[Asimov The Last Question Epub
Abdul Soumphonphakdy
Stories about the future, and about the humans living in the future, stem from our awareness of our own limitations and all that which we may never be. These representations, whether utopian or dystopian, are evidence of the contradiction between our desires and our doubts.
Since the beginning of time, we have imagined realities in which we transcend our limitations and overcome old weaknesses, but nonetheless they still end up being an inseparable part of our stories. This is because, in the end, we cannot conceive a future (or the humans who will live in it) without assuming that all these narratives are a parable for our awareness of that which we may never be able to become. The representation of any future, be it utopian or dystopian, captures the present and with it, our desire or hope to become a different thing. It is a reflection of our drive for survival in a world that condemns us to disappear, or maybe of our fear of being absorbed by the machine or by the misuse of technological advances. The novel 1984 (Orwell, 1949/ 2010) is one of the most influential examples of this. Most of these stories talk about what we would like to be as a metaphor for what we really are, and they often start from a contradiction: their protagonists are our salvation while also being the ultimate expression of our doubts, as well as our lights and shadows. That is the reason why the idea of a future with improved humans involves an in-depth study of the persistence of pain, resignation, and sacrifice as the driving forces behind the transformation. Countless authors and titles fall into this group, which can be subdivided following three axes to understand their relevance along the history of popular culture: mythology, evolution, and technology.
It is not at all outlandish to state that much of modern Western fiction can be articulated mainly from three distinct legacies: biblical texts, Greek mythology, and Arthurian legends. The former were expressed as stories of redemption, of assumption of the punishments of existence and the Stations of the Cross that the characters must face to overcome their heavy consciences and unconfessed sins; the second group chronicles common individuals who are actually destined to reign and the glory of great feats that would have otherwise been out of their reach; and the third group manifests worlds populated by hyperbolic heroes who represent our collective aspiration for eternity.
They all share many features, two of which are quite obvious: the fight against time (i.e., our ephemeral and finite condition) and our desire to be recognised by a higher entity that can sanction the meaning of our journey. They also share a common search for moral or emotional refuge, a compass to guide us towards our destiny and our own selves. Mass culture is full of these sorts of representations of never ending searches in which most characters are the children of what Umberto Eco called the ideology of consolation (Eco, 1964). In other words, heroes who comfort us because they are not the superhumans they would like to be.
The legacy of mythology is palpable in both classical literature and the production of audiovisual fiction throughout the 20th century (Arnaudo, 2013; Reynolds, 1992; Unceta Gmez, 2007). The collection of divinities of Greek mythology and the long list of heroes looking for their approval have adopted countless faces and have now become the pop culture mould for a new way of narrating. Superheroes are the clearest and most valid manifestation of this model. They were born in comic strip form as an antidote to the social and political crises of the last century and turned into a synthesis of our concept of modernity thanks to their TV and cinema translations. Superheroes embody our projection of an improved humanity and are sometimes even the result of the evolution of divine figures (either our own or those of others). Thus, comics, films, and TV series deal with the search for divinity in human beings and, above all, the search for humanity in divine beings. They exceed our limits, but they are a simultaneous reminder that we do have those limitations.
Another key aspect in the portrait of the evolution of modern fiction is the one emerging from the novel Brave new world, by Aldous Huxley: a utopian society based on the superiority of exceptional individuals. The improvement of the species based on genetic selection is a plot device that has led to the emergence of an entire era of fantasy stories. One of the best audiovisual versions of the book, although not an official adaptation, is Gattaca, by Andrew Niccol. Released in 1997, in the midst of debate on the applications of genetic engineering, the film wonders what would happen in the future if births occurred according to artificial selection criteria that allowed societies to be led by exceptional individuals. The main characters are two brothers, one of which was born with assistance and a future full of opportunities, while the other was the result of a natural birth and suffers from a heart condition that limits his chances of achieving a lifespan exceeding 30 years. Ultimately, it was the perfect synthesis of evolution debates. On the one hand, we want to believe that future generations will correct and improve our own, but we also have doubts regarding the extent to which we can manipulate the natural order of things.
Challenging nature and its consequences is another inherent aspect of projections of our future. In this sense, we cannot avoid referring to the mythology of Frankenstein in its many forms. What if, in the attempt to create life where there is none, we create a being that mirrors the monster within us? Many modern formulations have tried to answer this question, from warnings such as Splice by Vincenzo Natali (in which a group of scientists create a hybrid being that learns to manipulate their emotions and instincts), to influential video games like Hitman, about a genetic experiment that inhibits the development of feelings in newborn babies in order to turn them into relentless killers.
Another key work about mutations and their different readings is The fly, by David Cronenberg, a version of a short story by George Langelaan that had already been adapted by Kurt Neumann in 1958. Cronenberg relates the story of a researcher who invents a teleportation machine but ends up merging with a fly during one of the tests. The film focuses on his metamorphosis, which the scientist initially perceives as an opportunity to improve the human species. Indeed, before his horrible realisation of what it really meant for his humanity, one of the consequences of the transformation was the belief that the skills obtained from the insect had made him superhuman albeit doomed to be feared and misunderstood. The fly was released over three decades ago, but it is still one of the best cinema representations of the dangers of believing that we can accelerate our evolution. According to a monographic essay by Jorge Gorostiza and Ana Prez (2003), as a director, Cronenberg has delved deeper into the symbolism of meat as a means to map human transformations than anyone else.
Similarly, in Upgrade, by Leigh Whannell, we see a man who can walk again thanks to technology but who uses the titular improvements to carry out an act of revenge with somewhat biblical connotations. The debate here focuses on the legitimacy of taking advantage of technology to satisfy our primary instincts. Touching on a different sort of extreme (and extreme is the right world, because the film is absolutely radical), the Japanese film Tetsuo: The iron man, by Shinya Tsukamoto, introduces us to a protagonist who dreams of a metal and wire world that will enable a collective mutation within a technological delusion.
In any case, however advanced the machine is, however sophisticated our virtual worlds become, however powerful the superhuman, and no matter how evolved we manage to become as individuals, all these stories discuss the same topics and reach the same conclusions. Each human is destined to meet their end; and up until that moment, we are also destined to suffer because being aware of our ephemeral nature is what gives us true meaning. This is very clearly addressed at the end of Blade runner, when Roy Batty, aware of his imminent expiration, validates what he has seen and experienced as the essence of immortality. We will advance, we will progress and improve; we will challenge (and maybe even fool) time, but we will never defeat it. Modern fiction (fantasy or otherwise) emanates from this realisation, because we dress our future selves in all our present grief and impossibilities.