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The last gasps of the twentieth century came with the urbi et orbi announcement of the end of history. The liberal prophet who made the announcement was the American academic Francis Fukuyama in his famous book The End of History and the Last Man[i]. Thus, the unmitigated collapse of the Soviet Union vanquished the utopia that had maintained for millions of human beings the possibility of an alternative historical path to one typified by a Western world that sponsored the superiority of democracy and capitalism, and which it considered inextricably linked. A Spanish philosopher certified this back in 2005 with the title of his book Menos utopía y más libertad[ii]. Its author, Juan Antonio Rivera, was clear about this (following in the footsteps of the ancestors and ideological godfathers of neoliberalism): the utopian tendency inherent in left-wing that raised to the unhinged monster of the now defunct communist empire—due to its un-renounceable desire for planning—is incompatible with the sacrosanct freedom of the individual, which is considered an essential ingredient of the victorious liberal democracies that constitute the world of progress. That is the so-called Western world, also known as the “free world” during the Cold War.
It was already written in The Road to Serfdom[iii] (by Friedrich A. Hayek, a Viennese born in the golden age of the capital of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and a relative of Ludwig Wittgenstein), a work published in the year before the defeat at the end of the Second World War of the other utopias—also totalitarian—of Italian fascism, German Nazism and Japanese imperialism. The only utopia validated by history and by arms, to which the sanctioning moral value of medieval ordeals was granted, could only be that of the free market which Hayek, following in the footsteps of another compatriot and ideological promoter of neoliberalism, Ludwig von Mises, wanted to untie from any state strategy because this always brought with it the danger of falling down the slippery slope of (socialist) totalitarianism.
It is forbidden, therefore, to dream of utopias. The prohibition of globalization, which aspires to a horizon of universal progress, has been the slogan that has established the outline for the political framework of the possible. This prohibition left the wide plain of history free for the implementation, with hardly any resistance, of what is known as globalization, according to the guidelines that the neoliberal paradigm always sets: a utopia (de facto, since it also responds to a plan) which has already given its poisoned fruits in our current century. That main plan is locking us in the cage of predatory and voracious capitalism that cannot stop its unbridled extractive hyperactivity, even though this brings damage of apocalyptic proportions for a considerable part of humanity with the injustice that accompanies it, since it is not that part of the people who causes the greatest planetary damage.
What is forbidden in politics and impossible to practice in economics is not forbidden to the creator of fictional stories. In this world, the limits of the possible are laxer, and even moreso in the case of the genre of science fiction. A stereotypical understanding of this genre can lead us to focus our attention on the imaginative element related to science—that is, what they have in terms of proposals about where science could go in its progress, which would be shown in the form of fantastic discoveries. But in the most lucid works of science fiction, whether literary or audiovisual, the scientific and technological miracles that are offered to us are merely meant to make us reflect on other topics of a more philosophical rather than strictly scientific nature. Surely, the paradigmatic example of what I am saying here is 2001: A Space Odyssey[iv], a film with an ambitious message that goes beyond the semantic fields of science and fiction to encourage us to think big, reaching metaphysical depths. In other movies, such as the Star Trek saga[v], there is also a utopian aspiration that points to the possibility of a historical destiny for humanity, making us imagine that our species expands beyond its galaxy to become the architect of a federation of planets, in the style of the UN, which is conducted per humanist ideals—mainly of peace and justice—taken to a cosmic scale. We could say that these are the classics of science fiction, and there are even more classic ones, such as the case of Frankenstein, or the Modern Prometheus, from the brilliant Mary Shelley.
From our days, in the golden age of series broadcast via streaming platforms, I want to highlight the Apple TV+ show entitled For All Mankind[vi]. Classified as science fiction, its strong point—in my opinion—lies in what it proposes, its fictional aspect that offers an alternative story. It means that it is not the space exploration of the closest celestial bodies in our solar system, with its technological wonders and its epic of heroes in diving suits: it is what it offers as a way of exploring the human soul. The historical odyssey of what could have been if things had happened differently gives us the opportunity to mentally experiment with the threads of events that weave the destiny of humanity. This rare species with a conscience of its free will but does not believe completely that, in essence, it is just another animal, and, as such, a product of nature generated by the chance of a long time passed and the genetic mechanisms and natural selection. Humanity is the natural kind that does not fully recognize that it is dependent on certain limits, that believes in progress at the price of not knowing how to give up on it, even when this implies the certain danger of its decease. This is true, at least for that part of humanity that turned on the lights of the Enlightenment and declared modernity as a universally valid imperative without the permission of those for whom it was imposed through inhuman colonization.
