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LITR 4632: Literature of
the Future Sandra Murphy LITR 4632 2003 Final There is an
endless array of possible “scenarios of the future.” These scenarios vary
greatly in substance, appeal, and scope, and these future scenarios could be
evaluated or prioritized in any number of ways. One possible way to evaluate
“scenarios of the future” might be by asking the question – “What would
Plato think?” Plato, and many
who followed him, believed the world was a balance, or blend, of two distinct
realms. The first realm was one of ideals, ideas, and abstractions. The second
realm was one of matter; this realm was concrete and particular. Many of the
future scenarios studied in this class could fit into one or both of these
realms. Two of the short stories covered
in class fit particularly well into the realm of the abstract. They are “The
Logical Legend of Heliopause and Cyberfiddle” by Richard Goldstein and “The
Onion and I” by Thomas Fox Averill. In both of these stories the world of form
(matter) is unimportant, almost non-existent. What matters in the confines of
the Warren Beatty and in the carefully constructed Project Bidwell is not
concrete form or matter but the pure abstraction of virtual reality. Citizens of the
Warren Beatty and Project Bidwell are taught to de-value and dismiss the
concrete. They are “programmed” to prefer the abstract. Thus, when young
“sprat Pryer” asks about life before Heliopause, before the Warren, he is
cut off quickly. (p. 163-4) “Those are silly questions, Student Pryer,”
answers his teacher. Similarly, when each new family is accepted to become a
part of Project Bidwell all personal items, including pets, have to be
discarded. Actual items will be replaced by virtual items only. Life will be
replaced by cyberlife. Conversely, several of the
stories covered in class fit well into the realm of the concrete. In
“Newton’s Sleep” by Ursula K. Le Guin there is no room for abstraction on
SPES. Their world is built on hard, cold reason and fact. In “Drapes and
Folds” by Audrey Ferber the situation is similar. The beauty and texture of
Pearl’s fabric is illegal-irrelevant. Everyone will wear the Bracie – a
static, utilitarian garment with disease – fighting properties. The realm of
the concrete takes on a more ominous tone in The Time Machine by H.G.
Wells. In the future visited by the Time Traveller, the Eloi and Morlocks have
lost the ability to abstract. Their world is what it is, and it is difficult
even to hope for improvement. Decline and destruction appear inevitable. Similarly, in the story
“Speech Sounds” by Octavia E. Butler, humans are forced to live in the realm
of the purely concrete. A mysterious illness has robbed humankind of the ability
to communicate and, in many cases, to reason. Abstract thoughts of justice,
truth, and fair play will not save Rye or Obsidian. Their only hope lies in the
cold, hard steel of a gun. Neither the
world of pure abstraction with its cyberpets and virtual restaurants nor the
world of the solidly concrete with its lack of self-expression and beauty are
particularly appealing. Perhaps Plato, with the wisdom of the ancients, knew
that the world and its inhabitants needed the balance of both realms. This
possibility is certainly borne out in many of the stories covered in class. In “Chocco”
by Ernest Callenbach, the River People live a life that celebrates the value of
the abstract and the concrete. They understand the necessity of physical labor
and respect the value of knowledge and revere the concept of community.
Likewise, in “House of Bones” by Robert Silverberg, the villagers labor to
build shelters, gather food, and hunt throughout the day while their nights are
spent in community and celebration with poetry and song. Successful
future scenarios and worlds appear to require just such a balance. Jonathan
Lazerus, in his student presentation, spoke of a sort of utopia that was not
perfect. Instead, it allowed for choices within distinct areas or societal
constructs. As humans, we crave both those choices and those constructs. We need
the abstract and the concrete. We require self-expression and restraint. Thus,
Pryer ultimately rejects the total abstraction of the Warren. (p. 179) He
discards “all links, even his simhelm,” and finds contentment within the
balance of the concrete reality of the violin and the soaring abstract beauty of
the music. And Ike Rose, walks away from the concrete, reasonable, sterile world
of SPES to climb an invisible mountain to make peace with his rebellious
daughter and the ghost of his mother. Abstract and concrete, ideas and forms, both are necessary to create and sustain a human world. Plato surely knew this, and we would do well to remember it as we move toward the future.
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