Night of the Long Knives.” On the face of it, this story is dystopic and nihilist: the world has been devastated by a nuclear war, the survivors have divided into warring states, and the main characters are murderers. However, the story is oddly optimistic: some surviving scientists have created technological marvels and at the end the main characters struggle to free themselves of their need to murder. As another example, consider Asimov’s Foundation stories. While humanity builds a vast galactic empire, it falls into the long night and civilization all but dies. The capital of the empire, Trantor, goes from being a metal encased super world to a wrecked planet whose inhabitants subsist by selling the remains of the great civilization for scrap. However, there is still the Foundation (or, rather, two—spoilers) that restores civilization and the original trilogy is ultimately optimistic. This is not to say that all the dystopian stories have optimistic aspects. In fact, some of them are (or at least seem) unrelenting in their pessimism. There is, I think, nothing wrong with this. After all, not all good tales must have happy endings.
If, as a matter of empirical fact, the dystopian and the nihilistic dominate modern science fiction, then Stephenson could have a case. But, of course, making such a case requires drawing a connection between science fiction and technological innovation. Fortunately, this seems easy enough to do.
Some recent technological innovations can be traced back to science fiction, and these have been explicitly credited with inspiring engineers and scientists. To use the obvious example, the older Star Trek was an inspiration for technology and inspired scientists, engineers and astronauts. Another example of this is Well’s 1903 story “The Land Ironclads” in which he introduces the tank. Naturally, there are also the contributions of Jules Verne. One could, in fact, fill a book (or more) with all the innovations that first appeared in science fiction (for good or for ill). Considering this, it would seem reasonable to accept a connection between science fiction and innovation. However, there is the question of whether the dystopian and nihilistic works would lack inspirational power or, more importantly, impede innovation.
On one hand, such works could provide ideas that would inspire later innovation. For example, a dystopian work could still include descriptions of interesting technologies or innovations that later engineers or scientists might duplicate. There is also the possibility that such works could provide an inspiration in a negative way. That is, by portraying a horrific future a write could inspire people to try to avoid that. To use the obvious example, the classic stories about nuclear war might motivate the audience to avoid nuclear war. Likewise, stories about pandemics could motivate people to develop the means to prevent them in ways that tales of a disease-free future might not. After all, we can be inspired by the threat of something awful. Or maybe not.
On the other hand, works that lack optimism could fail to inspire, despite including interesting technology or providing a plausible threat. To use an obvious analogy, if a leader tries to inspire people by sharing an anecdote of failure (“and then everyone died a pointless death”), then this probably would not be motivational. Perhaps the bad can be inspiration, if there is a strong element of the possibility of the good. Works that lack this would, not surprisingly, fail to inspire. One final point I will consider is whether science fiction writers have any obligation to write inspirational stories.
As might be imagined, it is easy to argue that writers are not so obligated. Writers should have the freedom to create works as they see fit and it is up to the writer whether they wish to present optimistic or nihilistic tales. Oscar Wilde, for example, would no doubt argue that writers should not be constrained by such an imposition. This view is, of course, consistent with writers electing to produce optimistic tales and even working within the limits discussed by Stephenson if they are contributing to an anthology or want to write within a narrower genre. After all, if it is acceptable for writers to limit themselves to time travel stories for a time travel anthology, it would be equally acceptable for writers to limit themselves to optimistic stories for an optimistic anthology of science fiction.
It is also easy to argue that writers should contribute to beneficial innovation. After all, being a writer does not seem to grant a person an exemption from morality. If a utilitarian approach to ethics is taken, then a solid case could be made that authors (morally) should write inspirational works. After all, if writing such works increases the likelihood of good consequences (such as developing clean energy or a means of replacing diseased or damaged organs), then authors (morally) should write such books. After all, a failure to do so would result in a worse world. Kant, given his view of the moral badness of letting useful talents rust, would no doubt favor writing positive science fiction. This is not to say that writers should be compelled to write such works and the usual arguments for artistic liberty would have their normal weight here. Plato, of course, would be against the liberty of creating harmful works, but he might favor science fiction that yielded good results (after all, he did endorse the noble lie).
To close, writers should (obviously) be free to craft nihilistic dystopian hellscapes. But optimism is also nice.
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