In the American show I mentioned, the imagination of its creators places us in the space race of the sixties, which—according to this fictitious version of the alternative history that it offers—will not stop because the Soviet Union will not collapse and, having been the first country to take a man to the lunar surface, will spur NASA well beyond the twentieth century in its desire to surpass its communist competitor. This endless feedback competition will lead to the fact that, before the beginning of the twenty-first century, astronauts and cosmonauts will already have established their respective lunar bases and have managed to build their own bases on Mars. What could have been and was not—that disturbing shadow of every human existence—in this television show becomes reality due to the audiovisual magic.
But, I insist, the most interesting thing in the TV show is the game that allows historical fantasy, which leads us to confirm the distance between scientific and technological progress, on the one hand, and ethical progress, on the other. We see through the adventures of its characters that the one who has the most scientific knowledge is not necessarily the wisest. In this sense, the character of Margo Madison is especially pathetic, a woman who becomes the director of NASA, very ambitious and very intelligent but completely lacking in emotional intelligence. In her, we see reflected this dichotomy between undeniable progress: in the field of knowledge and technological possibilities, but not in the domain of ethics—that is, the practical knowledge of what it means to live a good life. After decades of loyal service, Margo Madison betrays her country to save the life of a Russian colleague with whom she falls in love. In the final episode of the last season, she turns herself in to the American authorities. In the words she addresses to the court that judges her, the question of this dichotomous condition of human progress is emotionally summarized:
Your Honor, I have always been told that we should not allow our personal feelings to cloud our search for the truth. But looking back at it from the present moment, I do not believe that it is right. Emotions may not be convenient. They may slow down our progress, but they are also the only way to begin to truly understand the world around us[vii].
Through this television show, the observer can intuitively approach the philosophical question about the nature of progress, its limits, its historical dimension, and how it affects humanity. One of the philosophers who has been most critical of this idea, which is part of the cast of beliefs from which we have built our historical future, at least since the beginning of Modernity, is John Gray. He is a perceptive British thinker with an incisive eye on everything that has to do with what has served to construct a deceitfully self-indulgent image of humanity. His point of view on the idea of progress is brilliantly expressed in these words taken from his book Straw Dogs[viii], which are worth quoting at length:
Science makes it possible for human beings to satisfy their needs, but it does nothing to change them. They are no different today than they have always been. There is progress in knowledge, but not in ethics. This is the verdict of both science and history, and the viewpoint of every religion in the world. The growth of knowledge is real, and, moreover, barring a world catastrophe, it is now irreversible. Improvements in government and society are no less real, though in this case they are not irreversible, but temporary. They cannot only be lost, they will certainly be lost. The advance of knowledge makes us believe that we are different from other animals; but our history teaches us that we are not.
Even today, the historical truth is that the furthest place that human beings have ever reached is the Moon. There, on its surface, at a point marked on the satellite map as the Sea of Tranquility, fifty-five years ago, was the base of the lunar module in which Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin arrived. On it, there is a plaque with an inscription that says: “Here men from planet Earth first set foot on the Moon in July 1969 A.D. We came in peace for all mankind.” These last words, identified in italics, were the ones that inspired the title of the show I commented on in this text, which was a complete success and a reminder of the permanent legitimacy of a fundamental ethical question: is there progress if it is not for all humanity?
[i] Fukuyama, F. (1992). The End of History and the Last Man. Free Press.
[ii] Rivera, J. (2005). Less Utopia and More Freedom. Tusquets.
[iii] Hayek, F. (2011). The Road to Serfdom. Alianza Editorial.
[iv] Kubrick, S. (director). (1968). 2001: A Space Odyssey [Film]. Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.
[v] Roddenberry, G. (creator). (1966–1969). Star Trek: The Original Series [Television series]. Paramount Television.
[vi] Moore, R., Wolpert, M. & Nedivi, B. (Creators). (2019). For All Mankind [TV series]. Sony Pictures Television, Tall Ship Productions, Apple TV+.
[vii] Moore, R., Wolpert, M. & Nedivi, B. (Creators). (2019). For All Mankind [TV series]. Sony Pictures Television, Tall Ship Productions, Apple TV+.
[viii] Gray, J. (2008). Straw Dogs. Reflections on Humans and Other Animals (Trans. Albino Santos Mosquera). Paidós. Page 155.
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